He’s not pep talking himself into it. He just lifts his arm and tugs it over his head in one single movement.
He stands as still as a sculpture, the perfect Greek god. Yes. Perfect. The scars wrap around from his back on the left side, the twisted skin starting there. It’s bright enough in here, from the open door and the lights on in other parts of the house. The golden glow glistens off the crucifix hanging from its thin gold chain. It rests between his perfect pecs.
I know that this is hard for him. Impossible. Intense. I can’t imagine how hard his heart is beating. How his lungs probably feel like they’re never going to be able to expand to take in air again.
He turns anyway.
I’m hit with the full extent of the grafts, the scars, the ridges and swirls and whirls, and all his pain. The scars don’t quite reach to the top of his shoulders. Most of his neck on the one side is spared, but the worst is on his back. Worst is the wrong word. It’s a negative word. Yes, his back is scarred, but there’s nothing horrific about it.
It’s just skin. Scars.Him.
My heart aches all over again at the thought of everything that he’s had to endure in his life—both before and after the accident. Did he have to endure this all alone? I know what he told me about his mother and her harsh words. My heart breaks to think of him in a hospital room all alone and in pain. How was he when he left? Did he head straight to Hart? How did he make that journey? He must have been in agony. His burns must have taken months to heal. I realize now that Rita and my dad must have helped with the dressings. I have a thousand questions I want to ask him, but they’re best saved for later, for when he wants to talk about this. If ever.
There are no words for this. Nothing that will speak from my heart to his. We’ve already said so much.
He doesn’t need my reassurances. He has them already. He needs my touch. My body. That silent language that we’re building between us where there’s nothing but skin and hearts, our breath and our souls, pressed up against each other.
“Hey.” I step close and rest my hands on his hips. “Can I hug you? Like this?”
I don’t know if Shadow’s taken a single breath. He lets it out in a noisy rush that causes his whole back to shudder. Maybe that’s his muscles trembling on their own.
He covers my hands, looping them around his waist, drawing me against him. He’s so tall that even when he draws me in, we’re not flush against each other, but there’s enough of my skin against his. As much as I can reach. I rest my cheek against his back and press little kisses along his spine.
He can probably hear how my swallows are too wet, my breaths too raspy. I don’t want to cry. I know he doesn’t like it. We’re done with guilt and pity, but I have to be honest. I have to let my eyes burn for a few moments while I breathe against his skin.
A thousand thoughts flood my mind.
I’m so, so happy that he’s here with me. I’m always going to be sorry for the pain. And I’m always going to love him. Whether he wants the adoration or not, he has it. He’s my hero. He’s my person. He’s my soulmate.
We breathe together for a long time. My heart ticks against his back and then slowly, he moves our joined hands up to cover his heart. We just hold each other. Exist together. We both know how tremendously lucky we are to have this time. Every single moment of my life since the fire has been a blessing to me, but it’s doubly true now.
I wait until he’s ready. He pivots around, breaking the hold to draw me back into his arms. He tilts my face up, studiesme boldly with his shining dark eyes, then lowers his mouth to mine.
“I’m okay,” he says huskily against my lips. Sad, and emotional, maybe a little overwhelmed, but not destroyed. “Thank you for seeing me, Fawnie. Thank you for always being able to see me.”
“It’s my love language.”
He goes a little rigid for a heartbeat before he relaxes. “I don’t know what mine is, but I know you’ll help me find it.”
“Always.”
“You’re my center, Fawnie. My gravity.”
His hands move like poetry over my body, his mouth coming down hard on mine. He undoes my bra while I work his jeans open. The straps come down my shoulders at the same time I get his fly undone. We both wrench his jeans down together. He toes off his boots and steps out of everything. I sit down on the bed heavily as he gets out of his underwear.
“You’re such a masterpiece,” I say. Stupidly. I wish I could take it back.
Shadow even cracks a smile. He’s looking at me, and I can’t stop looking at him. He knows there’s nothing but sincerity and pure adoration behind those words. I hope he knows that he’ll always be beautiful to me. He is a masterpiece physically. He works out so often and so hard, that he’s all hard muscle everywhere. Even in those places where I’m sure guys don’t usually have muscle, he does. He hasn’t neglected a single part of himself.
My mouth is so, so dry.
He kisses me, then peels his socks off and somehow makes that look like an art form. He kneels on the bed and pivots, sitting down and opening his arms to me. He pulls me into his lap and I arrange my legs out into the space behind him. He easily supports us. His hands lock behind my back. His mouth is busy immediately, kissing my lips, my neck, my chest, my breasts.
“I want you inside of me.” I hold onto his shoulders lightly, secured by his hands alone.
I glance down between us, wriggling against Shadow’s cock. I should probably get him ready, not just make commands and expect him to follow them.
He sighs, his eyes slamming shut when I grasp him around the base and stroke my hand upward. Like I was, he’s not the least bit dry. Halfway up his shaft, my hand meets slick precum. I slick a tight fist over his cockhead a few times, circling him before I press the pad of my thumb against his slit.
