It feels like fucking centuries since I last had her.
My fingertips graze the ink on her arm, tracing the dark sweep of her blackout sleeve, the sharp contrast with her pale skin. I kiss the inside of her wrist, then follow the trail upward.
“What do they all mean?” I murmur against her shoulder, brushing my lips over the butterfly inked there. My voice is low, rough from holding too much in for too long. “You’ve got a whole damn story written on your skin, dollface, and I want to know every chapter.”
She stiffens slightly under me, the way she always does when I press too close to the soft parts of her. I kiss just under her jaw, coaxing. “Tell me.”
Her fingers thread into my hair, tugging lightly, and for a moment, I think she’ll push me off, joke it away like she always does. But then her chest rises, falls, and she whispers, “The butterflies…”
I still, waiting.
“They’re for freedom.” Her voice cracks, but she keeps going, nails dragging across my scalp. “After Jax, after everything… I felt like I was trapped in an endless cocoon. Like I’d never get out, never be more than the broken girl he left behind. Butterflies reminded me that I could. That someday, I’d grow my wings and fly the fuck away.”
My chest clenches so hard it hurts.
She swallows, her voice barely audible. “I put them on my skin so I’d never forget. So even on the days when Ihated myself, when I couldn’t look in the mirror, I’d see them and remember I was still meant to change. To be more than what he made me.”
I lift my head, my throat burning, and meet her eyes. They shine in the dim light, vulnerability written across her face like a confession.
“Amelia…” I whisper, kissing the edge of one butterfly, then the next.“You’re not trapped anymore. You’ll never be trapped again. Not while I’m here.”
Her lips tremble, a single tear sliding down her cheek, and I kiss that too. “You’ve already got your wings, dollface. And I swear to God, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt how far you can fly.”
She lets out a broken laugh, her hands fisting in my hair, pulling me back down to her mouth. And when I kiss her this time, it’s not desperate, it’s reverent. Like I’m trying to drink her soul right into mine.
Because now I know what her tattoos mean.
Now I know what she’s carried.
And I’ll worship every inch of her until she believes she’s more than her scars.
Her lips are still trembling under mine when I shift, pressing her deeper into the sheets. My hand trails down her arm, following the sweep of ink until I reach her ribs. I pause, my thumb brushing over the delicate line of another butterfly etched there.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmur against her mouth, kissing her slowly, savoring the taste of her. “But not as beautiful as you.”
She lets out a soft sound, half laugh, half sigh, and her nails scrape lightly at the back of my neck. “You’re such a sap.”
“Only for you, baby,” My voice comes out rough, honest.
I kiss her again—longer this time, deeper—then slide my mouth down her throat, lingering at every spot that makes her shiver. I want to relearn her, every inch, every reaction. It’s been too long. My tongue traces the curve of her collarbone, my teeth grazing lightly before I soothe the mark with another kiss.
She arches beneath me, her legs shifting restlessly against mine, and I smile against her skin. “Easy, dollface. We’re not rushing this. Not after how long I’ve been waiting to touch you again.”
Her breath hitches, her hands tugging me closer. “Mav?—”
“I missed you,” I whisper against the swell of her breast before drawing her nipple into my mouth, teasing with my tongue until she gasps. My hand cups her other breast, my thumb circling slow, steady, matching the rhythm of my mouth.
Her back arches, pressing into me, her body already trembling under the attention. I lift my head just enough to look at her—hair spilling across my pillow, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she breathes my name like it’s the only word she knows.
God, I could die happy right here.
“You’re so damn perfect,” I rasp, kissing down her stomach, my hands holding her hips still as she squirms. “Every inch of you. Every tattoo. Every scar. Mine.”
I reach the waistband of her panties, and I pause, looking up at her through heavy lashes. “Tell me you want this.”
Her eyes meet mine, glassy with need, and she whispers, “I want you, Maverick. Always.”
I slide the thin fabric down her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs, leaving marks where I can, until she’s trembling and cursing under her breath. I settle between her legs, spreading her open with my hands, and groan at the sight of her glistening for me.
