I glance at Brock, his expression as lost as mine—if not more—as I try to digest every warped word she bled out. Head tripped the fuck up, I find her shoulders and gently turn her to the side, my breath disintegrating as I take in the defeated woman before me. I swallow hard, the final piece of who I was before tonight disappearing, the man who’s left becoming an extension of Amber’s bruised soul as I watch her rock back and forth.
It’s as though she’s embarrassed to look at me, her attention focused on the water. I hook my finger under her chin and lift her beautiful face to mine, my heart sinking the second I catch her eyes. There’s so much pain and hurt drowning in them—pain I want to erase from her brain forever. I touch my lips to hers, trying to understand why this jewel doesn’t see herself worthy of anything more than being used for some asshole’s sexual satisfaction.
The afternoon I kidnapped her away to the diner, it was apparent she’d lost herself somewhere between the filthy pages of her life’s story, her corroded past enough to fill a novel. How could it not? The last toxic memory her asshole father gave her left the girl a hollowed-out mess, visions of that sick, twisted day something I’m sure is on constant replay in her mind. Still, the exact moment she gave up on her self-worth, the number of dickheads who helped strip it from her, and why she continues to close herself off, never allowing anyone to truly break down the steel cage surrounding her heart, is something I fear she’ll never let me in on.
But hell if I won’t die trying to crack her open.
“Sorry, but we’re not keeping it at that,” I whisper over her lips, my hand cupping her nape. She attempts to pull back, her battle fought in vain as I tighten my grip, preventing her from moving. “You can spew your bullshit lies to me all day long about how you don’t wanna be loved, respected, or treated the way you should be because you’re not used to it, but—as usual—I’m calling you out, Moretti. I ain’t buying your story. Nice try, but it ain’t happening. Not with me. Not now, not . . . ever, peach.” I press my forehead to hers, our sporadic breaths intertwined as I thumb away her tears. “And based on our earlier conversation, you know I’m one big, fat, persistent prick, so good luck at any wasted effort you dump into trying to change my mind.”
She shakes her head, an exhausted sigh falling from her mouth. “Ryder, please. I don’t—”
“You don’t what, Amber?” I hold her gaze, challenging, testing. “Don’t want us to show you our thanks for what you gave us? Christ, you shared yourself with us. Willingly handed over not only your body but every one of your beautiful, fragile, fucked-up emotions, trusting that we’d do right with all of it, with all of . . . you. Do you know what that means to two assholes like us? Can you even begin to understand what that made us feel like? And I’m not just talking about the physical part, peach, because this shit goes beyond that. Sorry, you might not want it to, but it does. You were right when you said tonight was about sex. True indeed, a small fraction of it was. But you were dead wrong when you skewed it into something that was only about sex. Sex is the easy part.” I press my nose to hers, doing one of those Eskimo-kiss things girls love. “It doesn’t hurt that it’s one of the most . . . interesting parts of getting to know someone.” I move my lips to her jaw. “It was more than . . . fun getting to explore you inside out. I could be wrong, and I apologize if so, but I think you feel the same way about your experience getting to know every . . . single . . . inch of me.”
She gives me a hesitant smile, its glow lifting the boulder weighing down my heart as she nods. “I definitely enjoyed it.”
“Mm. That’s what I thought.” I kiss each of her cheeks, praying I can get this girl to understand what she means to me, how just a single look from her unhinges everything I am. “It’s after the sex is outta the way that the hard part comes. The mental ride, if you will. The part where you’re learning to trust someone with your feelings, secrets, past, present, and future. The part where, right as you start to feel yourself falling for them, you wanna bounce because you’re afraid of where your heart’s gonna take you, but mostly scared to death of what they’re gonna do to it. How much they’re gonna hurt it, leaving you numb to ever loving again. But something tells you to stick around, that they just may have something to offer you, something to teach you. Something that—if shit doesn’t work out—you might be able to use with the next person who stumbles onto your path.”
She knows it’s she whom I’m referring to, my words telling the story of us. “Still you don’t let go. You keep at it, fighting the fucked-up thoughts diseasing your head, all the while trying to hold on to the small bit of hope you have for you and that person. The hope that shit’ll work itself out, that the two of you will find your way through to the end. The hope that there’ll never be another person who stumbles onto your path. That they’re it for you, and you for them. That you’re each other’s . . . forever.”
Amber takes me in for several silent seconds before surrender douses her features, one last tear sliding down her face as she pulls in a shuddered breath. She nods, her muscles going lax as I work my fingers into her shoulder blades.
“Let us spoil you,” I whisper against her forehead, watching as Brock stands, drops his towel to the ground, and sneaks into the Jacuzzi with Amber, positioning himself behind her. “You gave us a gift most men can only dream about, let alone experience. You can deny us anything you want, whenever you want. But hell if we’re gonna let you take away our right as men to worship you the way you deserve to be worshipped.”