Ignited(49)

He stroked my hair, twirling a blond curl around his finger. “You were a little girl whose body was awakening, and I know that you understand that. I know you don’t really think you have anything to feel guilty about.”

“I do know that,” I said. “But knowing and feeling are two completely different things. And my body hasn’t really caught up with the program. It doesn’t matter, though,” I continued. “Not anymore. You’ve got me past it over and over. That’s pretty amazing.”

“You humble me, Kat. But don’t lift me too high. I assure you, I’m fucked up in some extraordinary ways.”

“So maybe we’re both broken,” I said. “Maybe we make each other whole.”

He looked at me for so long, I thought he was going to stay silent—and I started to get scared. Those were relationship words, and I wasn’t entirely sure where they came from.

Except that was a lie. Maybe I’d told myself and Sloane that Cole was simply an itch to be scratched, but I’d never really believed it. Who’s better at lying to herself than someone who’s spent her entire life spinning lies?

And that particular lie had been a balm against a broken heart.

But Cole hadn’t broken my heart. Just the opposite. And now I was waiting—and not too patiently—to find out if he felt the same way.

“Cole,” I said. “Please say something.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, then wrapped me in the circle of his arms. “You’ve already said it all.”

We held on to each other like that for a while, and I think I would have liked to have stayed that way forever. But I couldn’t escape the one nagging thought. “Why was it so easy for me before, but when you woke me up just now, I was all bottled up?”

“Because I was taking,” he said matter-of-factly, “and earlier, you were giving.”

I shifted in his arms so that I could see his face—and so that he could see the confusion on mine. “Come again?”

His mouth curved into an ironic smile. “You’re a submissive, Kat.”

I blinked at him, trying to wrap my head around both the word and the concept.

“I don’t like labels,” he continued, “but I think the idea is true. Whether you always would have been or whether what happened to you as a kid shifted something inside of you, it’s true now. It’s part of you. Someone takes, and you close up. But if you give yourself to someone, then you’ve not only freed yourself but given them the best gift possible: all of you.”

“You’re saying I relinquish control? I don’t think so. Even with you I was always—”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s my point. You were always. You’re not giving up control. You’re grabbing control by the balls. You’re saying this is what you can have. Me, my pleasure, my body, and my heart.”

His words rang over me, clean and true and pure. Except for one small thing. “You’re wrong,” I said, then pressed my finger to his lips when he started to argue. “Not someone, Cole. You. You’re the only one I trust. The only one I could hand it all over to.”

I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Why?”

“Because you matter,” I said, echoing the words he’d said to me. And then, as I watched the smile ease slowly across his face, I knew that not only were the words true, but they were the perfect thing to say.

thirteen

Since Cole’s cooking skills ranked somewhere below mine, we had coffee and frozen waffles for breakfast. They actually tasted pretty good, and I liked the domesticity of eating them in his well-lit kitchen, sharing the newspaper, and occasionally brushing hands just for the hell of it.

I even offered to clean up, since that required little more effort than loading the dishwasher and throwing away the empty cardboard Eggos carton.

I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, then checked my phone. “I should get going,” I said. “I need to change before my shift starts at ten, and I want to go see my dad first.”

He looked up from the Business section. “No,” he said, and then went back to the paper.

I held out my spoon and knocked the top of the paper down again. “You want to say that again?”

“You heard me. No.”

“No¸” I repeated. “I hope you’re telling me that Glenn called and my shift doesn’t really start at ten. Because if you’re telling me I can’t go visit my father, I’m going to be more than a little ticked off.”

“You can’t go visit your father.”