She still wants me.
Her hands reach for me, hesitating just before making contact, giving me a final chance to pull away. I stay perfectly still, barely breathing as she grips my shoulders and draws me back down.
My arms cage her in again.
I'm afraid to move as her hands explore my bare chest.
Gentle.
Always so gentle.
Her touch maps me with deliberate care, tracing each scar, each ridge and valley of muscle beneath damaged skin.
"Holy shit," she whispers. "You're like a god carved from stone."
Can't process her words.
Can't make them fit with my reality.
My heart hammers against her palms.
My breathing quickens.
No one has ever touched me like this.
No one has everlookedat me like this.
"Does it hurt?" she asks softly.
I shake my head.
Old scars.
No physical pain.
I reach up.
Can't stop myself.
My palm finds her cheek.
Thumb caresses her parted lips.
This omega is a beautiful, impossible creature.
Holding my gaze, she turns her face.
Nuzzles into my hand.
Presses a soft kiss to the center of my scarred palm.
Knocks my breath out of my lungs.
Feels like if I breathe, this might end.
She reaches down, grabs the hem of the sweatshirt I gave her, and pulls it up and over her head.
I almost choke on my own breath.
