Where do you want me? I want to taste you everywhere.”
Oh my God, I suck so much for what I’m about to say next.
“I, um…want to slow down.” I tense in his arms, my body literally hating me right now.
He instantly pulls back and blinks in confusion, his dark eyes scanning mine with concern. “Shit. Are you okay? Is this not…? Did I misread…”
“You’re fine,” I expel on a breath of longing, touching my finger to his lips hungrily while wanting them all over my body. “I said yes. I want this. I want it very much.”
“Good.” He offers me a lopsided smile that makes him look more boyish than I’ve ever seen him.
“I just…I need to tell you something.” I rub my forehead nervously, trying to figure out how I’m going to say this as I struggle to catch my breath.
His brows knit together as his gaze darts from my lips to my eyes. “You can tell me anything.”
I swallow the knot in my throat as my nose begins to twitch like it has a mind of its own. “I…um…”
“Tilly.” He says my name gently as his hands move from my hips to cup my face as he slides his thumbs soothingly along my cheeks and forces me to look at him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
I nod woodenly and feel tears burn the backs of my eyes as he looks at me with so much concern and compassion, it’s difficult to accept. I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’m a mess.
“I…haven’t slept with anyone since…well…” I focus on his buttoned shirt, struggling to make eye contact as embarrassment heats my cheeks.
“Since when?” he asks curiously.
I inhale through my nose and force myself to be honest. “Since London.”
He blinks back at me for a long second as he processes that. “Fuck,” he finally replies. “Him?”
I nod, my chin wobbling at that realisation and then shaking that thought away as fast as I can.
“Why?” he inquires, confusion in his voice.
I shrug and sniff, running my hand through my hair nervously. “I don’t know. Fear? Regret? Self-punishment?”
“Christ.” Santino tilts his head as he looks at me with a new expression I can’t quite decipher. God, please don’t be pity. I can’t take pity from him. Finally, he shakes off his stupor and leans in to press a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Tell me what you need.”
I shake my head, trying to come off like this is no big deal but feeling like it’s an enormous deal. An embarrassing, gigantic, idiotic issue. “Look…I get it if this is a lot more than you bargained for. I should have told you before you asked me to…like…be yours and all that.”
“Tilly…”
“No, it’s fine. It’s messy. I’m messy. I’m sure I still have stuff to work through with another therapist, so I think it’s better if you and I just call it now before it gets too complicated.”
Santino steps back, staring at me like I’ve just slapped him. “You want to call it?”
“I can’t ask you to—”
He holds his hand up, cutting me off, his jaw muscle ticking angrily. “If you want to call it because you don’t want me, then you call it for that reason. But don’t call it because of some fucked-up shit you have in your head that you’re too damaged for me. Because you’re not.”
“But I am,” I exclaim, my heart breaking over the knowledge that I’m self-sabotaging this, something my therapist back in Scotland told me I’m very good at. “You’ve got your whole life together here, Santino. You have a basil plant on your balcony, for Christ’s sake.”
“Who cares? Maybe I want to share my basil plant with you.”
“Well, I’m still a work in progress, and I don’t need you fixing me with your fresh basil!”
“I’m not trying to fix you, Tilly,” he snaps, desperation in his voice. “And we have to stop talking about basil, or I’m going to throw that bloody plant over the ledge.”
I reach out to cup his cheek, hating his tortured eyes. “You tried to fix me all those years ago, and at the time, I didn’t get it…but now I do. It’s just you…you’re a fixer. You’re this saint wrapped up in a suit, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to help me.”
“I don’t feel like that.” Santino’s voice takes on an aggressive edge I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him. “You’re not the only one with baggage, Tilly. Jesus Christ. My life