He hates himself in this moment.
Despises every breath that escapes him, that poisons the air between them. It breaks him, the way that she folds into him and every decent bone in his body screams at him to stop. Screams at him to break away and leave her be—leave her alone. But he is weak and the scream is not louder than the one that tells him to stay. That relaxes into her touch. That finds solace in the softness of her body pressing into him.
Plume chokes back a sob at her question. “Yes,” he says, fervently, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Yes, Anonya,” this time, more urgently. How could he not find her beautiful? How could he find her anything but what she was? “Oh god, Anonya, you are so beautiful.” His voice is husky now and there is something hot in the back of his throat—self-loathing, perhaps. Need. He can’t tell anymore.
She breaks him further though and if he were a better man, it would be the final straw.
It would be what drives him back into the shadows to howl in anguish, to die of his own pain alone.
But he just pulls her closer. “Don’t apologize,” he says as he kisses her again. “You’re so perfect, Anonya. You’re so beautiful and wonderful and I don’t deserve you or your love—I never have.” His lips find her jaw and sweep down to her mouth. “Don’t apologize. Please.” His need eclipses everything as it screams to life against his pain and he is blinded by it—smothered by it. Completely drowning in it.
“Teach me to love you right,” he whispers into her. “Help me be good enough for you.”
PLUME
but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to