“I am scared,” I finally whisper, gazing distantly at his back. “I’m scared that I won’t wake up tomorrow. I’m scared my heart will freeze, and then when I open my eyes I’ll be stuckthere, in that horrible place. But mostly . . . mostly I’m terrified of the way I won’t even fight to get free. The way I’ll think I need it, the numbness that takes over.”
He pushes off the ledge, slowly turning to face me.
“Do you know that I can still feel it lingering on me, even now?” I continue, taking a step in his direction. “Like this heavy, sticky, empty sensation I can’t seem to shake. I just want tofeelsomething.” My voice breaks, betraying my desperation, but I don’t care. I keep my steps slow and steady, one in front of the other. “I want a little bit. I want a lot. See, I don’t care if what I feel for you is real or not, because it’s sure as hell real enough to me. Just tell me one thing . . . is whatyoufeel real?”
He rips his gaze away from me, shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter, Lou. I’m not going to take advantage of the situation—”
“Answer the question. Is what you feel for me real?”
“Lou—”
“Yes. Or no. It’s a simple question, really. Just—”
“Yes,” he grits out, giving his head another shake and distancing himself. “Okay? Yes, the way I spend every damn second of every damn day thinking about you is real. Yes, the way I wish I could spend every Sunday with you so you’ll never have to cry again is real. The way I wonder what it’d be like to be here when you wake up, to hold you when I want to, to kiss your lips, kiss your neck—yes, it’s fucking real.” He sweeps his hands across his eyes and pulls his hair. “Is that what you want to know?”
A fresh tear escapes, and I nod. Soak in the new feelings pouring into me. The shock over his confession. The way it almost makes me sadder, knowing I may never get the chance to hear those words from him again. May never again get to see that expression on his handsome face, both pained and longing as he stares deep into my eyes.
“So show me,” I plead softly, taking a step forward. “Just for tonight, show me what it’s like to feel. To be kissed, to be held, to be wanted by you.”
Chapter 37
“Lou. . .” His voice quiets, a gentle whisper. “Please . . . I can’t just—”
“Yes. You can.” I inch toward him again, my voice shaking. “Make it go away. The fear. The emptiness. All of it. Just give me something more before I lose myself again. Give meyou.” My head drops when he doesn’t respond, the desperation taking over, making my lips quiver. “Honestly, what do I have to do to get you to touch me? I mean, Jesus—”
The words are barely out before his hand is on my waist, the other cradling my neck, and his mouth crushes mine. My lips part, letting our tongues tangle together. His fingers dig into me, pulling me tighter against him. I let out a moan as relief and desire flood me. I’ve gone limp in his arms, letting him support my full weight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He shifts the angle of his head so he can go deeper, the movement sending a wild rush through me. My hands curl into his hair and tug, and he responds by trapping my bottom lip between his teeth and giving a firm tug of his own.
Holy hell, yes. The adrenaline spike is just what I need, and I wantmore.
My right hand releases his hair and finds its way to the grip he has over my waist. I pry his grasp free and guide his open palm around and down, until it’s fixed on my behind. A growl sounds from somewhere deep in his throat as he presses my hips into him, allowing me to feel the full length of him. I swallow as he abandons my mouth for my neck, and my head falls back, giving him complete access.
Jesus.
His tongue. The bed. We need the bed.
But first . . . reluctantly, I pull my attention back to focus on his shirt, grappling for the material and shoving it up, up, until he has to break his lips away from me as I yank it over his arms, his head. It drops to the ground. My gaze flicks down, and I gasp.
The scar I’d glimpsed before by his collarbone is what catches my eye first, a severe roughness to it I hadn’t noticed before, but it’s the rest of him that has me speechless. I’ve never seen so many scars on one person. Marks of all shapes and sizes, on his chest, his torso, one etched over his ribcage. Most are so faded they almost blend in with his skin, but a few stand out enough for the pain to seep into my heart.
Oh, no.What happened to you?I lower myself slightly, using my fingertips to softly trace one that runs over his abs, and he takes in a sharp breath, every muscle tightening beneath my touch. I tilt my head to look up at him, and he swallows, staring down at me, heavy-lidded. My gaze wanders back to his body. Leaning forward, I slide the tip of my tongue higher, along another one of his scars. I hear that hitch in breathing again, then feel a groan as it vibrates from his chest to my tongue.
I pull away, straighten myself. My movements are sure and confident despite the butterflies swirling in my stomach; the nerves I revel in feeling, because it reminds me Iamfeeling. I inspect the man before me, the way his eyes dance with the most alluring combination of mesmerized wonder and pure hunger I’ve ever seen, and it sparks something raw inside me. I briefly think back to the fact he’s never touched a woman. He sure as hell kisses like he knows what he’s doing. There’s something primal about his touches, almost instinctive. Intuitive. Fluid.
I want it, I want it all. Yet somehow, that doesn’t seem to be enough. The emptiness takes advantage of our momentary silence, of our stillness, trying to lure me back into its sea of darkness. The constant reminder of my impending fate hangs over my head like a guillotine.
“Make me forget,” I whisper.
He closes the gap between us and scoops me up. He eases me onto the bed, then hovers over my body, his weight resting on his forearms on either side of me. He’s not touching me, but his heat wraps around me like a scarf, teasing my skin. His muscles are tight, shoulders tense and breathing ragged, revealing the control it takes to stay in place.
“Lou.” His voice is strained, bringing out the roughness in his tone. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you sure this is what you want? Because,” his eyes fall shut, a thick swallow passing through his throat, “because if I start touching you again I won’t be able to stop.”
He doesn’t even know this is already working. Just the sound of his voice, his own need and restraint seeping through, it makes the adrenaline rush back like a fire igniting in my veins. “Trust me. I won’t want you to stop.”
Something darkens in his eyes for a split second, then his lips are back on mine, forcing them open with his tongue and making my fingers curl into the blanket beneath me. His body lowers onto me, and his hand slips between the folds of my thin robe, grazing my bare stomach. I groan, biting down on his lip, and he grunts, low and rough. His fingertips scorch my skin in the best possible way, and I lean into them. Into him.
He breaks away from my lips and trails open kisses along my jaw, down my neck, making sure I feel every taste, every lick, every nip. His hands don’t stop either, sliding slowly, tauntingly, up my waist, my ribs. Just as his touch brushes along the bottom curve of my breast, he stops, centering his focus back on my neck and collarbone.
Now is not the time to be a gentleman.
