Crew drew in a shaky breath, letting his eyes close for a moment. “I’m sorry.”
“Jesus, please don’t apologize.” I sighed.
He turned his head, avoiding looking at me directly. “I haven’t let another man touch me like this in years.”
“Like how?”
“Like…” Crew’s voice muffled against my shoulder, his forehead digging into my bone. “Like I’m more than an object. Like I’m human. Like I’m precious, almost. Only Willow and Mom ever held me like this.”
There was so much heartbreak as he said it, coming out in wavering bursts, ending on a barely audible cry. His hurt became mine, meldinginto one huge glob of ache neither of us could escape. I wanted to take it all.
My hands trembled as I pulled Crew from my shoulder. I held his cheeks in my palms and examined the pain, tracing it from one point to the other, mapping it out like constellations in the sky.
I avoided the sore spots on his face. I refused to hurt him, intentionally or not. Crew was precious. He was more than an object, and he sure as fuck was human. He was human, with emotions and complexities I hoped to understand one day. I wanted to know the meaning behind the ice in his eyes.
Selfishly—seeing as I was always selfish when it came to Crew—I wanted to see more in them when he looked at me. I wanted his attention and his lust. This man had stolen everything I considered sensible about myself and had thrown it to the wind.
His cheeks were rosy and tearstained. They glistened under the living room’s lighting. He wasn’t moving—wasn’t resisting in my hold, so I took advantage of that. I noted the imperfections and divots that dotted his face: remnants of teenage acne, a few that looked like chickenpox scars, and a couple of scars I was sure came from clients or a rough childhood game of football or whatever it was kids played in the country.
Fucking art was what I saw.
A testament to everything Christians declared holy and perfect.
Crew’s lips slackened, his lips opening on a muted breath. When I found his eyes again, everything suddenly washed away. The buzzing that’d consistently rattled my bones the entire night halted. I didn’t need a bottomless bottle or to cook a dozen new meals to keep my hands busy.
With all the conviction I could muster, I spoke directly into what I hoped was Crew’s heart and soul. “Any time someone touches you, it should be like this. Any hand that has the goddamn privilege to feel your body should be nothing but kind to you. You deserve to be held, protected, and cared for. You are so much more than precious, Crew.” I didn’t mean to tighten my hold on his face, but I couldn’t help it. “You are fucking priceless. Any human within your general vicinity who doesn’t know that or doesn’t treat you as such is an idiot. A monster. Heartless, even.”
I watched it all filter through him. I saw the moment he took in a breath and how he hadn’t let it out for several seconds.
Oceans of disbelief pooled in his eyes. Crew looked at me as if I had turned his entire world upside down.
And maybe I had.
Shit, I kind of hoped I had.
Finally, he sighed. It was broken and choppy, a cry more than anything, but his chest heaved, and his shoulders slumped. He raised his hands, moving them slowly.
I didn’t dare move. I was afraid that if I did, the moment would shatter, and the ground would fall out from under me. Gently, ever so fucking gently, Crew mirrored my hands, placing one on each of my cheeks. His fingertips were a ghost of a touch as he held me. Flames traveled up my neck, stopping underneath his palms as a blush forced its way ahead.
But then he pulled. This time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t calculated or hesitant.
Crew drew me forward, not stopping until our lips were connected and nothing yet everything made sense. The fire stopped where our lips met, soothing my scorched skin.
It was all-consuming. The very soil that nurtured the Earth and gave me the tools I needed to cook every day fell from under me just like I feared it would. I wasn’t afraid, though.
His lips were chapped. They felt rough against mine. We created a new version of life with just our mouths. Something I knew no one else had ever experienced before. Neither of us moved our hands as we devoured one another.
The first slide of our tongues together had me groaning for more. We moved in sync, responding to each other like we’d done this a million times.
When Crew started to move his hands down the side of my neck, I pulled away. He was panting as much as me; his cheeks flushed a gorgeous pink. I rested our foreheads together, focusing on the connection as I placed my palm against the back of his neck.
“Fuck me, Prince Charming.”
I moved back just enough to look into his eyes. “I don’t do rough.”
“And I don’t do soft. Looks like we’re a match made in hell.”
He said it with a smirk, but I didn’t find it amusing. I stayed firm, shaking my head. “I mean it, Crew. I won’t hurt you, and you’re already injured.”
