Chapter 44 Make Me What You Want

Chapter 44 Make Me What You Want
ANDERS'S P.O.V.

She is lying to me. She didn't run here because she missed me. She ran here because something was after her, and now I am wondering if the same ghosts that haunt me have realized that I would do everything to keep them away from my Storm.

I looked down at her. She was still resting on my chest, her body fitting right in my arms, and I know. I know she can smell the blood. I always reek of it when I go there; that woman has been there for years. But she hasn't said anything, and I am not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. I don't know if I want Storm to lean into the illusion of the good man she hopes I am by ignoring the evil I really am, or if I want to risk her understanding the darkness within, and potentially running away from it.

I closed the door to the room and laid her on the edge of the bed. She held on to my shirt, her fingers wrapped around the material, her eyes holding mine.

"Are you going somewhere?" She asked, her voice low. 

I wondered how she could possibly lie in my bed, so trusting, so helpless, after smelling that woman's blood on me.

"I am going to take a bath. I got injured earlier. I reek of blood."

Her eyes widened, and it was like everything came together in her eyes. "Can I see it? I can get a..."

"Stay here," I said, gently leaning away. "I will take a bath. I heal on my own."

She nodded, then removed her hand from my shirt. I leaned back to her, gently kissing her forehead, long enough for her to feel all of the things she needed to convince herself to stay with me.

"I won't be long," I whispered, and she nodded, watching me leave. 

The door of the bathroom closed behind me and I leaned back on it, my chest heaving hard, my fingers slightly shaking. 

Maybe this would be so much simpler if that wasn't Storm. If she wasn't the same woman who stirred something long buried in me the first time I saw her back then three years ago, carefree, wild, devastatingly beautiful. 

I stood under the shower, shedding the clothes, and hoping I could shed the guilt I had started to feel ever since Storm came to me. The guilt that almost had me running back to tell her I did nothing to that woman.

Now I look down at my hands and wonder how far they can go, when back then, it didn't matter.

I closed my eyes, wondering where was the Anders who had held Marcus's mother in that room and snuffed the life out of her wolf, chained her up in that dungeon for eight years, keeping her only alive enough to miss her son and curse at me... and felt nothing... I wonder where he is.

Because now I feel guilty for reeking of blood when Storm needs to lean on me, and that... that isn't looking good st all.

"Anders?"

I turned. Storm was by the door, her expression open, beautiful. I watched her as she slowly walked in, unable to look away.

How can one woman make me want to sin as much as she makes me want to go on my knees and beg for redemption?

I opened the shower door for her, and she stepped in, her dress immediately clinging to her body due to the spray.

I leaned forward, reaching for the zipper behind the dress. She let me pull it down, my fingers pushing the sleeves off her, till the dress fell to the floor in a wet thud.

I pulled her closer, my eyes holding hers throughout, my heart hammering in my chest. 

"I have never done this before," she whispered, giving a small, rueful smile. Her hand gently traced the tattoo of red hair and a face outline on my arm, and she looked up again. "I wanted to try."

"What do you want right now, Storm?"

She bit down on her lower lip. "Everything. You. Your thoughts. Your stories. I want to know about that tattoo. And this one. I want to know why you look at me like that when I have done nothing to deserve it."

I gave a small laugh, leaning in, my lips gently brushing the curve of her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. 

"You exist, Storm. Do I need another reason to look at you the way that I do?"

She swallowed, her hands coming around me, her fingers lacing in my hair. "Maybe if you didn't, it would make this easier."

"I don't care for easy."

"I know," she said, leaning away to meet my eyes. "Does that mean I have your permission, Anders? To forget everything else, to pretend to myself and to you that nothing else exists so I can steal enough moments to last me a lifetime even if I leave after a year?"

I met her eyes. She looked conflicted, and those beautiful, expressive eyes said more than her words did. She was asking permission to forget what I am capable of. To turn a blind eye to the darkness and live with the man her presence makes me.

And hell, if that is the only way this works out, she has my permission. Not just my permission, I could go on my knees and beg for it.

"Are you asking for permission to love me, Storm? For a year?"

"Eleven months now," she whispered. "But yes. That is what I am asking. I am asking for permission to forget everything else and focus on you. I don't know about love, but I want to only focus on you."

"Then focus on me." My voice dipped, and I leaned down, trailing my lips down her skin, my hands running down her spine to the very edge of her tailbone. "Focus on just me, Storm. Make me what you want. A good man. Your perfect man. Your slave. The one beneath or above you. Your only worshipper. You have my permission."

She turned, her fingers digging into my hair again. My lips took hers, immediately pushing her to open up, my hands sliding down to her thighs. She gave a small moan, as I lifted her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, her back hitting the glass wall, the water pelting down on both of us.

I guess I and Storm have one thing in common. We like to pretend that we can't see that we are destined for ashes. In a year... or less.