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The pressure around my neck squeezes a little tighter. It doesn’t hurt or cut off my oxygen. But the darkness behind my lids and the constricting weight throws me back into the twisted recesses of my mind.
His breaths against my cheek. His cold hands grip and pinch my skin.
FORTY-FIVE
ROSY
“Open,” the voice commands.
My stomach drops, unable to respond and too scared to do as it says. A whimper tumbles from my lips, too quick for me to pull it back in, and the panic swirls inside me over the anticipated repercussion.
“Little tease, open those fucking eyes,” it growls, taking on a husky familiar tone.
My eyes flash open in response to him.
Dark eyes glare back at me. Nate’s brow is furrowed deeply as he scans my face. Disappointment floods my chest, and I fight the thick mass rising in my throat.
I need to do better, be better.
His gaze flicks down to his palm, and the scowl somehow manages to deepen further.
“My hand…terrified you,” he states, loosening his fingers.
I dart out, latching on to his wrist when he makes a move to pull away.
“No, I’m sorry. Please don’t let go,” I implore desperately.
His head moves imperceptibly, his ire no longer on me but on his own hand. Or my hand.
Crapsicles, I don’t know. I just know that he was finally kissing me, then I had to get lost in my head and ruin it.
“Please? It wasn’t your hand. It was dark when I closed my eyes, and well, then your hand threw me back there. But I want your hand. I love it on me. I do, I promise.” I nod, desperate to wipe away his disbelieving look.
“Don’t want to hurt you or remind you of it,” he grinds out, the frustration heavy in his tone. It’s just one of the many things that cements in my mind that this man really is the sweetest.
“I know that,” I urge, leaning into his palm.
With Nate, I love when he holds me like this.
He has me.
“Can we keep going?” I hedge, needing him to trust me and help me work through this together. I’m never going to be able to move forward if I don’t try to work through something that has me scared or flashing back.
At least with this, I’m with Nate, and I’m not trying to push through it alone.
“What?” he barks, and some of the hope sinks.
I shake my head, and a part of me withers in disappointment.
“It’s okay, I get it.” I paste on a false smile and move to shuffle off his legs and unpluck his fingers from my neck.
Nate’s impatient huff flutters the tendrils of escaped hair from my messy bun. “No. Explain. I need to know what you need. What’s okay, and what’s not.”
Oh. Well, that’s at least not an outright refusal to continue.
My hands fall into my lap. “Maybe eyes open? But I want the hand to stay. I want the memories, the feel of it to always be yours in my mind. Also, no tying up? I don’t think I’m ready to try that. Or maybe never? Your voice helps too,” I rush out, fidgeting my fingers.
“Up,” he says flatly.
