That cute little flush creeps up his neck again, warmth spreading under my fingers. He’s still picking at the label, and I ease the bottle from his hand.
“Q? Before this goes any further—if that’s what you want—I have to know your limits. Your triggers. Physical and emotional. I hurt you this morning, and I won’t do that again.”
The small shake of his head does nothing to reassure me. “I couldn’t tell you all my triggers if you spent the next three full days listening to me.” I’m about to ask him how we’re supposed to move forward if he won’t open up when he clears his throat. “Al-Alec was everything I thought I wanted in a boyfriend,” Q says, his voice just above a whisper. “Until I realized what he was doing to me.”
“Doing to you?” I force myself to remain calm. Because whatever Q’s about to tell me? I have a feeling I’ll want to hunt down this Alec asshole and beat him into next week.
“At first, it was little things. Convincing me I was only into the thingsheliked. Pancakes. Cider. Popsicles. Non-fat milk.”
“Non-fat milk is just gray water.”
His laugh puts a hairline crack in the tension between us, and he meets my gaze. I’d give anything to wipe that pain from his eyes. But if I’ve learned anything from Ry, West, Inara, and all the other members of our little family who’ve found their forevers over the years, it’s that nothing ever takes the pain away. Relationships are forged when you can seepastthe pain. Accept it as part of the person you’re with and love them anyway.
“After a few months, it got worse. A lot worse.” His voice fades even more, and he blinks hard before he risks meeting my gaze again. “I know you’re not him, Graham. This morning with the pancakes? I’m not proud of how I reacted. You were being nice, and my fucked up brain couldn’t see past a single moment of fear to the guy standing in front of me offering me a cup of coffee. I’m getting better. Six months ago? I couldn’t have let you in. Or called out to you in the first place. But, I’ll never be the man I was beforehim.”
“I don’t want that man.” Shifting to face him, I slide my fingers up the back of his neck and tangle them in his hair. “I want this one.”
The kiss starts out gentle, hesitant. Until I trace the seam of his lips with my tongue. Opening for me, he moans, the sound rumbling in his chest. Fuck. Why does he affect me so deeply? The first moment I saw him, I knew he was special. Now? I’m desperate for more, but there’s a part of me that’s terrified, too. Because after tonight, I’ll never be the same again.
I urge him closer, sliding my arm under his knees to drape his legs over mine, putting his hard length in each reach of my free hand. Palming his erection through his khakis, I’m rewarded with another one of those deep, desperate sounds before I come up for air.
His fingers slide under my t-shirt, and it feels so damn good to be touched, I’d take him right here if I thought he was ready for that.
Nowhe’skissingme, and I’m not prepared for the intense rush of pure need shooting straight to my dick.
“Upstairs,” he manages after I kiss him again, keeping up a rhythm between my tongue and the long strokes of my palm along his trapped length until we both have to stop and catch our breath.
“Are you sure?” Pulling away from him feels wrong, but before we end up naked, I have to tell himmylimits. Cupping his cheek, I press a gentle kiss to those firm lips, but stop him from taking it any further. “I don’t bottom, Q. I can’t. Whatever we do…however far we go, it’s the one thing I can’t…” My breath stutters, my chest unbearably tight until his gaze locks onto mine.
“Graham.” His eyes hold understanding—more than I deserve, more than I expected. Can he tell? Just how damaged I am? “I want you. You asked for my triggers, there’s no way I’m not going to respect yours.”
The gentle way he drapes his hand over mine, the slight tremble in his fingers, and the roughness to his voice all make me want more than just tonight. We fit, somehow. Two broken people whose jagged edges align.
But it’s too soon to think that, let alone say it. Maybe we’ve talked enough, though, because Q gets to his feet. And when he offers me his hand, I take it.
Chapter Fourteen
Quinton
After I’ve checked allthe locks and Graham’s cleaned up our plates, he stands at the foot of the stairs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, looking about as unsure as I feel.
Except for the rather obvious bulge under the denim.
My back hasn’t bothered me much all day, so I take his hand and lead him up to the bedroom. Where I promptly freeze. Because even though I was half naked with him last night, the reality of what we’re about to do roots me to the spot.
“If you’ve changed your mind,” he says, his arms winding around my waist, “I can go home. Or stay and hold you all night. Whatever you need.”
“No.” My protest escapes harsher than I intend, and for a second, I expect him to yell or chastise me, but when I turn, desire and respect swim in his eyes. “I want this. But there’s so much you don’t know…”
“About your injuries?” Guiding me to the bed, he sits next to me, one hand on my lower back, the other on my thigh. “Tell me how I won’t hurt you.”
“I broke three vertebrae. The bones healed, but injuries like mine…I have permanent nerve damage and neuropathy. Some parts of my back and legs are almost numb, others hurt like hell. I can’t bend or twist or balance on one foot like most people. Physical therapy helps a lot, and I’m more flexible than I used to be, but I’ll never be 100% again.”
Graham leans in, curling his fingers around my neck and brushing his lips to mine. “If you’re lying down...?”
More kisses. Down the curve of my shoulder. His other hand slides lower, flicking the button on my pants, palming my length, and I manage to whisper, “Yes…that…God.”
His eyes lock on mine as he tugs at my khakis, easing them down my hips until he’s kneeling on the floor. Every touch, every kiss…it’s like I’m not broken. Like he actuallywantsme, despite my scars, my fears, my damage.
