Love Me for Me (7 page)

"So what do I win?" The laughter faded from my lips as something dark and wicked crossed his face.

"Ladies' choice." His voice was husky, and I felt it like a flash of lightning, searing me from the inside out.

Could I do it? Could I be that bold?

I wanted to. I wanted
him
.

I ran my tongue over my lips to moisten them as I shored up my courage. Then, before I could lose the nerve, I pressed my lips to his, the first time that I had kissed
him
.

He let me lead, let me explore his mouth with my own. My breath was shuddering with nerves and repressed need as I took what I wanted, savoring the kiss, then pulled back to look at him with wide eyes.

I had never before been as vulnerable as I was in that moment. I had offered something without meaning to.

Would he take it?

"Fuck, Serena." Pressing his palms to my back, Alex pulled me to him, crushing his lips to mine again. I groaned under the assault, not protesting when he arranged me so that I straddled his lap.

Through the layers of our jeans I could feel the length of his erection, proving to me just how much he wanted me. I had thought that, when this moment came, I would be terrified, that I would freeze.

Instead I pressed down without fully intending to, blind need clawing at my insides, desperate to get out now that it had been awakened.

"Yes." His voice was a low rasp as he caught the hem of my sweater in his finger and pulled the wool up to bunch above my breasts. He tried to pull it over my head, but I caught at it with my free hand.

"Just... just keep this on. Okay?" Goose bumps prickled my skin as cool air hit the exposed flesh of my belly, but they were quickly soothed by the raw heat of his kiss.

He nodded and let me arrange my sweater to where I was comfortable. I shifted, making sure that my upper arms were covered.

Satisfied, tentative, I worked my hands in between our bodies and undid the buttons of his shirt. I was slow at it, since my fingers were trembling, and we were both panting by the time I worked the shirt off of his shoulders.

"Damn." His hands cupped my waist, traced the horizontal stripes of my ribcage. Then, his eyes fixed on me to gauge my reaction, he pulled one cup of my bra down until my breast fell free of the cotton.

"Ohmigod." His fingers, so gentle as they touched my naked nipple, made me clench my thighs on either side of his hips. "I-oh..."

"All right?" He stilled his fingers for a moment, and I arched into his touch.

"Yes. Yes, good." He chuckled, then resumed the light brushes of touch over the distended flesh. My hips rocked against his, and he hissed in a breath.

Our lips mashed together again as he gently pulled my second breast from its fabric cradle and gave it the same attentions. My mind was a swirl of bright colors that were pure sensation, and I was reduced to a panting, quivering mess.

"Serena." Alex breathed my name against my neck as my fingers roamed over his broad shoulders. I could see the entirety of his tattoos, the dark swirls extending from mid bicep, up and over his shoulders, and down to his shoulder blades. I couldn't appreciate them fully, though, because the feel of his hands on my breasts had blurred my vision.

Slowly, slowly, one of his hands fell from my breast. He slid it down, over the soft curve of my stomach, and between my legs.

I gasped. I'd had hands here before—too many hands—but none of them had ever elicited so much heat. Still, I froze, unsure of what to do.

"Is this okay?" As I looked at him, I saw that those deep blue eyes were serious and watchful. He was paying attention to what I liked, what I didn't.

He wasn't going to go further than I wanted to.

I nodded, then pressed my cheek against the curve of his shoulder. It was damp, and I inhaled the scent of his skin.

Slowly, so slowly, he rubbed his fingers between my legs, over the seam of my blue jeans. I bit back a moan. It felt so good.

Too good.

I didn't want him to stop.

I widened my stance to give him better access. The movements of his fingers were slow and sure, and I felt tension coiling up in my belly.

I traced a finger over the tattoos on his biceps as he stroked me. I frowned through the heat when I felt a pucker marring the otherwise tight satin of his skin.

There... and there. Those were... scars? Yes, small, round scars that pulled tightly against the surrounding skin. They'd been hidden so skillfully by the tattoos that they were impossible to see from anywhere but this close.

