She cries in her sleep, and her body twitches as if it hurts. I watch her, wondering what’s happening in her mind right now—what she’s seeing and feeling. I worry about what demons could be brainwashing her.

I lie on my side and watch her sleep, taking in every delicate detail of her face, the length of her eyelashes and how they rest on her cheeks like little feathers, the way her lips part as she breathes. I want her in my bed like this every day, with the sun shining down on her golden hair like a halo.

Earlier, I teetered on the edge of letting guilt and regret consume me. First my father, and now this…this insane fucking regret that’s eating me like a virus. The night of the fire is still a haze in my memories, but I keep going back there, replaying every moment. If Wendy wasn’t such a self-centered bitch, she probably wouldn’t have laughed and ignored a terrified little girl. If I had been sober, I probably wouldn’t have fallen when he pushed me. If I had just remembered everything when they questioned me at the hospital, maybe they would have found her.

So many fucking ifs.

The escape of drugs is so fucking tempting. To go back to that place where nothing hurts, where I don’t have to face all these unfair twists and turns of life, to go down that rabbit hole of numbness would be a great vacation right now.

But if I put myself in that place again, I’ll let Holly down. And this time, knowingly so. I’ll lose her, and all the happiness that comes with her. I’ll drag her happiness down with me. If I don’t hide how much the guilt is killing me inside, it will tear her apart.

For her, I’ll stay sober and straight.

For her, I’ll put on the strong and happy mask.

For whatever crazy reason, she loves and trusts me. She sees past all my fuckups and ugliness and just bad shit. Is she so lost in her fairy tale that she’s blind to it all? Or does she honestly love me enough to accept it?

I don’t even fucking care. As long as she’s here, in my life and in my arms.

She’s everything. My past. My present. My future. My twin flame—the one who shares the path of my soul.

* * *

Tanner’s already gone by the time we go downstairs for breakfast, and now she’s staring at her food, lifting the pancakes with her fork, flipping them over. She catches me watching her from across the small table and quickly puts her fork down.

“I wasn’t doing that,” she says. “I was just looking at them.

I raise my brows at her. “You think I would drug you? Or try to bribe you?”

She looks down at her plate in guilt. “I can’t help it. I just do it.”

“I know, sugar. I just want you to be able to eat without being afraid of it.”

“I do too.”

She slowly cuts up her food into tiny pieces and takes a cautious bite from her fork.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“If I asked you to, would you stop doing the fighting?”

That’s the last thing I expected her to ask me. “Maybe. Why?”

“Because I love your face. And I don’t want it getting hurt anymore.”

You skeeve me out.

Her words rock me, right into my soul. Right now, she doesn’t know how much those words mean to me, but I know she’s the only person I’ll ever meet that has the true capacity to understand. We’re kinda made of the same ripped-up cloth.

I chew my pancake and swallow it, not able to get my voice to come out. Instead I stand, walk around the table, grab her face in my hands, and kiss her until she’s breathless and clutching my shoulders. I fist her long hair at the back of her neck and lift her up off the chair, not breaking our kiss as I back her up against the table, pushing our plates to the other side. Fuck breakfast.

“Okay…” I whisper against her lips. “I’ll quit. For you.”

That gets a big smile out of her. “You mean it? You won’t fight anymore?”

“I won’t…if you do something for me.” I lift her up and set her on the table and move to stand between her thighs, my hands circling her waist.

“What?” she asks nervously.

I lean in and nip at her neck, eliciting a faint squeal. “Leave your books home.” I drag my tongue up the side of her throat. “Trust us to make our own story.”

Her head falls to the side as I ravish her neck, and her throat hums. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t try.” I move my lips to her ear. “Just do.”

Her hands slowly glide up my back, her nails leaving a trail of shivers up my spine. I lift the hem of her shirt and let my fingers skim across her stomach, feeling her twitch in response. I dive into her mouth, kissing her deeply, leaving her lips just long enough to get her shirt up over her head. My fingers hook in the straps of her bra and slowly lower them as I move down to kiss her neck, my tongue leaving a trail of dampness straight to her peaked nipple. She gasps when I suck it gently into my mouth, and her hands squeeze my shoulders. I cup her breast with one hand, while my other hand slowly travels down over the curve of her waist to the band of her sweatpants.

My sweatpants. I have a beautiful girl wearing my clothes, kissing me on my kitchen table, even with my fucked-up face.

