I've been so focused on how I can take care of Mariah that up until this moment it hasn’t occurred to me that she is also trying to take care of me. Has been even before we passed the first note or sent the first text.
It's a sobering realization. One that sits uncomfortably in my gut.
"Don't worry about me. I'm going to be fine." She has so much else going on. The last thing she needs to concern herself with is my well-being.
"Someone has to worry about you, because you sure haven't done a very good job of it yourself." She reaches up, delicate fingers combing back the clump of hair that's fallen over my brow. Her eyes widen the tiniest bit. "Your hair is really soft." She continues working her fingers through my overgrown mop. "How do you get it so silky?"
I'm fighting to keep my eyes open. It feels so good to have her touch me like this. "I wash it with body wash."
Her laugh is soft, but it still manages to lighten my mood. "I figured you were a pretty low maintenance sortof guy."
She keeps petting me, so my mouth just keeps rambling. "It probably needs a cut. I might do that tomorrow."
"You cut your own hair?" Mariah winces. "I probably should've guessed that." Her gentle touch continues, making me relax more and more with each tickling pass. "I could help, if you want."
Just thinking about Mariah running her hands through my hair again has my body reacting in all sorts of inconvenient ways. Especially since she’d be doing it in the privacy of my own home. My family wouldn't be a few rooms away being loud and obnoxious. We wouldn’t be hidden in a closet, stealing a few seconds alone.
There would be nothing to stop me from touching her back.
Apparently there's nothing to stop me now, either. I don't even notice my hands have moved until they’re resting on her hips, gripping the soft curve of her flesh. I'm not sure if I'm trying to push her away or get her closer, but I know which option I accomplish.
It's so easy to pull her in. To bring her front flush to mine. It's even easier to lean into her ear and admit, "I would let you shave my head if it meant you touched me like this again."
Mariah’s hands stay laced in my hair as she leans into me. “I like touching you.”
The admission is soft. Small. But it hits me like a storm. Rumbles through me with the force of thunder and strikes at my skin like lightning.
“You can touch me whenever you want.” My admission isn’t soft. It’s not small. It’s desperate. Almost pleading.
I was starving for so much more than food when Mariah walked into my house. I just refused to admit it. But little by little, she’s pulled back the layers I wrapped around who I am, thinking I could change. I thought I had. Believed I’d successfully gone from the man I once was to who I had to be to survive.
I was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Mariah tips her head back, the warmth of her eyes meeting mine as she says the worst words that could possibly come out of her mouth. “I also like when you touch me.”
So much happens at once that I can’t process my own thoughts or actions. Can’t rein them in. Can’t stop what I’m starting to believe is inevitable. No matter how much I know it shouldn’t be.
When what I’ve done finally registers, one hand is in her hair, cradling the curve of her head. Her soft body is pulled as close as I can get it.
And my mouth is sealed over hers.
Last time I came to my senses quickly. Managed to reel myself in before things got out of control. Was saved from myself when my mother interrupted.
That doesn’t happen this time.
This time I have her backed up against the door, my tongue slicking between her lips, the solid line of my painfully hard dick doing nothing to hide the way I want her.
One of the ways I want her.
Mariah makes me greedy. Makes me want all the things I swore off to save myself the pain of a loss I know I won’t survive again.
Might not have survived the first time depending on who you ask.
But she needs me. I know how to take care of her. How to make sure she stays safe. I can give her all the things the asshole who abandoned her wouldn’t.
And I want to. I want…
