“Yeah,” I whisper. “At my body. At your marks.”
Austin groans. “Yeah, me too. Let’s go.”
He climbs off me, then turns to offer me his hand. He leads meinto the bathroom, then stands against the wall while I get up the nerve to look at my reflection.
When I finally do, I gasp.
My eyes can’t find a place to focus.
Teeth marks on my shoulder, mottled bruising on my throat and across my chest. Red marks from beard burn. The evidence of our pleasure streaked across the bruises.
I run my fingers over each one reverently. There’s a particularly dark spot on my hip where Austin bit down hard. Each indent of his teeth is visible, and it’s slightly sore to the touch. But there’s no pain. Not really. Not the type of pain I felt when Damien’s marks lived on my skin.
Just like I’d hoped, I feel loved and cherished.
I step back and look down. There are small, round bruises on the insides of each of my thighs, proof of the path Austin kissed up as he worshipped me and took me apart piece by piece, slowly putting everything back where it belongs.
More heart fragments escape from their hiding places, slotting back into place. It’s not until Austin wraps his arm around me and pulls me into him, then tilts my head back and wipes under my eyes, that I realize I’m crying.
Judging by the soft smile on his lips, he knows what I know. That the tears aren’t bad. They’re cleansing and healing. Damien took everything from me. And Austin’s giving it back plus more.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers.
“Because of you,” I croak out. “I look like this because of you.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You look beautiful because ofyou,baby. Do you like them?”
“I do.” I sniffle hard, more tears spilling from my eyes.
Austin wipes these away too, then leans in for a kiss. “So beautiful.Inside and out.”
He holds me for a second, and when he finally lets go, he grabs a washcloth. He’s careful as he cleans me up, wiping away the drying cum from my body. When he’s done, I look down at myself again.
All that’s left is a slight flush on my skin and the proof of his love. Me and him. Us. A living, breathing monument to our relationship. To his love.
Relationship.
That’s what this is, isn’t it? Calling it anything else is kind of silly.
“You love me,” I say softly.
“With my whole heart,” Austin answers.
I nod. “I want to be with you. Actually be with you. I want to be yours.”
He cups my chin and encourages me to look at him. “You are mine,” he says gently, searching my eyes.
I am. I know it, and he knows it. My body aches in the most perfect way. Proof, proof, proof living on my skin. Proof of Austin’s love. Proof that I never deserved pain. “I am. But I want the label. I want to call it what it is. A relationship.”
I’m met with silence, and for a second that worries me. Is it too much? Does he not want that after all?
A breathtaking smile spreads across his face, and when he speaks, his voice is more choked up and shaky than I’ve ever heard it. “Nothing would make me happier, baby.”
I take his hand, relieved beyond belief, and lead him out of the bathroom and back into our room. “Can we cuddle? I just want to be close to you.”
“I’d let you live in my skin if I could, baby,” Austin says with a smile in his voice.
We climb into the bed together, and as soon as we’re settled, Iwrap myself around Austin. I close my eyes, content and so fucking loved.
