Page 108 of Iris' Lying Eyes
∞∞∞
Later, I roll over and stare at him through my lashes, resting my chin on his chest. “B?”
I’m deliciously sated but something thrums beneath my skin, making me twitchy.
“Hm,” he rumbles, and I shiver. He’s so everything, and being this close is like touching fire. I know it’s bad for me, but it’s so goddamn warm.
“How did you end up here?”
His brows drop, and I regret the question when he flips me over and sits up. With his back to me, he says, “I had to.”
“Why?” I ask, but the question is barely a whisper as I stare at his skin. Thin white lines compete with thicker versions, crisscrossing his back from neck to navel. In some places, it’s hard to determine where one ends and another begins.
My heart hurts for the boy who endured such pain, and without thinking, I run my fingers over the layers of abrasions. My fingertips tingle and I resist the urge to make it better, assuming I even could.
He stiffens, and his shoulders meet his ears before he grabs my hand, stalling my movements. Leaning my forehead against his back, I whisper, “Where did you get these?”
I’ve never asked before because B has always been closed off. You don’t talk to him about his life, his past or his present, and you’re good. This is the first time I’m pushing that boundary, and while my pulse jumps at the significance, I don’t take it back. I want to know, and I want him to want to tell me.
When he doesn’t immediately speak, I wrap my hands around his waist and spread my fingers wide. Starting at his shoulder, I press my lips to his skin and his entire body bows off the bed before he collapses back to his ass.
“Oh,” I say, pulling away, but he won’t let go of my hand.
Instead, I rest my cheek against him and breathe deeply, fighting the tears that fill my eyes.
What happened to him?
After a moment, he says quietly, “My first foster placement. The man was a mean old bastard. He was in it for the monthly paycheck, no surprise. I didn’t give a fuck about him or his bitchy wife, but I did stand up when a new kid came along, and he invited her into his room.”
“Shit,” I say softly, clenching my hand into a fist. He pries my fingers apart and intertwines them. The gesture makes my heart hurt, and with a deep breath, I say, “Why are you here?”
His chest jumps, and I frown, frustrated that I can’t see his face. But then he turns, grabs my chin, and says, “It was the only way to get to you.”
Everything slows as I process his words before I scoot away and rasp, “What are you saying?”
He observes my maneuver with a cool expression before spreading his arms wide. “Isn’t this what you want, baby? Power? Money?”
The words don’t compute until they do, and flinching, I turn my head away. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know anymore,” he growls, standing to pace away.
Shaking my head, I watch him with wide eyes. “So, what? You became a made man—for me?”
I don’t know whether to be flattered or appalled, so I settle on the latter because I can’t afford to contemplate the first.
Bastion flings his arm out and growls, “You said he would never stop. Well, let him try to come through me.”
As romantic declarations go, it’s decidedly lacking, but the sentiment hits me directly in the heart, and raising my eyes to his, I bite my lip, damning my chin when it still quivers.
His face falls, and he steps toward me until I hiss, “Damn you.”
Pausing, he stares at me wide-eyed before huffing, “I’ll never understand you, woman.”
“No. No,” I say, slashing my hand through the air. “You don’t get to blame this on me.”
“Blame what?” He roars. “I’m telling you that I’m here for you, and you’re acting like a bitch.”
“Ha!” I scream, scrambling across the bed and slapping his chest.