Then I stood there in just my bra and jeans, my arms by my sides. My gaze was locked on a spot on the floor because I couldn’t bear to see the disgust that would be written all over his face.
The silence was deafening.
I could feel him staring. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze moving over my skin, taking in the scars that covered my abdomen and chest.
I couldn’t look at him.
“Who did this to you?” His voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. But the edge in it was unmistakable.
My throat was so tight I could barely breathe. “I did. A long time ago.”
I waited for him to say something. To ask me why, or to tell me to leave, or to look at me with that particular brand of horror I’d seen before.
But instead, he said, “Emily.”
I somehow summoned enough courage to raise my eyes to his. He was looking at me with such profound tenderness, I felt the breath still in my lungs.
“Can I give you a hug?”
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. I just nodded.
He moved slowly, like he was afraid of spooking me, and carefully pulled me into his arms. His hands were gentle as they settled on my back, holding me close but not too tight. Like he was trying to keep me together while giving me room to breathe.
I buried my face against his chest.
His shirt was soft under my cheek. His heartbeat was steady and strong. His arms were solid and safe around me. The knot in my stomach started to loosen some more.
I was so fucking confused. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to recoil, to be repulsed. Not pull me closer. Not hold me like I was something precious instead of damaged.
So yeah, it didn’t make a lick of sense, but when standing here in his arms felt this good, I didn’t have the strength to question it.
We stood like that for a while, his hands gentle on my back, my face pressed against his chest, both of us just breathing. The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house settling.
Finally feeling brave enough, I raised my head.
His eyes met mine, still full of that tenderness that made my heart roll over. Then he leaned down and brushed the lightest kiss across my lips. Gentle. Comforting. Reassuring.
God that felt good. Without even thinking, I leaned closer, wanting more. He did it again. A little longer this time. A little more pressure. Now there was a spark there. Something that made my breath catch. My blood started humming.
I felt his body respond, his cock twitching against my stomach. Surprise almost overrode the heat. I pulled back slightly, staring up at him with wide eyes. “You... You still want me?”
He looked at me like I’d just said something ridiculous. “Fuck yes. I’m not a robot.”
“Oh.”
The word barely left my mouth before he was kissing me again. Really kissing me this time. Cupping my face. Angling my head so he could deepen the kiss. His other hand splayed across my bare skin, warm and solid and right.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pressing closer. He dragged his tongue over my lower lip and I immediately parted my lips for him, a low sound escaping me that he swallowed with his mouth.
His hands started to move. Slowly at first, like he was still checking to make sure this was okay. One palm slid up my spine, fingers tracing the line of my shoulder blade. The other moved to my waist, his thumb brushing the skin just above my jeans.
Over my scars.
But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. His touch was reverent, exploratory, like he was learning every inch of me. Like my scars were just another part of my skin to discover.
No one had ever touched me like this. Ever. I didn’t know what to do with all the feelings roiling inside me. All I knew was that I wanted more. That I needed more.
I let out a low whimper, trying to get even closer. His grip on my waist tightened and he made a low, answering sound in the back of his throat that sent heat pooling low in my belly.
