He was right, but my brain didn’t want to cooperate. I was already thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. The people who might notice and the reasons this could be a terrible idea.
“You’re thinking too loud again,” he said.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just come back to me.”
He kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then my mouth. The kiss was softer than the ones before, gentle in a way that made my chest tighten and loosen and ache all at once.
When he pulled back, I felt steadier.
He got up and walked into the attached bathroom. The view of his ass was excellent. When he returned with a warm washcloth, I tried not to feel self-conscious about him seeing me like this, his cock gleaming, the ridges still trembling slightly.
He knelt on the bed and spread my legs gently.
“This alright?” he asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He cleaned me with careful strokes. When he was done, he tossed the washcloth toward the bathroom and lay down beside me.
I curled against him.
Outside, the city continued its night sounds. Car horns in the distance and footsteps in the apartment above us. The building settled around us like it was wrapping us in privacy we didn’t really have.
“How did you get the scar above your eyebrow?” I asked.
His hand went to it. “Renkar hit me with a hockey stick when we were twelve.”
“On purpose?”
“No. He was showing off. I got in the way.”
“That sounds like something brothers do.”
“He cried harder than I did when he saw the blood. He thought he’d killed me.”
I traced the scar with my finger. “I’m glad he didn’t.”
“Me too.”
My hand moved lower, finding another scar along his ribs. “This one?”
“Bad hit three seasons ago. Cracked rib underneath that didn’t heal right.”
“Did it hurt?”
“For a while.”
I kissed the scar and felt him go still beneath me.
“What are you doing?” His voice had gone rough.
“Kissing them all better.”
“Haley—”
“I know it doesn’t work like that.” I found another scar, this one on his shoulder, and kissed that too. “But you’ve been taking care of me all night. Let me take care of you.”