But it is.
I had his cock in my mouth tonight, his cum down my throat and I wanted more. I was dying for more.
Fuck it.
I’m going to dig. Starting with their scars.
Giving her my friendliest smile, I say, “It must be a blessing not to have to talk to some people, huh?” She smiles back, returning an adorable nod. I wink at her before glancing back at him.
“So…what happened?”
5
ETHAN
Dane’s question comes out harsh and a little aggressive compared to the way he talked to Hannah.
In fact, his body language toward me changed completely the moment she walked in. Earlier, he was completely naked, nothing but a paper-thin terrycloth towel and lingering water droplets decorated his body.
Oh, and that tattoo that wrapped around his shoulder blade.
A dandelion with a curved stem and a sphere of delicate fluff, half of the puffy florets were blowing off, as if currently floating in the wind. It was easy to spot because he had no other tattoos, leading me to believe it was more meaningful than it was for a love for inked skin.
He was singing under his breath as he dried himself off. His whole energy was easy going and carefree, while he was making fun of himself and smiling. Now his jawline is clenched and that exquisite body, I couldn’t help but stare at, is tense and rigid.
His eyes are bouncing between my hand and face and I can’t say I’m surprised by his question, but I’m taken aback byits intensity and prematurity. He’s asking what most people avoid altogether. They ignore them because it’s easier to pretend like our scars don’t exist than ask the awkward, uncomfortable question.
But that’s the thing, we can’t ignore them. We never could. We couldn’t ignore the outcome, the repercussions of the accident, and we sure as hell haven’t been able to get over the lasting effects of the scars, physically or mentally.
I peer over at Hannah and the natural smile she wears is still there, it always is. She doesn’t mind if I share our story, she was an open book before the accident and even more so after. I’m just the one always having to answer for it, in more ways than one.
She points her index finger to her chin pushing it forward, signing for me to tell him.
He watches Hannah sign the words, a little tip in his brow, before his eyes land back on mine. “We were in a car accident,” I respond with nothing more because I’m unsure of how much more I want to say.
Especially when Mister GQ model of the year over here is looking at me with intensity and concerned curiosity.
He gives me a slow, lengthy nod then turns around toward his bed sensing my irritation.
Hannah gives me an annoyedyou know betterlook before stepping back, grabbing her bag and tossing it on the top bunk. She signs to me that she’s going to the bathroom, kisses me on the cheek, then heads out of the room.
I watch her in awe, so proud of everything she’s done to rebuild herself and keep that bubbly personality she’s always had. She hasn’t let the circumstances change her or the drive she’s had. And scar or not, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
“Are you a bottom?” Dane asks and I whiplash my face in his direction.
“Excuse me?” I respond with an incredulous tone.
“Do you like the bottom?” He dips his chin in the direction of the bottom bunk.
“Oh.” I laugh out a breath. “Yeah usually. I tend to move around a lot and she sleeps like the dead.”
The corner of his lip quirks up. “I’m a top and a bottom. I like both, depending on my mood.”
What the hell are we talking about right now?
Is this the encrypted language of sexual innuendos?
Did he just tell me he’s bi?
