𝐕𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐃 ❷

𝟑𝟐. ✭ 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐘 ✭

Jerking off another guy was probably on the top of the list of things I never thought I'd ever do. Second on that list would be having one jerk me off. And yet, there I had been a handful of minutes ago, initiating both of those activities.

When I'd joined Brooks in the shower I felt kind of like an idiot because I was completely out of my element. Yes, I was horny as fuck, which I would usually know how to handle were I with Dani or another woman. Standing there in front of Brooks, though, well that had me truly asking myself if I wanted him, a man, to take care of that problem for me. I hadn't been entirely sure, not until he kissed me the way that he had. Part of me wanted to push him off, deny what I'd come to realize I wanted in that moment, but there was a much larger part of me that refused.

The reality of the situation is I had enjoyed the feeling of his hands on my body, the way they reassured me that I am still desirable. Maybe it's arrogant but never in my life have I second-guessed how attractive I am. Never. I know I am attractive. I know I am desirable. I know that I am wanted. Women look at me and swoon. It's been a reality for me for as long as I can remember. The litany of jagged, red scars covering my abdomen now have me looking at it, what I had once considered one of my best features, like it's a fucking eyesore.

Brooks didn't look at me like that. On the occasions that he had touched them I had waited for the immediate distaste, covered up by a fake smile, with an even faker string of lies telling me 'it's not that bad'. Because, just as I've always known how attractive I've been, I am not ignorant to what I look like now; fucked. Brooks has never once looked at my scars and shied away, never even batted an eye at them. He still looks at me the same way as he always has— like he wants me. Something about that sat very uneasily inside of me and I couldn't put a reason as to why. It made me feel... things.

Then there was the way how he seemed to know me in ways that I didn't even understand myself, that no one else had cared to. He knew just what I needed to hear or just how much to push me. With a sigh I sit on the bed in the room I'd taken residence in upstairs. He'd offered me the master room a million times over again so that I would be more comfortable. He even offered to move out of the guest house entirely not understanding that him moving out would make me moving in a moot point. I found myself wanting to be around him, enjoying his company.

When my parents and Brooks had left for Europe I had lost a sense of something. I hadn't understood it at the time but I had started to when he came back. After what just happened between us I'm pretty sure I'm starting to gather why. When they left I had slept in his bed, been around his things because they made me feel something.

Safe. Secure. Seen. Heard. Understood. All of those words smack me in the face one after another like a fucking battering ram. There's also another word that I am currently not going to acknowledge. But to say he makes me feel cared for is an understatement.

"We don't have to talk about it, make a big deal out of it. We can leave it."

I frown automatically thinking about some of the last words Brooks had spoken to me. He had basically just shrugged off the experience between us as a casual whatever. Maybe that's all it was to him? No, that doesn't sound right. That doesn't sound like Brooks. Not with all of the things he has told me over the past several months. Not after what he'd admitted to me in New York— that he has feelings for me.

My stomach grumbles, notifying me of the fact that I am currently starving. I push off the bed and head down the stairs then in to the house. The smell of the dish he made wafts through my nose and makes my mouth water.

"I was starting to get worried about you." He's stirring something on the stove with two plates beside him.

"I was just getting dressed." I lean my back against the counter next to him. "Then my stomach reminded me how hungry I am." He lets out an amused laugh then begins plating the food. He doesn't look at me as he shoos me away, telling me to go sit. I head into the dining room and sit myself at the head of the table. It's not long before he joins me, setting down a plate with a massive serving of chicken marsala on it. It looks good, smells even better, but I can't shake the off feeling inside of me.