Page 149 of The Truths We Burn

Her mouth parts barely, a gasp falling from her lips.

“Wh-hat are you doing?”

I walk her towards the pool table, resting her on the edge of the soft green felt material.

“Apologizing,” I mutter, putting an inch of space between us, staring at her hard.

“Rook, there is nothing you need to apologize for.”

Taking my time, I drop one knee to the floor with a thud, the other one following suit, preparing for what it is I need to do. I pull my hands down her legs, cradling her calves in my palm and using my thumb to massage her gently.

“There is,” I say, looking up at her from my place on the ground.

My altar.

My salvation.

“For not believing in you, for not believing in us. For not seeing through the lie and fighting to keep you, as I should have.” I open the buttons on my shirt, pulling it down my shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.

“Make it hurt. Make me pay.”

I had been so consumed with my own fear of being betrayed, of being hurt, of losing her, that I let myself hate her. I didn’t go with what my heart had been trying to tell me all along—that she was different.

That she was mine.

I let myself hate her, and she went through hell alone because of it.

This is the only way I know how to make amends with that.

I wait for a second before I feel the tip of her heel beneath my chin, lifting my head up. I look up at her, quirking an eyebrow, my eyes on hers.

She oozes control, her shoulders tall as she stares down at me.

My phoenix.

“I don’t need your pain, Rook Van Doren. I want you to give me your word.”

I’ve never wanted anything more than I want her right now. I want to fucking devour her. I would do anything to have it.

“Tell me what it is,” I say, “and it’s yours. It’s all yours, baby.”

Like a seductress, she pulls both her legs up onto the table, spreading them wide, causing her dress to hike up her hips, leaving her fully exposed to me.

“I want you to promise me you will stop hurting yourself.”

The air is thick and heavy on my burning lungs. Her sweet aroma is enough to drown in, making me dizzy and lightheaded. I follow her pale fingers as they find her center, rubbing up and down her covered slit teasingly.

“You want to make it up to me? You want to touch me, pyro?”

I would pray to God to be able to touch her right now.

“Then promise me. No more cuts. No more pain.” She presses harder on her cunt, a little whimper slipping from her mouth. “Promise you’ll come to me. We can help each other. I can help you.”

A dark, wet spot appears on her thin panties, and my mouth waters, my chest aches. Her breasts move up and down in a steady rhythm as her breath starts to come out more erratically.

Lust and heartache swirl around my head.

Could she be enough to lead me to forgiveness? Could she be enough to help me let go?