Page 6 of Dark Time

“Have you actually read it?” He looked a little uncomfortable, but it had to be asked.

“I haven’t, not completely.” I looked away, uncertain. “I just wanted to sign it so you’d know that I was committed to this.”

“The thing is, that wasn’t just a contract for a lover, Emily. I want you here with me. To travel with me, to go out places without a blindfold, and to explore the world with me.”

“For however long you choose to keep me?” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice, but I did manage to maintain eye contact as I twisted to look at him better.

“That’s just it, Emily.” He sighed and looked away, before he reached down and pulled my face up to his. “I can’t even think about spending a day without you. It hurts too much.”

“I, well…” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kissed him.

Dylan James had just admitted that he didn’t want to be without me. That was pretty momentous. The man who wasn’t boyfriend material, who didn’t want a relationship, he just wanted a fuck buddy before he moved on, had finally met a woman he didn’t want to move along from.

Wow.

“Six months. It’s a promise of six months,” Dylan said, a light of laughter in those eyes. “It’s a promise that I will do all that I can to make you want to keep me around for longer than six months.”

“Oh, you think you can keep me interested, do you?” I asked in a voice that teased while my fingers danced up his chest to cup his cheek. “I’m pretty sure you can, but maybe you need to convince me?”

“I think the way you screamed around that ball gag earlier is all you need to remember, young lady. You came so hard I thought you might have bitten right through that thing.” His eyes went a little darker, and his voice dropped to a huskier level as he spoke, and I had to admit, my body responded to his words.

There was no doubt in my mind I wanted to have a relationship with the man. I wanted all he would give me, and now that we had the problem of who I was out of the way, we could get on with it.

“It won’t be easy, you know. I have a hard time with things like that.” He took a deep breath and for a minute, I thought he’d get up and leave the tub. He managed to stay, though, but he changed the mood and insisted on washing my hair.

He scrubbed my hair and took delight in making it spiky and twisting it around with all the bubbles, but eventually he knew I was getting cold, and we used the removable shower head to rinse my hair. We both cleaned up and wrapped ourselves in the bath sheets he had in place of towels.

They were a luxury I’d used before, but knowing he’d bought them with me in mind made it special. They were a light pink color and so thick and long we could have used them for blankets. I had a smaller towel wrapped around my hair, and we went into the bedroom. Dylan turned on the television, and we found a movie to watch.

He was asleep before it finished, so I turned the movie off and went into the kitchen to find something to nibble on. I reheated some of the paella and read over the contract as I ate the dish with some French bread. He was right, the document was a promise, more than a contract.

He’d kept most of our rules in place, and there were provisions for if we wanted to change the dynamics of our play or our relationship, but for the most part, this was Dylan’s solemn promise to see where this was headed. In six months, we’d go over it all again and decide if we wanted to continue.

There was no real mention of love, or devotion, but it was there. The simple fact that he wanted a relationship out of this, and not just a contract for sex, meant that he had far more in his heart for me than lust.

He just didn’t know how to admit it. I couldn’t blame him. The first woman that told him she loved him, tried to kill him. The woman who gave him life had killed his father in the process of trying to kill them all. That thought kind of soured my stomach, so I went into the living room. I stared out at the city in the distance.

She must have had some subconscious hope that Dylan would survive. That was why she’d told him she loved him, before she’d left. She’d outright murdered his father, but she’d only planned to burn her son to death. Had she hoped he’d escape the flames, and that was why she hadn’t shot him as she did his father? I chewed at my lip as I thought about it.

What kind of madness had driven her to such an act? Not that any of it would ever make sense, but I had to wonder about it. I could imagine my mother agreeing to let one of her children be shunned, she’d done it, but would she ever try to kill me to prove her love for a man?

I couldn’t imagine any of my sisters-in-law doing the same thing to their children. They all seemed like the kind of bear mommas who wouldn’t let anyone hurt their children, for anything, no matter how old they would grow to be.

It hurt me to think of a much smaller Dylan, with innocence still on his face, lying there as his mother poured gasoline on the floor. He’d smelled the strong odor of the fluid and had fled out of his bedroom window.

Tears stung my eyes, and I had to put a hand over my mouth to hold back a sob for that tiny little face. How he must have looked standing there watching as his house burn. I didn’t know if that had actually happened, but my brain conjured the image up, and my heart broke for that small little child.

Had he cried, screamed for his parents, or had he stood there coldly, without an emotion, in shock perhaps? I doubled over from the pain it caused me, and I felt Dylan come up behind me.

“Emily. What’s wrong, darling?” He pulled me into his arms and sank down to the floor with me.

“How could you stand it, Dylan? My God, you poor man.” I clung to him, babbling like an idiot, but he patiently soothed me and let me cry in his arms.

“I endured it the same way you’re enduring your own family’s rejection, Emily. I held my head up and carried on. It was all I could do.” His voice was strained, but he didn’t cry. I suspected he hadn’t cried tears in a long time. He must have cried himself out centuries ago.

Then there was my own pain, my own rejection. We had something in common then, kind of. My family had shunned me. It hurt, it really hurt, but I had him, and that made it bearable. Almost.

Dylan curled around me and shushed me, kissed me, and then he picked me up to carry me to bed. He pulled me into his front, both of us on our sides, before he pulled the duvet over us.