When she stops talking, I continue sliding my hands over her body.
All the while I touch her in ways I’ve never touched a woman.
With reverence. With respect. Honor.
Images force their way into my mind. Women who’ve given me their bodies. Faceless, nameless women. I used them. I took their bodies with nothing– nothing more than lust. I touched them intimately– pounded my body into them– not thinking for a moment about who they were. Just bodies. Bodies for me to use.
I think about Randy when I found him. Cold. Lifeless. Just a body. He’d been my drummer. My best friend. Practically my brother. He’d followed me into this world, and it killed him.
Bile rises in my throat. Disgust floods my emotions.
Flinching, I jerk my hands away. They defile her. Her baby.
Eyes that reflect the color of the Colorado sky fly open, and she grasps hold of my wrists. “It’s okay.”
I hear her words. I watch her lips. But it’s not okay. I go to pull my hands away from her but she’s surprisingly strong.
And stubborn.
I don’t want to hurt her in my urgency to get away.
She releases one of my wrists and sits up. She has a little difficulty doing this. She’s on her knees, holding both my wrists again.
“What you’re feeling. Allow it. Accept it. And then release it.” Her hands slide up and down my arms.
Her words sound so ridiculous to me– feel good mumbo jumbo– and yet my eyes are burning.
“Fuck.” I look away. I can’t look at her. I am surrounded by beauty– mountain peaks, greenery, blue sky, and of course, this woman. I clench my jaw and swallow around the huge lump in my throat.
I feel like an idiot.
I am an asshole.
Her hands continue moving, warming me, touching so much more than my skin.
“Don’t fight it,” she urges in a soft whisper. Her face is close, inches even. My body is screaming at me to kiss her, taste her. Don’t fight it, my body hears. Take what you want. I’m itching to learn her body sexually. But my mind… Holy Shit, my fucking heart won’t let me.
I let out a long, drawn out breath.
She drops her hands and sits on her heels. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice her shirt jump. She sees the direction of my gaze and grins.
“Squirt’s active.”
We haven’t really talked about the baby– the pregnancy. Neither of which I’ve ever had interest in. But both are another part of who she is. And I want to know her, but I don’t deserve to be a part of this. I need away. All of this is too much.
“I…” I can’t even look at her right now. “I, uh, forgot about some calls I need to make.” I’m on my feet now, backing away from her. I know this is a jackass move, but all of this is strangling me. Burning me. Fucking with me.
I head down the trail as though the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels.
CHAPTER SIX
Charlie
After he walksaway, I look down and realize my hands are shaking. People are often surprised when a massage makes them emotional. They don’t expect it. While running my hands over a person, I’ve had a number tear up, some sob outright. And I usually feel a release of pain from them, or a release of anger. Usually the anger is directed at themselves.
I’ve never experienced what just happened. Him touching me.
It scared me.
