“I don't care.” I raised onto my knees. My fingers braced his cheeks, my lips grazing his. “I told you I don't care. This. . .” A delicate touch slid down his face, to his throat. . . my other hand moved in the opposite direction, to his head. “And all that goes on in here. None of it takes away from what's in here. . .” Both of my hands met above his heart. “Your heart is pure. And I love that. I love you. . . no matter what. Please, don’t leave me that way.”
"I love you," he mouthed, as if the words physically pained him, his lips against mine, begging for kisses to make the pain stop.
I leaned in, and I let him kiss me, opening my mouth for his tongue.
A second later, I pulled back to hear him say, “I won’t kill myself. I’m just struggling to live with myself.”
“You’re hurting. Me, too. Make the pain stop. Please, make the pain stop.”
I didn't have to tell him what pain. His head and heart felt every throe mine did. His pangs of guilt were as harsh as my memories. But I had to tell him how to do it, because he wouldn't, not without permission.
“I need you to touch me. I need you to change my memories of you and sex. And I need for it to feel good. Soft, gentle. . . I need to feel love.”
He froze, as if I'd asked him to burn the world for me. His gaze flitting to me. Devastation and anunsaid apology sat in a sea of silver. Flecks of sapphire standing out, emphasizing the beauty above me as he guided me back.
His soft pillow welcomed my head.
I tried to relax as he roamed above me, fingers pushing buttons through tiny holes and peeling my clothes from my body.
“I have no idea what I'm doing.” His eyes locked on my face, moving from my naked chest, rising and falling with the tension in the room.
“Just do what you think would feel good. It doesn't have to be full stuff.”
“Okay.”
He lay down with me, pulling me onto my side. I turned my head, accepting the kiss he delivered. His hands, nervous and shaky, moved to my hair. He pulled me in, long fingers weaving through my hair, deepening the kiss.
His hand trailed down my neck, and I shuddered. My skin tingled, my nipples peaked, and my heart raced. His fingers explored my body, his kiss breaking off for a second, as he needed to claim his breath. His mouth, back on mine as the second passed. His tongue moved past my lips, massaging mine. I lifted my hands to his face, pulling him closer. I didn’t feel scared. He didn’t feel controlling.
I felt safe.
I tugged at the hem of his tee, a silent request to remove it, to be vulnerable and naked, with me.
And he did, carefully dragging it over his head and tossing it to the floor. No doubt, it would be stolen in seconds by a furry thief. Neither of us looked to see, but she, his small companion, had, in fact, stolen it.
Woodrow returned to my side but altered my position. Another kiss landed on my mouth, on my jaw, down my neck as he shifted over me. I lay on my back, arching as his hot mouth moved to a nipple, his fingers finding the other one.
Pretty eyes found me again, a last request for permission, granted with a lowly nod before he sucked me into his mouth.
His hardness brushed my leg, his hips thrusting forward to show me his need. He sucked hard, the moan rumbling in his throat making the sensation all the more pleasurable.
I bit down on my lip to stop any noise, because I knew it would be loud enough to disturb the house with everyone silent.
His tongue smeared my pointed nipple. A thick, wet trailed smeared up my breast. A kiss above my heart. “Only remember this time. Let me change how my touch feels to you.” Another kiss upon my chest set my heart racing.
His hands gripped at the material of my green satin shorts, but they wouldn't give, clutching to the thickness of my hips.
He tried and tried until their fabric gave way, ripping down the side.
“Oh, shit.”
“It's fine, just get them off,” I breathed out the words. “I'll just say my chubby self ripped them getting them on.”
“Don't do that. Don't speak that way about yourself. You're perfect. So fucking perfect.”
His mouth was back on me—back on the breasts I'd always thought of as too small—delivering sensual kisses to my skin that peaked with excitement.
I kicked free of my shorts, lying naked beneath him. And he did the same, using his hands and legs to push down his sweats. His hand moved over my body, sliding up my parted thighs. His hips rocked again, his erection harder than his bones, both of which dug into my leg. His fingers reached the apex of my thighs, soft skin kissed the tips with its wetness. With his hand still between my legs, a single finger circling my entrance, his mouth moved to mine—already hungry for another of his kisses. Already eager, just like the rest of me, as my hips bucked up slightly.
