Permission granted, I moved my hand across his chest. The dark hair there was warmed by his skin, following the natural lines of his body. It was softer than it looked but still distinctly masculine.
“You’re studying me,” he observed, watching my face.
“I am.” No point denying it. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay,” he covered my hand with his briefly. “Just don’t stop.”
I spread my fingers wide, felt the solid muscle underneath, the breadth of him filling my palm.
“What’s this one from?” This close in the morning light I could see a small white scar just under his left collarbone, thin and clean.
“Shrapnel from the canopy. Small piece, went in clean.” Tension rippled through him.
I leaned down and kissed the mark, letting my lips linger there.
My hand slipped lower, found the skin graft site along his ribs. Different texture, tighter than the surrounding skin. Some scars interrupted the natural pattern while others seemed to blend.
“This is new skin,” I said softly, tracing the boundary.
“From my thigh. You can feel where they took it if you want.”
I did want. My hand slid under the sheet, found the slightlyrougher patch on his leg where they’d harvested skin to rebuild him.
“You’re incredible.” My words came out fierce, protective. “All you survived, what you came through...”
“Alex. I’m just me. Scarred up and stubborn.”
“No,” I looked up at him. “You’re extraordinary.”
I continued my exploration. The hair on his torso was thicker in some places, sparser in others. His breathing changed when I found sensitive spots and I smiled.
“Your turn,” he said eventually, catching my hand.
“My turn for what?”
“To be explored,” his eyes went dark. “Thoroughly.”
“In a minute,” I leaned down to kiss the trail of hair leading from his navel downward, letting my mouth follow the path my fingers had traced. “I’m not finished learning you.”
“I said it’s your turn, darlin’.”
Before I could protest, he rolled us over, settled me on my back while he braced himself above me, light catching the gold in his eyes.
“Finn...”
“Shh.” His tone made desire pool low in my belly. “Let me.”
His hands started at my shoulders, callused fingertips tracing my collarbone with careful attention. I shivered, goosebumps rising along my arms.
His touch found my tattoo, moving lightly over the raised skin.
“Tell me about this again,” he whispered, thumb brushing over the watercolor flames. “All of it this time.”
I swallowed hard. “I got it to remind myself I could fly alone. That I didn’t need anyone else to tell me I was worthy of rising from the ashes.”
His hand moved lower, following the curve of my ribs.
“But now... I don’t want to fly alone anymore.”
