I was buzzing. On fire. A thousand sparks shot through my body. A warmth bubbled in my belly. Between my legs where I cradled him.
With shaking fingers he slowly eased his hands up my shirt, touching bare skin for the first time since I was seventeen. I jolted at the contact.
Yoss instantly stilled, taking the movement as rejection. He started to pull his hand out from my shirt and I grabbed him, holding him in place. “Please, Yoss. Touch me,” I breathed.
I brought his hand up to my breast. “Touch me,” I repeated raggedly. I begged him. I implored.
I needed his hands on me. Everywhere.
He ran his thumb over my hard nipple and I shuddered, lifting my hips to rub against him. In a flurry of movement Yoss pulled my shirt over my head so that I was sitting on the counter in just my jeans and bra.
“My god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, worshipping me with his eyes. Slowly, too slowly, he lowered his mouth to my chest. Kissing. Licking. Taking his time.
He sucked on my nipple through the fabric and I arched my back with a loud groan. I gripped the back of his head and held him as his suckled my still covered skin.
Yoss reached behind my back and fumbled with the clasp of my bra. “How do you take this stupid thing off?” he grumbled.
“It’s an evil machination invented by women to drive men crazy,” I intoned darkly, grinning like mad when Yoss ripped it from my body, not bothering with the clasp.
“That’s one way to do it,” I chuckled. “Your turn.” I unbuttoned his shirt, carefully peeling it from his body, throwing it on the floor with my shirt and bra. His skin was rough under my fingers. The slightly yellow hue more pronounced in the artificial light in the kitchen.
“So many,” I murmured touching each of his scars. “Too many.” I kissed them. One at a time. Loving them.
Yoss’s hand ran down my back as I made my way over each and every reminder of his past. I didn’t shy from them. I embraced them in a way I hadn’t been able to as a teenager.
But I was a woman now. With my own scars. I understood the cost of baring them.
“You don’t have to.” Yoss sounded so ashamed.
I looked up at him. “I know.”
He kissed me again. Harder. Desperate. All hands and tongues and mouths.
I unbuttoned his jeans, letting them fall in a puddle around his ankles. His narrow hips not holding them in place. His erection pressed against me and I gasped at the feel of him.
In a moment of frenzy I bit down on his lip. Hard. I tasted his blood in my mouth.
Yoss pulled back as though I had burned him. His hand came up and touched his bleeding skin.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” I reached out for him, but he backed away. He bent down and pulled up his pants, buttoning them again.
“We can’t,” was all he said. He grabbed a napkin and held it to his lip. “I can’t expose you to…” he struggled with the words. “To me.”
“I shouldn’t have done that, it was stupid of me—”
“That’s not the point, Imi. I want to. God, do I want to. But we can’t forget, for one moment, that I’m sick. That I could makeyousick.” He ran his hands through his hair, still breathing erratically, his chest rising and falling quickly.
I was still in a haze of hormone laced desire, so it took a few minutes for me to register what he was saying.
“Yoss—” I began.
“No! Don’t say whatever you’re going to say. We can’t do this. It’s just not possible.” He grabbed his shirt and put it back on with shaking hands. “We can’t have sex. Not now. Not ever.”
I hopped down from the counter and grabbed his arm so that he couldn’t leave the room. “You need to listen to me for a second.”
“You work in a fucking hospital, Imogen, you know the damn risks! How could we have been so fucking stupid? Just being around my blood exposes you to what I have!” He yanked on his hair in his frustration.
I gave his arm a squeeze, my nails digging into his skin. “Are you done self-flagellating?” I demanded, gripping his chin and forcing him to look at me. “We need to be careful. I shouldn’t have bitten you. But that doesn’t mean we can’t…that you and I can’t…betogether.”
