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I supposed I should have felt bad about all the ruined, broken-hearted girls I’d left around the city…and country. But I’d never really gone for that whole guilt-ridden thing. My disorder was a part of me; why
should I feel shame for it? If God had wanted me to be different, he would have made me different.
I loved the initial rush of falling in love. I loved love.
Dahlia. Was it strange that I wanted to roll in her name, wrap it up around me, tattoo it on my skin?
Her hair was a mess, a glorious mess. It was gold, almost like Raphael’s, but obviously way better. Would it be weird if I asked to cut off a piece to keep? Hmm. Maybe I should wait until after a few dates before I did that. Her eyes were what really took the cake, though. They were a stunning shade of light blue, like a sky on a cloudless summer day.
A little smile peeked through, and I was immediately obsessed with the idea of seeing more of it, of making her smile as much as I possibly could.
I mean, she had walked in on me getting a blowjob from another chick. But that was in the past. If I’d
known she existed, there would have never been another girl. She would have always been my world.
Another smile. Fuck. I wanted to grab my phone and start snapping pictures. Down boy, we don’t want to scare her off, I told myself.
She laughed and I leaned forward, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. My list was already adding up, things I wanted to see her do. Smile, laugh, show me her boobs.
But right now, I was more jealous than I’d ever thought possible that he was getting to marry Dahlia. He was the luckiest bastard in the world as far as I was concerned. But as long as her heart belonged to me, I could deal with him getting to marry her. She’d still carry the same last name as me.
“Dahlia,” I murmured, and she winced because she could hear the ache in my voice. “If I have to, I’ll love you enough for the both of us.”
He gazed down at me, his brilliant green eyes impenetrable as always even as he gave the crowd his best impression of a man in love. I couldn’t take it. He could look at me any other way he wanted, but not like that. “Please don’t look at me like that,” I whispered to him, making sure that my pain wasn’t written across my face. “Like what, Dahlia?” he said, bemused. “Like you’re not going to spend the rest of our lives breaking my heart.”
“You should know by now that ‘should’ is a worthless word, Raphael. It’s almost as worthless as hope.”
“I would sooner die than hurt you,” he confessed softly, like I was a priest absolving him of his sins. “But if you ever let another man touch you again, there isn’t a place they could hide in this world. I will
hunt them down to the ends of the earth, and every scream they give me will belong to you.”
"If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave."
When I got to the edge of the bed, I slowly lowered myself to my knees. Then I placed my hands on my knees, palms facing up…my body shaking. “Take back your power,” I told him, keeping my gaze on the floor submissively. “Use me to do it.”
My poor Lucian. I wanted him. With every fiber of my being. I wanted the good and the bad. The man who would kill for me. I wanted him open and raw and aching with a primal drive to imprint himself into my soul. I want to fall apart in his hands.
