Page 13 of Forever Not Yours (Square Mile Rogues #1)

H e came home and went straight to the bathroom without even a word, which was normal for him. Then he stood by the kitchen counter in silence, messing about with the ever- growing pile of medical equipment he kept there—sensors, tubes, infusion sites, loading up his insulin into a syringe with elegant ease, like he always had, the pump face blinking angrily as he reset it, then he almost dropped the whole thing as he tried to plug it into the charger in the socket.

I could hear his frustration in his breathing, the way he aggressively threw something in the bin.

“Bastien,” I said calmly. “Recycling is a good thing. And your sharps box is full.”

“Don’t fucking care,” he huffed. “Need to eat.”

“I know.”

I’d taken the afternoon off again, which hadn’t exactly made me popular with my patients or colleagues, but I needed to get this under control, sort him out—well, support him—because I could see this going so bloody wrong if I didn’t.

Which was why I whipped him up an omelette in a pan whilst plating a side salad straight from a bag, then watched from the kitchen as he shovelled it down like a caveman and drained his glass of water in one go.

“Need to sleep,” he muttered .

“Need to walk Flossie,” I reminded him, feeling like the bastard I was. I just wanted to spend a little time with him, talk, hear him laugh, anything to lift this weird, horrible mood we kept getting ourselves into.

He stopped, just stood there by the window, T-shirt, boxers, his too-long hair draped messily over his handsome face.

Bastien, my Bastien.

“Come on,” I offered, throwing the omelette pan in the sink. “I’ve made one for myself too. Let me just eat this thing, and then we’ll have a stroll around the block. Talk about nothing.”

“Tired,” he grumped.

He was, I could tell. He hadn’t sat down properly to eat, instead perching on the edge of the sofa.

“Bastien. Drop your pants.”

“Not up to that,” he said, a good dose of healthy fear in his voice.

“God, no. Not that. I need to check your skin and put some more ointment on. It will help with the discomfort. Arnica cream and some cooling lotion.”

He looked at me doubtfully, didn’t trust a word coming out of my mouth .

“I’m not going to fuck you or spank you. You’re in no state for that.”

“No,” he said snippily, but I liked when we agreed. We were actually doing this, being sensible and communicating. “Red on that one.”

“Got it. Loud and clear.”

“Jake…” he started, then he threw his hands in the air in what was clearly frustration, anger, maybe despair—what did I know? “Jakey, this doesn’t work for me.”

Fear. I knew it well, and it was shooting through me like a bullet.

“What doesn’t work?” I hoped I sounded calm. I didn’t feel it.

“I need to be able to function.” Now he was pacing the room, and that in itself made me nervous. I hated when he did that, frustration oozing out of his pores. “Like, I need to be able to sit down at work and not wince every time I move. I mean, the spanking was hot as fuck, but I can’t do this. Everything hurts.”

Oh God, what had I done? “I’m so sorry, I…”

I had no excuses.

“Most people who are into this are into the whole bit afterwards too.” I recoiled at my own words. I knew better than this, and I really couldn’t shift the blame on anyone else. The only one at fault here was me—me and my stupid sense of dominance and ego. It didn’t work for him, and I should have known that. I’d known him for years—years and years. “Some people are really into the bruises. Pain… I just assumed… Shit. We should have talked about this. It’s just that Juliet said—”

“Juliet knows shit and shouldn’t be talking to you about private stuff.”

“She only wanted to…share so I could make you feel better about all this.”

“Better?” he almost shrieked. “How the fuck is this supposed to make me feel better? I know Juliet always said I was calmer after she had a go at me, but shit, Jakey. I can’t even bend over to wipe my arse without everything stinging like hell.”

“The gloves pack a punch.” I didn’t know why I was smiling, because it wasn’t funny. Not at all. I needed an ego check, and this was not it, because I was so incredibly confused, one minute doubting all my instincts, the next, knowing without a doubt that he needed this, needed me , all that I was.

“Don’t you fucking laugh at me,” he warned, waving his arm around. “Not fucking funny.”

“I agree, it’s not.” I was trying here, and my ridiculous juvenile held-back laughter was not helping. “I know it’s not funny.”

“Gloves were hot on you. You should wear more sexy shit like that.”

“You need a harness. A bratty one.”

“Fuck you.”

That seemed to be his response to most things, but at least I got a small smile out of him.

“Bastien, I love you. I know I say it all the time, but I do. It’s not just matey talk.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does. It means bloody everything, because you’re the most important person in my life. You always have been. Even when we barely saw each other, we texted every day, you used to ring me at the weekend, and then you’d pop round if it had been too long. You’ve always been here for me. And even if you don’t believe me right now, I love you. Fucking forever and always.”

He gave no reaction to that little pathetic outburst. Not even an eye roll.

“And I’m serious about a harness. You’re made for one. Just so I can keep you in place when I fuck you.”

“I’m going to bed.”

“I still need to put cream on you.”

“Red,” he said, then he walked off.

