Rosie's Thorns 🥀|18+|🥀

29 | Desperate and Obsessive

(⚠️ Sensual tension level two.⚠️)

Love me Harder ~ Steven Rodriguez

《¤Rosie¤》

I stared up at him and swallowed. His mocha eyes ensnared me in their trap as fingers grazed my hip. That small gestured reminded me I was in my old sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that had stains and small holes. With more willpower than I thought I could ever had, I turned my face away from him and pushed him lightly away as I sat up.

"Dominic..." I suck in a deep breath as I push off the bed and cross the room to give us some distance. "We shouldn't- can't..." I didn't even know what to say. He wanted to take a fucking nap. Then why was I making it into something bigger than that.

Because with him... it could lead to something more than that.

"Rosie?" He sounded confused, but I couldn't meet his gaze as I opened the drawer of my dresser in search of something comfortable to sleep in. "I meant to just sleep. I wouldn't push something like that..." He hesitated before sighing. "I just wanted you with me..."

My hand stops on a pair of silk shorts at his tone. He sounded tired- drained. Almost lost. I sneak a peek towards him as I grab the shorts and it's matching cami. He's sitting up straight and looking towards my open bedroom door. Those same dark circles loom beneath his eyes as he falls into his own thoughts.

I wanted to wait until after our therapy sessions to determine whether even being around him was healthy. As much as I found many opportunities to give in, I had found the strength to push away. In this moment, I was teetering between the two. He sat on my bed in a pair of black plaid pajama pants and a black tank top, his muscular arms on display as well as the bandages. Bandages that reflected how much he valued my life, how much he cared, and how much he was obsessive of me. It couldn't be love. With the way his dark gaze would settle on me, claiming me as his with just a silent flicker of his eyes. The way he would take a step forward as if to shield me during our meetings.

I had seen it many times. Our last meeting we'd gone together with, it was obvious the client was flirty. I fiend innocence of the situation, pretending I didn't understand the innuendos. But Dominic, he wasn't pretending. He's eyes bored into the man, already plotting the man's death with every unneeded caress of a hand or wink.

Obsessive.

He wanted me to be his. I could see it now as he finally pulled out of his thoughts and graced me with his heated gaze. I should be disgust, worried, maybe even terrified. Call it a trauma bond from being within Costa Mafiar. Call it being naive. Or even consider it a trauma response. Just as I was beckoned to Luca at the slightest indication of anything remotely close to love, I found myself being hopeful.

Could he love me?

I felt pitiful as I tear my eyes away from him. "I'll be back to help you to your room. I just want to shower first." I mumbled as I clutch the silky clothes to myself and hurry for the bathroom.

After I closed the door, I froze as my hands strangled the loose fabric in my hands. I wanted to cry as my gaze flickered to the mirror above the sink. A young girl stared back at me, utterly lost and broken. Her wide green eyes were glossy and filled with a repulsive false hope. She just wanted someone to love her. She just wanted someone to care.

He cares.

I shake my head as I toss the clothes into the bowl of the sink and turn my face away from my reflection. That girl, the hopeful one that still clawed desperately from the dark crevasse within my mind, should have died with the rest of my that night five years ago. Somehow she still thrived, begging for affection, for someone to care, for a drop of love in a desert of emptiness.