Scarred

Nine

"But—"

"Just becuase I never said them out loud, doesn't mean I don't think. Haven't you realized I keep coming home to you? I haven't went out a single night, not because you're here or that I'd feel bad for leaving you alone, but because I want to. I want to sit with you and hear you describe everything you did. I want to see you, to be near to you, to take you out on dates. You think I'd do all that if I was just guilty about the scar? Why do you think I took you to meet my friends?"

"Because..." she couldn't really think of a reason. "You're nice."

Oscar chuckled, one hand rubbing her back, the other holding on to her waist to keep her near. He was still not letting her go. Not until she truly believes what he was saying.

"I'm flattered you think I'd do all that because I'm a saint, love. But I'm not as good as you think I am."

If he had really been guilty about the scar, if his only intention was to fix her; he would've simply given her a generous cheque, recommend her a few contacts and let her be on her way. He didn't have to invite her to his home, didn't have to listen to her daily rants, didn't have to stay and wipe her tears when she cries.

He let her absorb all of that information for a moment, staying silent as he kissed the top of her head.

Aurelia had a tough background, lived in difficult times, but he hadn't think she needed pity. Her neighbourhood wasn't the best, but at least she could afford to have a roof. There were people who lived on the streets. If he only felt sorry about that, he could've find her a better place, not take her into his own home. He only did that because he truly wanted her here.

He also didn't have to take time out of his busy schedule to fetch her everywhere. If he felt sorry that she had to take the subway in NYC, he could've sent a car. He was the CEO of a ride-share company for heaven's sake. He didn't need to personally be her chaffeur and risk being late to an important meeting that could cause him money and a failed negotiation. He did that, because he wanted to. Simply because he wanted to.

"What are you thinking about, love? Tell me." Oscar urged, playing with the ends of her gorgeous red hair.

Aurelia had her head leaned against his chest. "I don't know..." she struggled, hating how her doubts now seem so trivial.

"It's okay. I wanna hear it."

"I..." she swallowed, took a deep breath. "It's just... you don't seem to want me." She winced.

Oscar pulled her back at arm's length, waiting for her to glance up before he spoke. "Want you?"

She looked away.

She meant... "you think I don't want want you?" He groaned, cupping her jaw to force her to see the raw intensity he'd been trying to conceal. "You have no fucking clue."

Their lips met and he wasted no time to devour her soft ones. This was a real kiss. Not the see-you-later or i-can't-control-myself-so-it's-a-peck kiss. His free hand slid up the back of her head as he showed her with his mouth how much exactly did he meant. Too much. So much that he applauded himself for being a gentleman.

She opened up to him with no reserves. They'd kissed like that before, the very first night in the club while she sat on his lap, and he'd had to stop himself before he took her in front of an audience.

"God, I've wanted you so damn much." He said between kisses. "I want you every fucking day."

Aurelia pulled away first, breathing harder. The way she glanced up at him from under her lashes made it worse. "But you didn't—"