“No, that’s a lie,” I admit. “I know what happened, and if I’m being honest, my ego might have gotten in the way. I just . . . Honestly, I feel stupid for what happened.”
Her gaze sharpens before she cuts me off. “Don’t feel stupid. How about we just make sure it never happens again.”
And with that simple sentence of hope, my entire body relaxes. I should have known that opening up to her would be simple, that she wouldn’t judge me. That she would hear me out and then form an opinion after. Her eyes soften but never stray from mine, so I start again.
“When you got up afterwards to clean yourself up and get some water, I felt less than. I should have gotten up. I should have cleaned you. I should have gotten you some water.” I feel the shame seep back into my body at my words, as my gaze moves from hers, because like it or not,I’m still a little bruised over the fact that I couldn’t do that for her. “I just felt like shit. You deserved to be taken care of. It was bad enough that I made you do all the work and I didn’t get to treat you like I wanted to. I wanted to cherish you, to take my time, to kiss every single inch of your skin, to hear every breath, every sound, and yet, I couldn’t.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t say a word as I bare my soul to her in a way I’ve never done. Not with her, not with anyone. “Instead, I had to let you do everything. I know you’re more than capable, that you’re strong and independent, but I just pictured our first time together going differently. Add the fucking scars all over my body and I just lost it. My mind and emotions got the best of me, and instead of talking to you, of letting you in, I pushed you away.”
Chapter 27
If you would have asked me this morning how I saw my day going, there’s no way I would have told you that I would be sitting on my worn-out beige couch crying as Liam poured out his soul to me. Never in a million years would I have thought he was even capable of being so raw and honest. He’s never been the most talkative guy, or the most emotional, but the way he just opened up to me . . . it’s taking everything inside of me not to lean in and kiss him right this instant. But I know that’s not what he needs right now.
Instead, I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “We could just do all that once your leg is fully healed.” I’m not proud of it, but it does let the tension evaporate from his body and his gaze meets mine, before he lets out a laugh, so I don’t regret it.
“That’s really all you have to say?” he asks, pulling me closer to him as I feel heat hit my cheeks.
“No, it’s really not. I just don’t know where to start,” I tell him honestly. It’s a lot to unpack. “First, I should give you a high five and say good for you for going to therapy. I know it’s never easy admittingyou need to talk to someone and then actually follow through with it. I know you’re not someone who likes to talk, much less talk about themselves or how they feel, but I’m proud of you.” I don’t ask him any more questions or make any more comments about him going to therapy. I don’t want to make him feel awkward, but inside I’m jumping for joy. I know that, without a doubt, we would not be sitting here having this conversation if it wasn’t for him making that leap and seeking help.
“As for the other stuff. Was it how I pictured my first time? No. The only thing that was what I imagined was that it was with you,” I tell him honestly, hiding my face in his shoulder. Before he can imagine the worst, I quickly add, “I thought I was going to be way more awkward—thatitwould be awkward, but it wasn’t. It was the complete opposite. I never thought that I would be comfortable naked in front of a man. You made everything feel so natural, so perfect.”
Finally meeting his gaze, I’m the one to put my hand on his cheek, feeling his slight stubble. “I wouldn’t change a thing. It was better than I ever could have imagined. As for not taking care of me, if I’m being honest, you had just made me feel so much, so deeply, that I needed that two minutes away from you. To look myself in the mirror and confirm to myself that Liam Jones,theLiam Jones, had just made me orgasm, twice. I never thought less of you, or thought it ruined the moment.”
I expected my words to soften him, to appease him, but I get the opposite reaction. His jaw clenches, and his eyes move away from mine. Without taking a moment to think,I swing one of my legs over his so I’m straddling him. His hands immediately land on my hips, holding me.
“Liam,” I say, “I promise, I’m telling the truth. My getting up didn’t change anything for me.”
“I know,” he says, jaw still tight. “That just means that it’s really me who ruined everything. Instead of holding you, making sure you were okay, I yelled at you.”
“I would say it’s fine, but don’t ever use that tone with me again,” I say sassily, trying to change his thoughts. “If you decided not to talk to me as you’re doing right now, then you would have truly ruined it. But you explaining what was going through your mind, makes things better. I promise.”
He seems to accept my words, because I see his cocky smirk appear on his face before he says, “And like you said, we have plenty of time to make up for it.”
My face heats up at his words, making me lean forward to hide my face in his neck.
I feel him inhale deeply, taking in my smell just as I do his. Before I get too comfortable, though, I need to address one more—okay, two more things with him. The first being his scars. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed them. You can’tnotnotice them. He wasn’t lying when he said they take up a good chunk of his left side. I just never thought to bring attention to them. It was clear they bothered him, though. Hell, they would bother anyone who woke up one day and had those scars. But he was always covered, never leaving the bathroom in a towel, never wearing a T-shirt. He even sleeps with a long sleeveon.
I first caught sight of them when I woke up hungover in his bed. I was too embarrassed to really look or to ask about them, but then I caught a small glimpse one morning when he reached for a coffee mug. But again, I didn’t want to ask him about them. They didn’t bother me, and I thought better than to ask.
“Your scars,” I say.
“What about them?” he asks in his usual grumpy tone, making me smile.
“They don’t bother me,” I tell him. Straight to the point.
I can see it on his face, clear as day, that he doesn’t believe me. “You haven’t even seen them,” he says matter-of-factly, earning him an eye roll.
“I’m pretty sure we went over the fact that we had sex last week, where you certainly didn’t have a shirt on. Oh, and let’s not forget that time I woke up hungover in your bed and you were shirtless,” I tell him in a sarcastic tone, pulling away from him so I can look at his face.
“So, you saw them, but you didn’t really look at them,” he tells me.
“So show me,” I dare him. Does he really think so little of me that a few scars—albeit huge scars—are going to scare me away. He should know—has to know by now that he’s all I’ve ever wanted in life. And he doesn’t have to go through all of this alone. That we could be a team, if he continues letting me in.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move a muscle for what seems like hours, but I don’t back down. Maybe I should, but I can feel it. This is a turning point for him, for me, forus. He knows it too, I can see it in his eyes, the war raging between baring it all out there for me to see, finally letting me in, and wanting to push me away again.
Deciding to be bold, hoping to show him that he’s stuck with me now, I lean back in his thighs even more to softly grasp the hem of his maroon Henley. Before dragging it up his chest and over his shoulders, I meet his eyes with a raised brow, asking for permission. With a clenched jaw, and fist squeezing along the outside of my thighs, he gives me one jerky nod.
Inch by inch, I slowly start to raise his shirt. I feel my cheeks flame a darker red as I stare at the skin I’m slowly exposing. I see the scarring right away, but it doesn’t stop the sensation slowly building between my thighs. He might not think it, but he’s the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Everything about him screamslook at me. If I’m being honest, the marks just add to his appeal. They add a physical edge to his grumpiness.