He had scars. So did I.

I wondered what secret he had, that he was hiding from me.

Unbidden, the suffocating sensation rose up and began to siphon away my air. I stiffened, tried to fight through it, to stay in the moment of pleasure, but the second I tensed Alex removed his hands from what they were doing, instead clasping me loosely around my upper arms.

He pulled back to look at me.

"What's wrong?" I shivered for a second, looking away.

"Serena." I couldn't help but look at him when he used that tone. His face was serious, but I knew he wanted an answer. "What happened?"

"Nothing." The lie rolled off my tongue as it had so many times before. Awkwardly I scooped my breasts back into my bra, then tugged my sweater down. I was mortified, and with the mortification came the dark shame that had dogged me for years.

"All right." His voice had cooled, and I couldn't help but cringe at the change in his demeanor.

"Alex..." The look on his face was blank, and sent a pang through me.

"I can't make you trust me." He was... could he be hurt? I was puzzled by the notion, by the idea that I had enough power to do that.

"I do trust you." I whispered, looking down at my fingers.

"You trust me with your body." His voice was matter of fact. "But not with anything else. And that's fine. We haven't known each other very long."

But it wasn't fine, and I could hear it in his voice. We may not have known each other very long, but there was a connection that linked the two of us tightly, one that I had just railed against with my reluctance to share.

"I'm sorry." The last thing I expected was for Alex to chuckle. Bewildered, I looked at him, and found him leaning back, both frustration and bafflement evident on his features.

"You're complicated." He was matter of fact, not hurtful, but I flinched regardless. Slightly irritated at this comment from the guy who had just had his hands between my legs, I stood, shaking the loose strands of my ponytail into my face.

"You have no idea." I stood still for a long moment, unsure."I should go." I had been stupid to pretend I could do something as normal as this. My throat felt thick, but I bit my tongue to prevent tears. No. No way.

I was stronger than that.

"Serena." I peeked through my golden curtain to find Alex running his fingers through his hair, the thick strands sticking straight up from his attentions. "Sit."

I shook my head and stayed right where I was.

He heaved a sigh, then stood. "Don't go anywhere." He disappeared through the entry to the kitchen, then returned with a small drawstring bag.

Opening it, he began to pull out items, placing them one by one on the coffee table, naming them as he did.

"Blood glucose monitor. test strips. Finger poker. Syringes. Fast acting insulin. Slow acting insulin. Glucagon." Having emptied the bag, he sat on the couch again, this time perching on the edge, his hands clasped together.

I squinted at the pile of items. I wasn't familiar with most of them, but one word had caught my attention.

"Insulin? You're diabetic?" I eyed the man who was at least six foot three, most of it muscle. He was one of the healthiest looking people I’d ever met, and I told him so.

"I have Type 1 Diabetes. Insulin dependent. It’s something that’s going to happen from the moment of conception. When you’re diagnosed is just a matter of long your pancreas holds out.” From the way he spoke, what he was telling me was very important. "And I'm healthy right now, but I haven't been for very long."

“So... what do you do with all of... that?” I furrowed my brow and gestured towards the equipment he’d strewn across the coffee table.

He picked up the thing he’d called a blood glucose monitor. It was sheathed in a bright red rubber skin, and looked a bit like a small iPod.

“Basically, the word diabetes means sugar in the urine.” He rolled the monitor in between his palms. “Insulin is made by the pancreas, and it helps the body use foods that are broken down into sugars—basically anything with a carb count. Pasta, bread, cake, fruit. You with me?”

“Yes.” Despite my discomfort of moments before, I was interested.

“A type 1 diabetic doesn’t make insulin. When we eat something with a carb count, we have to inject ourselves with enough insulin to take care of it.” Grasping the monitor between his thumb and forefinger, he waved it in the air. “This thing tells me how good I’m doing. It tells me if my sugars are too low and I need to eat some carbs, or if they’re too high and I need some extra insulin.”

