“No.”
He gripped her wrist tightly until she let go, then backed away from her. She retrieved a blanket and wrapped it around herself, then sat on the edge of the bed.
“Let me touch you. Let us try,” she begged.
“What if… what if I can’t?”
“What if you can?” She stood up and pressed her body against his. Then she did what she had intended since she had realised the reason for his reluctance and sank to her knees. She looked up at him as she took hold of the edge of his shirt, but he didn’t try to stop her, just placed a hand on the top of her head.
“Gemma, you don’t have to…” But he trailed off when she ran her tongue along his length then back to the tip. His fingers tightened in her hair and she closed her mouth around him.
A sense of helpless rage engulfed her when she realised he was scarred here, too. What agonies he must have suffered. And to have stayed away from women for all these years because he feared they saw him as a monster, or that his body was too broken to function. As soon as her hand closed around him, he hissed in a breath, and she froze.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, no… that’s not what…” He looked down at her and her breath caught. In that moment something passed between them. Itwas as if without saying the words, they’d agreed to put everything they were aside and come together free from all other worries. Two lovers meeting in a world all their own. He closed his hand over hers and began to show her what he liked, how much pressure to use. When he tensed and nudged her hand away, she let him. Instead of reaching for him, she stood then lay back on the bed. She held out her arms, pleased when, after only the briefest hesitation, he joined her.
She spread her legs, and he settled on the bed between them. She gasped when his fingers touched her carefully. When she felt him press against her opening she tried to relax, and when she shifted her hips upwards, he slid in a little further. Flattening her hand on the smooth skin of his back under his shirt, she urged him on.
“I want you naked.”
His slight frown marred his features. “Why?”
“Because I want to feel you, for us to be skin to skin.”
He didn’t move. She was afraid she’d asked too much of him and he was going to stop and, more than anything, she didn’t want him to. Nor did she want to talk him into something he was truly uncomfortable with.
“This is what I would want from any man, Arne. Your scars do not make you so different.”
“They do.”
“Not to me. Please.” After a short pause, he took off his shirt, but pulled the blankets over them. She was happy to settle for this. His body did feel rougher against hers than she remembered her husband’s being, but this was not about comparisons, only about what they were sharing now. Pausing for only the briefest of moments more, he closed his eyes and entered her fully.
She closed her eyes, tensing more than she’d expected. It had been more than two years since her husband had died and Arne was not a small man, but soon her body softened and she shiftedher hips, pleased when Arne began to echo her movements in response. Soon they found a rhythm, gentle but persistent. As his thrusts urged her to a pinnacle of pleasure, her eyes filled with tears. She had not known such tenderness for a long time, perhaps ever. He leaned in and captured her lips. How strange for such tenderness to come from a man her people regarded as a barbarian.
She watched him as his hips flexed and he ran his hand over the smooth, unblemished skin of her stomach and thighs. He gazed down at her in a sort of wonder as he touched her, his fingers teasing her most sensitive places until she found bliss.
She nearly protested as he withdrew from her, but it was for the best. His eyes closed and he threw his head back as he used his hand to tip himself over the edge and shuddered his way through his own climax. After he opened them, he rolled to his side, keeping close to her, but didn’t break their eye contact. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Then he smiled and touched her lips with trembling fingers before kissing her, a smile teasing at his mouth. For a long time, they lay side by side, trying to catch their breath and understand exactly what had passed between them.
“So, you can still make love to a woman,” she whispered. She immediately regretted her word choice as their gazes met. He was serious. She’d never seen him look so serious.
Arne shifted and ran a hand over his face. “We should not have done this,” he said and got out of the bed. She sat up, shivering in the chilly night air, and pulled the blanket around her. She should have expected this reaction.
“Why not?”
“Because I am not worthy of you,” he said after a long pause. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves more than a man who looks like me.”
“Arne…” She wasn’t sure what to say. While she appreciated him thinking she was beautiful, it saddened her that his implication was his scars made him unattractive. He strode to the table, and she admired the lines of his body, the strength and shape of his muscles and she saw the smoothness of his unmarred back. She felt a pang of sadness for what he must have been like before and shook it away. She had never known that man and the man he was now was changed, but she loved him anyway. She blinked. What? She didn’t love him. Couldn’t. They were not even friends.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, and swallowed. To admit she found him attractive was one thing. To realise she loved him was something else. “Come back to bed.”
“No.”
“Let us have one night together without thinking of anything else at all. Pretend we are different people.”
“We cannot pretend I do not look as I do.”
