Page 39 of Crawl

“You’ve got a meeting soon. You should drive home now. Get the webcam running.”

He types on his phone, then stows it. “Cancelled. Now, tell me: what is this long story?”

A lightness blooms over me. Cash isn’t only curious; hewantsto know my story, and he’s even willing to cancel his appointments to hear it. His jaw strains, his eyes darkening, and I know he’s never going to give up. He needs to know.

“Dean thought I might benefit from it,” I explain.

“Why?”

“He thought—” I stop myself, unsure of how to say it. Dean doesn’t understand my desires, nor does he share them. But he’s still a good person. We just aren’t compatible.

I change my wording: “I knew I had problems.”

“With?”

I huff out a breath. “You know what.”

“Tell me, Remedy.”

“That I like pain.”

His eyes darken like he’s reading the hidden meaning behind my words, confirming what he already knows. Cash is the only person who’s gotten to me like that, and we both know it.

“He couldn’t cut it, then,” Cash says.

Relief swells through me. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“Come on. I’m the one who choked you until you bruised,” he says. He puts a finger through my scarf, tugging it until it pulls off. The air cools my warm neck, and I blush. It’s like exposing the most authentic side of myself. I hold the scarf in my hands, stretching the fabric. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it now.

“He always asked if I was okay. If he was hurting me. If he should go easier on me. That kind of thing,” I say. “Finally, he convinced me I needed to go to therapy or SAA.”

Cash nods. “How long did you go to SAA?”

“I didn’t keep track.”

“Did it help?”

“I was celibate for a while.”

“Why?”

“They said it might fix me.”

Cash sits on the bed next to me, the mattress dipping under his weight. Our thighs touch, his body warm against mine, and his presence comforts me. I thought he would leave when he heard my story, dismissing me as his insignificant fuck doll assistant, but instead, he’s closer to me than before. And for once, I don’t feel the need to kill him or to run away. Because if Cash wants me underneath him, I’ll be underneath him. And that reassures me.

And it’s clear that he’s here to listen.

“Did it fix you?” he asks.

I twist a loose thread from the scarf, then ball between my fingers. “No.”

He puts a hand on my knee, and heat pulses through my veins. I let out a breath, trying to calm myself down to a simmer. I don’t understand why my body reacts like this to him, like I’m only safe when I’m tucked inside of his violence. But it’s like some primal energy inside of meknowsthat he’ll do anything to protect me, and that means we’re safe.

He puts a hand under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His dark eyes envelop me.

“You don’t need to be fixed,” he says.

Those freckles in his eyes make it so painfully clear that he’s focused on me, andonly me.No matter how rich and powerful he may be or the violence he’s capable of, hewantsto talk to me. To see me. To know me.