“How do you know when to use it?” The idea that this big, ridiculously masculine man in front of me had to do something like this was so strange. I thought of how he’d been measuring his portion of casserole instead of just dumping it onto the plate, and wondered if he had to do that with every meal.

“I prick a finger and use the monitor at least four times a day, sometimes more.” He placed the monitor on the table, picked up a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. “That, along with the amount of carbs I’m going to eat, tells me how much insulin I need. It’s injected into the arms, the stomach, the sides, or the ass.”

I thought of how he had been rubbing his side when he’d come to the table. He’d just injected himself.

“So... it’s controllable, right?” I felt like I was asking the dumbest questions on the planet, but I didn’t know anything about diabetes.

“It is, if you’re vigilant.” He put the syringe and vial back on the table.

“Is everyone as... vigilant... as you are?”

“No.” The word was flat, and I blinked, wondering if I’d asked the wrong thing. He forced a smile when he saw my expression, rubbing his hands on his knees.

“I’m healthy now, Serena. But... I wasn’t always.” He paused, and I knew what he was asking without words. He'd shared something with me... it was my turn.

Diabetes sucked, clearly, but I couldn’t think anything badly of him for it. It wasn’t a fair trade of information. The darkness I held inside of me... he might never want to talk to me again.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Something about him made me want to share, so badly.

The secret was stuck in my throat. The only person I'd ever told was the one who should have believed me no matter what. And she hadn't.

I opened my mouth to try to spit it out, but said something else entirely.

“The injections. Is that what the scars on your arms are from?” Alex reeled back as if I’d struck him, his hand rubbing over the place in question as if the skin hurt.

“No.” His voice was flat, and colder than I’d heard it.

He said nothing else.

My gaze faltered under his challenging stare. I took a step backward, then another, then turned and made my way to the door, emotions churning inside of me in a big, nauseating stew.

I didn't look back.

Chapter Five

I ran faster than I ever had, pushing myself until my lungs burned and the muscles in my legs quivered and threatened to give out. Heaving in great lungfuls of air as I turned into the MacKinnon parking lot, I lifted the hem of my T-shirt to mop the sweat from my forehead.

I wasn’t stupid. I’d tried to go faster because running made me feel like I could maybe leave my problems behind, if only I got up to the right speed. I would never be swift enough to outrun them completely, but I’d gotten quick enough to get here to college, out of that house and away from my misery.

Slowing once I reached the side of the dorm, I braced myself against it with one hand and, balancing on one foot, bent the opposite knee and tucked my foot behind my butt. I savoured the stretch, trying my best not to look at the battered car against which Alex had kissed me senseless nights ago.

I winced as I switched legs, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in my gut. I’d royally fucked things up with him. The one guy who’d made me forget all the darkness, and yet the darkness kept me from giving him what he wanted.

“Idiot.” I berated myself as I pulled my key card from the zip pocket of my running shorts and entered the dorm. In all the years since my life had so drastically changed, I’d searched for that one person who could make me remember what it was like to be me—just me. The me that I’d been before any of it had started.

Even when I’d given up hope that such a person existed, I’d never thought that someone would want more from me than I was able to give. The boys in high school, they’d all been easy—I’d given them my body in exchange for a few moments of secret affection.

Alex was harder. He wanted more.

I wanted him, but I couldn’t give him what he was demanding.

I was in a foul mood by the time I reached my room. The grumpiness turned into discomfort when I opened the door and found that Kaylee was awake, sitting on her bed with her massive art history textbook in her lap.

“Hey.” I knew that my smile was more reserved than it had ever been with her, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Ever since our conversation the other day, in which we’d each admitted a bit more about our pasts than we’d wanted to, things between us had been stilted.

The fact that she was sitting here studying without an imminent exam told me that Kaylee was feeling like things were off too.

Knowing it and changing it, though, were two entirely different things.

“Ugh. How can you do that?” Relief was a fresh breath of air as I gathered my towel and shampoo. Kaylee asked me the same question every time I went for a run.

I usually shrugged and told her that I liked it. This time I found the truth slipping out of my mouth before I could stop it.