Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Margot

I'm not sure how much later it is when I wake again. My room's darker.

Jigsaw's still holding me. I lift my head and find him watching me.

"Did you sleep?"

"Can't."

"Why?" I roll away from him. "Is your arm numb from holding me? You should've just told me to move."

He stretches and flexes his arm. "But I like holding you."

"I like being held by you." My cheeks warm and I have to look away.

"Hey." He rolls closer and grips my chin, turning me to face him. "Are you okay? Hurt anywhere? That was a lot…if it had been a while…" His voice trails off, but his serious eyes never leave my face.

I close my eyes for a second, checking in with my body. "No, I feel spectacular."

Relieved, he blows out a breath and pulls me closer, draping his arm over my waist.

"Can I ask you something without you making fun of me?" I drag my fingers over his shoulder and down the arm resting on my body. "It's a bit strange."

"I love strange." He props his head up on his hand and waits. "Hit me."

Heat slides over my skin. Am I really asking this? I'm pretty sure I already know the answer. "How come, and please don't let this go to your head, you're, um, a lot bigger than any other experience I've ever had. But it doesn't hurt?"

Instead of the laughter I expected, dead silence fills the space after my question.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and asks in a much calmer than he looks voice, "Did any of those other experiences ever bother to warm you up?"

"Not the way you do," I admit.

He slides his fingers over my shoulder and down my arm. "Your body needs to be ready." His hand slips between my legs and he groans. "You don't have any problem getting wet. I'm guessing whoever you were with didn't bother with foreplay."

Now that I know the difference, I can say, no, there was never real foreplay.

"Your mind's important too." He strokes his fingers through my hair. "If you're anxious or worried it's hard for your body to get excited."

I squirm closer and rest my hand on his chest. "Are you always so considerate and patient? Or am I receiving such a robust education because you want to be a good teacher?"

The tenderness in his expression vanishes. He rolls to his back and throws his arm over his forehead. "Fuuuck me," he mutters.

"What?"

"Nothing." He stares at the ceiling for so long fear prickles over my skin. Is he mad at me?

"Thank you."

He flicks his gaze to me. "For?"

"Being such an excellent teacher and letting me ask weird questions. Even if I annoy you."

He sighs and pulls me closer. "You don't annoy me." He glances over. "Now will you tell me what your asshole ex said that made you think you're not good at sex?"

"No. It's too embarrassing." I lift my chin. "Besides, it doesn't matter anymore. You've proved him wrong." When he doesn't answer right away, panic claws at me. "Right? You think I'm good?"

"I think you're perfect." His gaze shifts to the ceiling again. "And I hope to fuck you won't try to waste your time winning him back."

"What?" I push up. "Why would you think…that's not what this is about."

His jaw clenches tight. "Isn't it?"

"No. Look, just say it if you want to. We're done with lessons. You're done." I choke on a sob. "With me now."

"What? No." He sits up and pulls me against him. "Why would you even say that?"

"Because we had sex. It was amazing. You don't have anything else to teach me."

He rumbles with laughter, but there's a hard edge to it that leaves me uneasy. "How wrong you are, little one."

Tingles of desire push my concern and exhaustion away. "Oh."

"I told you I was happy you bought that big box of condoms." His fingers trace a lazy path between my breasts to my stomach. "There are still many, many things left to teach you."

Jigsaw

"I'm looking forward to learning them." Margot seems less hesitant.

Fuck, for a minute there, I was going to agree with her and say, yeah, let's call this good.

But I can't fucking do it.

"Did you say something about food before?" I pat my stomach. "I'm starving now."

"Yes." She sits up quickly, like she's worried she hasn't been a good hostess. "I made a baked sausage and cheese rigatoni earlier. I was planning to freeze it and have it throughout the week."

"That sounds good."

She blows out a relieved breath. What'd she think I was going to do, reject a home-cooked meal?

Being with her is so comfortable, I sit up without thinking and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, tapping the lamp by her bed on.

Behind me, she gasps and moves closer, her knees rubbing against my hip.

"Who did this to you?" Her feathery touch against the ancient scars crisscrossing my back sends a shiver down my spine. Why does this one tiny woman have the power to make me tremble?

Who did this to you? Not what did you do? Most people assume it was an accident or even that the scars were self-inflicted. The ink I tried to cover it with didn't quite get the job done.

"My father." None of the shame I usually feel from admitting my own flesh and blood enjoyed whipping me to shreds comes with the admission. The twisted glee I sometimes get from shocking people with the truth is absent too. Understanding. That's all I want from her.

"Your father?" Her voice soft and pained.

Unable to speak, I nod.

Light, feathery sensation slides over my skin. "Does this hurt?"

"No. It feels…weird, like, less sensation in spots. But it doesn't hurt anymore."

Heat from her soft naked body. Something wet splashes against my skin.

Having her at my back, touching me but not looking directly at me, makes it easier to say, "He was a mean fucker."

"What about your mother?"

"She ‘disappeared' when Jezzie was four or five."

"Your little sister?"

"Yeah." My lips curve, remembering her as a kid. Always too serious for her age.

"What do you mean your mom disappeared ?"

"My father said she died but we never had a burial or anything." The more I talk, the easier it is for the words to come out. "As a kid, I accepted his word. Didn't have much choice. But as I got older, I started to wonder if he killed her or she ran away."

"Where is he now?" She shifts her body so she's sitting next to me, one leg tucked under her. She winds her arms around my bicep, pressing her breasts against me, and rests her chin on my shoulder. As if she senses the physical contact helps me explain.

"He'll never hurt another woman or kid again." I flash what some have called my serial killer smile. "That's all I can say for certain."

Margot's stare burns into the side of my face. I turn and her lips curve into a sinister smile. "Good."

Her approval pushes me to confess something only Rooster and a handful of brothers know. "I scattered pieces of his body from Oregon to Maine. It would take years and a lot of people to put him back together. That's how I got the road name Jigsaw."

She blinks. "So when you joke that your name comes from collecting the body parts from your enemies, you're not kidding."

"Sometimes, if you say the unhinged stuff with a straight face people assume you're fucking with them."

"I'll have to try that." A pained expression crosses her face. "Is that why you didn't want to take your shirt off the first couple of times we…"

I nod slowly and try to give her the truth. "I didn't want to ruin the moment. Or have you ask me questions?—"

"I'm sorry, I —"

"No, it's fine. I'm glad you asked." I rest my hand on her knee. Thoughts I can't form into words bubble up.

I've never told all of that to anyone before…

…You're not just some sex project to me…

But I can't seem to line them up the right way.

Instead, I do what I'm good at. Crack a joke. "You think my clothes are dry yet? I don't want to drape my balls all over your furniture while you're feeding me."

Margot doesn't laugh. She leans in and presses the softest kiss to my cheek. "I'll go check."