“What side of the bed?” Evianna asks. “Last night…you just—”
“For tonight? Closest to the door.” I realize my mistake as her breath stutters. “We’ll be fine, darlin’. It’s…training more than anything. Always be prepared and all that shit.” Feeling my way over to the bed, I pull back the sheet and blankets, and slide in next to her.
“Isn’t that like…the Boy Scouts’ motto? You were a Boy Scout?”
My laugh sounds more like a choked cough—that’s what happens when you don’t find much use for the sound for a few years. “Nope. I was…not the greatest kid. Ran with a bad crowd in middle school. My dad lost his job when I was seven, and we moved to a pretty dangerous housing tract outside of Charleston. I was damn lucky I was a fast runner. Otherwise, I probably would have landed in juvie before high school.”
“I…no. That’s not you.” Under the blankets, she reaches for my hand, her fingers cool.
“Not anymore. Saw a friend—well, a kid I thought was my friend—steal from a corner store when I was eleven. The little old woman who was at the register tried to stop him, and he pushed her hard enough, she hit her head.” I rub the back of my neck as the memories of that day play like a movie—the only kind of movie I can still see. “I wanted to help her, but he told me I was stupid and left me there. I ran too, but I called 911 from a pay phone a few blocks away. When my dad found out, he beat my ass for ‘being such a little shit.’ Not too soon after that, he drank himself to death. But that ass whooping scared me straight.”
“What happened to her?” Evianna asks, though the hesitation in her voice tells me she’s scared of the answer.
“She was fine. Lots of blood, but I went by the store a week or so later, and she was back behind the counter.” Bringing our joined hands to my lips, I brush a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ve never told anyone that story. Not even Ry.”
Evianna slides closer, and her free hand cups my cheek. “Take these off,” she says as she traces the frame of my glasses. “The light in here isn’t too much, is it?”
A hard swallow, and I force out a “no” and set my glasses on the nightstand.
The pad of her thumb traces the scars from whatever chemical they poured into my eyes. Her breath tickles my cheek, and then her lips are on mine.
Kissing her…it’s like coming home. To a home I never knew I wanted or needed. Hesitant at first, she waits for me to take control, and I do, threading my fingers through her silky locks and angling her head for better access. Tracing the seam of her lips, I wait for her to open for me.
When she does, I let my tongue tangle with hers in bold, sweeping strokes, and the purr low in her throat tells me I haven’t completely forgotten how to kiss a woman.
The first hints of her arousal scent the air, so sweet, I ache to taste her. But when she grasps the bottom of my t-shirt, my entire body tenses, and I pull back, panic dredging up all the ways I’ve played this scenario out in my head. And all the ways it could end—very badly.
“Turn off the light?” I wheeze.
“No.” Evianna straddles me, and fuck, she feels so good with her sex pressed against my cock. “Not unless it’s hurting your eyes.”
I can’t lie to her. Hell, that’s the first thing they drill into you in Special Forces training. You do not lie to your team. Ever. And Evianna is absolutely my team. “You don’t want to see me.”
“Can you read minds?” she asks with a little huff. “Because I’m pretty sure as observant as you are, that’s not one of your many talents. So you have no idea what I do and don’t want to see.” Wriggling her hips slightly, she chuckles, the low throaty sound making me even harder. “Well, okay. Maybe you know a little bit about what I want. But if you think for one minute you need to hide from me, then maybe…maybe…we shouldn’t…”
The strain in her voice breaks me, and I strip off my shirt in one fluid move. Then, hold my breath.
She’s not saying anything. Why isn’t she saying anything?
I’m about to reach for my discarded shirt when her lips press to one of the deeper, thicker scars across my right shoulder. Her fingers trace an uneven line of raised flesh, badly healed, along my side. “One day, I want you to tell me about some of these. If you can,” she whispers just before her teeth graze my ear lobe.
“I remember…every one of them.” Desperate to feel her, to have her chase away the ghosts that have haunted me every day for more than six years, I fumble for her waist, finding her curves wrapped in cotton. “What…are you wearing?”
“Tank top. Sleep shorts,” she says, a hint of confusion in her tone. “Why?”
“Just because I’m blind, doesn’t mean I can’t imagine.” Molding my palms to her sides, I slide my hands up close to her breasts and skim my thumbs over the hard points of her nipples.
“I need to feel you, darlin’. Can I…?” Tugging at her tank top, I hold my breath until she raises her arms. Her scent envelopes me as I peel off the tight material, and in the hazy blur before me, an expanse of cream—until she wraps her arms around herself tightly.
“Dax,” she whispers. “I haven’t done this in a long time…”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No…I’m just…scared. I don’t understand how I can feel this much…”
Starting at her shoulders, I skim my hands down to her wrists and gently unwind her arms. “Maybe we don’t need to understand it. Maybe…we just feel.” Easing her down onto the pillows, I brush her hair away from her face. I can’t get enough of her taste, and I start with gentle kisses to the corner of her lips.
Her skin is so soft, and her nipples scrape against my chest as I angle my body over hers. When she smoothes her hands down my back, I tense as she feels the hundreds of scars cross-crossing my shoulders, but her hips shift under me, and she keens softly.