I let him, but only for a few minutes, because his pump alarm went off and I wasn’t going to tolerate his bratty teenaged tantrums any longer. We needed to talk about things, because this whole relationship was sinking faster than I could piss off my colleagues. My phone was relentlessly going off somewhere, no doubt James from reception shouting at me for once again messing up everyone’s schedules and hissing in that annoying voice he used when he was being pissy that I needed to get a grip. For once, I agreed.

“Bastien,” I barked, finding him standing next to the bed, pump in his hand.

“Low battery,” he muttered, pushing past me, going back into the kitchen, fiddling around with charging leads, swapping the sensor over, then pricking his finger and checking his bloods manually.

He may have been throwing a tantrum, but he was still good. Responsible. Making sure he was healthy.

I was so bloody proud of him.

“You’re amazing,” I said, keeping far enough from him to give him some space. I couldn’t focus, not when he was right there, so close yet miles away. I felt like we got so incredibly intimate at times, only for him to drift. It frustrated me no end, and right now, I felt like he’d once again slammed the door in my face.

“You’re so good at looking after yourself, and I really am…so sorry. I did this all wrong, again. Got carried away with what I wanted more than checking in with you. I won’t do that again.”

“It’s not you,” he replied, surprisingly calm. “It’s everything. Everything is bloody stressing me out, and my bloods are all over the place, and I think this pump is fucked. Nothing is charging and I need to sleep.”

“I know.” I did. He looked awful. Exhausted.

“It’s constant. I keep having to think about every bloody thing I stick in my mouth, and I calculate it right, and the thing still keeps going off when I know I’ve dosed it up right.”

“Okay.” He was all over the place, we both were. “Bastien,” I said softly, moving closer, resting my hands on his shoulders and giving them a small gentle squeeze. “Let me sort it out. You go sleep, and I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“This one has a few hours’ charge. I’ll need to get up in the middle of the night and change it.”

“I’ll do that,” I promised. Nothing I hadn’t done before.

“And I’m not sure about the readings.”

“I’ll check. You’re feeling all right now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come scan you in an hour, make sure you’re still fine. And then I’ll check again when I go to bed. Swap the pump over.”

“I could…” He looked done. So absolutely done.

“What?” I tried to hug him, just gently, but he turned away in my arms.

“If I put the app on your phone, you’d get notifications if I’m crashing. But it’s annoying for you. It goes off if I’m just a tad off. ”

“Nothing’s annoying.” I let him go and went in search of my phone, found it, and handed it to him, then stepped back and watched his fingers dance over the screen.

“You should change your code. It’s been the same for years.”

“And you still know how to hack all my accounts.”

“And your passwords. My birthday. You’re fucking predictable, Jakey.”

“Always.”

He dropped my phone on the kitchen counter, picking up his pump and stowing it in his waistband, then he tried to push past me, but I caught him, held him firmly in place, turning him so I had him wedged against the worktop. A small oomph escaped his mouth. Still sore. Perhaps I should pull back, but at the same time, I needed things too. This. Just being close to him. The warmth of his skin under my fingertips. The stubble on his cheek. His handsome face. A soft kiss. Just him and me in a moment.

I loved when we had this, just a few seconds where things seemed to fall into place.

Calm. Silence. I needed that too .

“Bastien, I know this whole thing is a mess,” I whispered. “You and me. But trust me. I’m trying, and it’s all trial and error, trying to figure out what makes you tick. Whatever it is, I will find it, and I will give you whatever you want. I’m right here. Right bloody here. Whatever, whenever, always.”

“You always are,” he said quietly, looking down. I lowered my stance, caught his gaze and made him look back up at me.

“I am. And I make mistakes too. I’m really sorry I went too hard on you. Even more sorry that I didn’t talk to you about it beforehand.”

“I wouldn’t have…you know. Talked.”

“It’s just, you know. I’ve never been into relationships. I fuck people. People I know want it the way I give it. I like being in control. I like being rough. Like with the gloves, it makes it…impersonal in a way. Hard and heavy with no feelings. And those people I fuck like it like that too. I just got carried away, thinking you were into all that. I don’t even know why I thought that now because it’s not impersonal with you. It never has been, and I don’t want it to be. Maybe my head just got clouded and…well, maybe I’m just me. I made a mistake. A massive error of judgement. And I won’t do it again.”

“I know. But…” He shook his head.

“Red,” I said softly. “I know.”

I kissed him, just the way I’d always wanted to kiss him. A comfortable fit against my mouth. A small content sigh in return. Like we were good again.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “Want to go for that walk? Make you sleep better?”

“A short one.”

“Good boy.”

I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. What the hell was I playing at? Maybe I’d got this all wrong. Maybe I hadn’t. But it wasn’t about me anymore. It was about this man. This beautiful, gorgeous man who had let me be me. Let me hurt him. And taken it. Every little bit of it.

Perhaps I was simply expecting too much too soon, because there was something there. Something bright and warm in my chest.

He did that to me, Bastien Dewaert. He made my life warm and beautiful, even in those dark moments when I doubted every little part of my life.