Chapter 29
I don’t know why I’m acting like a slut; just last night I was crying my eyes out, now a few hours later I’m craving my sexy hot big
brother.
When he hands me my sandwich, our fingers brush, and I feel that electric shock again. It’s so intense I actually jerk my hand back, nearly dropping the food.
Tristan notices immediately, his brow furrowing with concern, but he doesn’t say anything. Just gives me that same gentle, worried look that makes me feel even more pathetic.
It’s just because I haven’t had a release, I tell myself firmly. It’s been months since… well, since anything. My body is just hypersensitive right now. It has nothing to do with him specifically.
But even as I think it, I know it’s a lie.
“Want to watch something?” he suggests after lunch, already reaching for the remote.
I should say no. Should make an excuse and go hide in my room until I can get my reactions under control, or maybe put bob in action. But I find myself nodding instead.
“Sure. You pick.”
He settles on some action movie I’ve never heard of, and we arrange ourselves on opposite ends of the couch. But somehow, as the movie progresses, the space between us seems to shrink.
When a particularly loud explosion makes me jump, his hand lands on my shoulder, steady and warm.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing small circles against my collarbone. “It’s just a movie.”
The innocent touch sends fire racing through my veins, and I can’t stop the small gasp that escapes me. I pull away quickly, tucking myself into the corner of the couch.
Tristan’s hand falls away, and when I risk a glance at him, he’s studying me with that same concerned expression.
“Athena,” he says quietly. “You keep pulling away from me.”
My cheeks burn. “I’m not……”
“You are.” His voice is patient but firm. “Every time I touch you, you flinch like you expect me to hurt you.”
If only it were that simple.
18:34 Fri, Jan 2 d
Chapter 29
“I don’t…..” I start, but he’s already moving closer, ignoring my obvious discomfort.
‘Listen to me,” he says, his voice taking on that authoritative tone that makes my stomach flutter. “I need you to understand something. I will never hurt you. Never. You’re safe with me, always.”
He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and cups my cheek in his palm. The touch is gentle, brotherly, meant to be
comforting.
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Instead, it makes me want to cry out his name. It make me completely wet for him.
“You need to learn to accept my touch,” he continues, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone. “I know you’ve been through hell, and I know it’s going to take time to trust again. But I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to hurt you.”
How do I do that? When I’m trying to see him as just an elder brother.
He’s being so kind. So patient and understanding. Everything a good man should be when dealing with someone who’s been through
what I have.
But all I can think about is how much I want him to kiss me. How much I want him to touch me the way he did in my dream. How desperately I want him to see me as something other than damaged goods who needs to be handled with care.
“I know,” I whisper, because it’s the only response I can manage that won’t completely humiliate me.
“Good.” He gives me a soft smile and lets his hand fall away. “Now, can we finish this terrible movie, or should we find something
else?”
I force myself to smile back. “This is fine.”
But it’s not fine. Nothing about this is fine.
He might not hurt me physically, but he’s destroying me in ways he doesn’t even realize. Making me feel things I shouldn’t feel, want
things I can’t have.
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Making me fall even deeper in love with someone who will never see me as anything more than his broken little sister.
As the movie continues, I curl deeper into my corner of the couch and try to convince myself that this ache in my chest is just leftover trauma. Just my damaged psyche confusing care with something else.
But when I catch him watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes, I know I’m lying to myself.
Some wounds, I’m learning, never really heal.
They just teach you to live with the pain.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