She lifts her body slightly as I slowly pull off her pants and panties, a subtle green light. I visit her mouth and, this time, her tongue meets mine and her leg wraps tighter around me as we kiss until we’re both moaning and frantically pulling each other closer, pressing our bodies together, seeking more. I cup her breasts in my hands, teasing the tips with my thumbs as I leave the sweetness of her mouth to bend down and kiss her stomach, my tongue lapping over the scars, erasing the intention of the word sliced into her. Her arms wrap around my head, hugging me to her, and she bows down and kisses the top of my head as I show her what mine really means.

Kneeling, I gently push her back with my palm until she’s leaning back on the small table next to the sticky bottle of maple syrup, legs trembling as I caress her thighs. I drink in the sight of her before I touch my lips to her, so warm and wet, waiting for me. Her hips rise, and her hands grip the edge of the table when I run my tongue through her folds, slowly, tantalizing her. I run my hands up her inner thighs, and when they reach my mouth, I gently part her with my thumbs and delve my tongue into her, licking her untouched walls. Her legs tighten around my shoulders and her hand clutches the back of my head, gently tugging my hair as she squirms beneath me and sighs my name.

Witnessing her desire, and the trust she’s put in me to share it with her, is the most beautiful experience of my life, and it placates all my deepest needs and wants. The pleasure and love in her eyes is a much bigger turn on than seeing fear.

My mouth finds her clit, pulsing with need, and I suck it into my mouth as I gently push my thumb into her. Her faint sighs and whimpers fill the room. My cock throbs as I fuck her with my thumb and my tongue, aching to sink into her wet pussy.

I will not fuck an abused virgin on my kitchen table.

No matter how bad I want to.

Standing, I move my lips up her body, sucking and nipping a trail up to her mouth. She kisses me hungrily as I lay my body over hers, and I lean my crotch against my hand, letting the weight of my body push my thumb into her, then slowly out, then in again, showing her what it’s like to have a man’s body between her legs, pumping into her. She tightens around my finger, her hands sliding from my shoulders to my neck, holding me and kissing me like I’m her lifeline. When she starts to shudder beneath me, I pull my mouth from hers so I can watch her eyes flutter closed, watch the shape of her lips as she comes, see the pulse in her neck throb.

As she comes down, I kiss her softly and my lips linger over hers as I gently pull my hand from between her legs and press my hard cock against her, feeling the warm wetness of her through my shorts.

I pull her up into my arms and carry her into the living room, settling down on the couch with her straddling me. She smells of syrup and lust, and I want to devour her like my last meal.

“I love you,” she murmurs dreamily against my lips. “The way you make me feel…I don’t even know what to say.”

“You said everything I need to hear.”

She sits up on me, her long hair flowing down over her breasts. My hands grip her waist tighter, not wanting her to move. Every inch of my body is screaming for a part of her, even an innocent wiggle on my lap.

She fingers a lock of my hair absently and peeks at me shyly from beneath her bangs.

“I know what to do.” She says softly. “For you…”

My eyes narrow at her in confusion as she stands, giving me a gorgeous view of her naked body, and she kneels on the floor between my feet. I instantly snap out of my haze when she reaches for my waistband, and I grab her hands in mine.

“Holly…” My voices catches in my throat.

“I want to.” Her gray eyes lock onto mine as she pulls my shorts down, and I’m powerless under her sweet, sultry gaze and the sudden warmth of her mouth descending on my rock-hard cock.

All the way down.

My eyes literally roll back in my head as she expertly deep throats me, her lips touching my balls as she takes the full length of my shaft.

Oh, fuck. Nothing has ever felt so fucking amazing.

Her tongue swirls around my tip, sucking hard, so perfectly…my cock and brain battle over the euphoria, and then the rage…women aren’t born knowing how to suck dick this way. This was taught. Practiced. Perfected.

I grab her head in my hands and gently pull her off me. “Baby, you don’t have to do this.”

Her eyes shimmer, her lips still puckered and damp. “You don’t want me?”

“I do, but…” Not if she’s forcing herself out of some trained habit.

“Please let me be normal,” she pleads with her hands gripping my thighs, on the verge of tears. “Let me forget. Let us both forget and just be us. I want you…only you…in every way. You are my choice. Let me show you. Please…”

Her wet lips sliding down my dick rob me of any defense, and I succumb to her, because I need her, and I love her, and I want all of her and everything she makes me feel, no matter how hard it might be sometimes.

And I guess we’re perfect together because her demons are strong enough to wrangle with mine.