"He's got a place I paid for but prefers being around the others. To him, they're family."
"I'm sorry." She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. "Neither one of us had a normal upbringing."
"We have each other." He caressed her head. "Your mom never deserved you."
Her heart skipped a beat. No one had ever told her she was worth more than her mom. None of her teachers or friends ever had. She never allowed anyone to get close to her for fear they'd reject her. It still amazed her that from the moment she met Serge, he pushed his way into her life, knocking down all kinds of barriers—and she let him.
"Can I tell you something without you going all scary Serge on me?" she asked.
"Scary Serge?"
"You know what I mean."
"Won't promise you that. Talking about this shit has me wanting to punch something." He raised his brow when she stiffened. "I said something, not you."
She patted the bed. "Come here, so I can hold your hands then."
His weight created an indentation in the mattress. She scooted closer and dropped the sheet, not caring that she was naked underneath. She held her hands out, palms up, and clasped Serge's when he offered them.
"I know I've been in my head too much the last several days. I worry..." She exhaled harshly. "This is hard for me."
"Take your time," he mumbled.
She raised her shoulder to rub her cheek. "You're like no one I've ever met before. Even the way we go about creating this...this relationship is new to me."
"Is that a bad thing?"
She lifted her head. "No, I like it."
"Like the relationship or like me?" He tilted his head.
The beat of her heart echoed in her ears. She had held back her feelings, knowing that Serge placed such emphasis on sex. However, she was tired of keeping everything to herself. He needed to know. He deserved to know. She needed to tell him.
"I'm falling in love with you." Before he could stop her, she said, "I also like what you do to me. You make me feel special."
She could no longer take it back. It was out in the universe. He'd heard her.
Aware that what she confessed to him was a lot to hear, she retreated when he never responded. She turned away, finding her nightshirt she'd thrown off last night, and slipped it over her head, needing to cover her body and try to hide the vulnerable side of her.
She sensed Serge behind her just before he fisted her hair at the base of her neck and pulled her back to him. His reaction startled her, yet she wasn't surprised or fearful.
His emotions manifested in a different way than most people who expressed themselves with words. Instead of talking to her, he bulldozed through anyone in his path to find a place where he could come to terms with the situation. This time, she sensed that he wanted to communicate his feelings toward her.
He arched her spine and sucked on her neck. "You like this?"
The strong tug on her scalp snapped her to attention. "I do."
She winced. There was no way the mark he put on her neck with his mouth would be gone in a few hours. "Serge, please."
"Do you know what you do to me?" He whispered into her ear, but the tone wasn't gentle. "Do you know how I feel?"
Her legs folded, and he caught her under the arms. He eased her down until her knees hit the wooden floor, and she swallowed repeatedly as her throat thickened. "You want me."
"More than that," he muttered. "I want to fucking own you."
"Yes," she whispered on a hiss.
"I need." He undid the buttons on his jeans and fisted his cock. "You."
