Pulled Within

by Marni Mann

  “I…came. Like I said I would. Didn’t you want me to?”

  “It’s seven in the morning. I haven’t heard from you since I dropped you off at your car almost twenty-four hours ago.” He didn’t step back to let me in.

  I pulled my phone from the pocket of the hoodie and held it up for him to see. “It’s dead. I had no way to call you.”

  His face told me he wasn’t convinced. “That’s the best excuse you’ve got?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was more worried or angry. But I could tell he definitely cared about where I’d been.

  “I have puke on my breath,” I explained, “and probably on my face…and most definitely in my hair. I need a shower so badly…and I’m afraid to close my eyes.” I didn’t know why I included that last part. It would only lead to questions. There was no way I could tell him about my nightmares just yet.

  But maybe I wanted him to ask why I was afraid.

  “I should have called you, Hart. It was just…a mess.”

  “What was a mess, Rae?” His tone had softened.

  “Nothing…everything. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I didn’t know what was coming out of me, but I couldn’t stop it. Hart didn’t try to make me either. He set the mug on the floor and reached for me, gently slipping one arm around my waist and another behind my knees as he picked me up and carried me through the house. He took me into his bathroom and sat me on the edge of his jetted tub, turning the nozzle to fill it. He disappeared and returned with my toothbrush and toothpaste. I brushed my teeth at the sink.

  His hands held my waist the whole time. When I was finished, he pulled me toward him. I smelled the scent of his skin. His flesh was smooth, almost glossy as it rounded the hard contours of his muscled chest. A simple silver rod ran horizontally through his nipple. I had stood as close as this when he’d gotten it pierced; he’d done the same only minutes later when my belly button was pierced. I remembered the look on his face when the needle punctured that sensitive spot, the breath he held in, the way his exhale blanketed me. I could feel that same breath now as his hand traveled up to the zipper of my hoodie and slowly pulled it down. I wore only a bra underneath. It was the one Christy had given me on my first night at the casino and it pushed my breasts high onto my chest.

  They heaved as the sweatshirt fell open.

  The sound of the heavy fabric hitting the tile floor was the only other noise besides the flow of water and the rush of our breath. His hands clasped my hips, pushing the sweatpants down my thighs and past my knees. I felt his air once more, a sharp, hot exhale that came when he realized I wasn’t wearing any panties.

  His eyes found mine again, and he unhooked the clasp of my bra, setting my breasts free. Then he carefully lifted me and placed me in the bubbling water. There were jets on both sides of the tub, behind me and all around. They massaged everything that hurt…on the outside, at least.

  They weren’t able to touch anything that hurt within.

  Hart sat on the tile base that framed the tub. He squeezed a dab of soap over a coral-like sponge and mashed it between his hands until it was a sudsy ball. Starting at my feet, he rubbed the soft scrubber over my toes and up my calves, massaging with each pass. He moved to the outside of my thighs, slowly working his way to the inside before sliding back up.

  He hovered over my navel and caressed the rod that hung from my belly button.

  “It’s even sexier now than when you first got it,” he said.

  The sound of him surprised me. It wasn’t his usual tone. It was deeper, more seductive…a morning voice, a mix of coffee and need that translated all the way to his fingers.

  He was caring for me, cleansing me, trying to help me close my eyes again. I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than his voice…and his hands. They were everywhere, slowly moving closer to my neck.

  My scar suddenly felt like it had ripped open, like rain was pouring out of its jagged edges. Ironically, my skin felt like it was on fire, a blaze that spread across the surface of my entire cheek.

  I flinched.

  “Rae, what’s wrong?” Hart’s voice took on a new tone. It was soft and tender, full of concern again. “Am I hurting you?”

  I was holding my breath. My lids were squeezed shut; my stomach was queasy, even though there was nothing in it.

  All I could picture were Gerald’s hands.

  I couldn’t get them out of my head. What those hands had done… what they had taken from me. It was so fresh—too fresh from my nightmare. And yet, I knew the difference between his hands and Hart’s. They weren’t similar in any way, not their touch or their scent.

  So why did I fear Hart touching my cheek, or my hair? Why was the thought of that making it so hard to find my breath again?

  “Rae, talk to me.”

  My eyes burst open. I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. And I rocked.

  Back and forth.

  The waves I created splashed over the sides of the tub and soaked his jeans. He dropped the sponge in the water. It floated over the top of the pool as his hands moved up my arms and stopped at the base of my shoulders.

  “Please,” I begged, “don’t go any higher.” I tucked my chin against my chest, pressed my forehead to my knees and hid my face.

  “I won’t,” he assured me.

  “Keep your hands right there, okay?” It was softer than a whisper. A nearly-silent plea that I wasn’t sure he heard, but I hoped he had.

  I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he made sure I felt his presence. The tips of his toes touched mine first, then his legs surrounded both sides of me. His arms slid around my back, the strength of them pulling me into his lap. He’d left his jeans on when he’d climbed into the tub. They rubbed over my ass as he hugged me.

  I was still in a ball, pushed into his chest, and his lips pressed against my knees. “I want to help you.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Yes, I can.” His hands pressed harder. “But you have to let me. You have to tell me how I can make this better for you.”

  My arms carefully unfolded; my legs separated to spread over him. My fingers drew to his shoulders. The sun was rising, the added light glistening over his chest and neck and face. My eyes skimmed all of him as my fingers traced his shape. When I reached his shoulder, I felt something bumpy and slightly rough. I moved my hand away and felt the scar underneath, starting at the corner of his shoulder and stopping at the top of his bicep. With his skin still holding its summer tan, the white line was even more noticeable. It was thick and dotted on both sides where the stitches had once weaved through his flesh.

  So similar to mine, and yet so different.

  I met his stare as my fingers drew over his scar again. And again. “You’re healed.”

  He searched my eyes. I knew it was impossible, but I could feel him looking inside me, into the space where I kept my fears and my past and my scars. They were all so deeply pulled within. He was trying his best to read them all and understand me. His face told me that suddenly he did.

  “You can be healed, too,” he said.

  I wanted to believe him. I wanted to know that I could gaze at myself in the mirror and not think of that night in the storm, and of everything I had lost. With my scar, my memories and my nightmares unwilling to let go, I just didn’t know how it would be possible.

  “Is that what you really believe?” Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

  It probably meant I’d have to give him more…tell him more. I couldn’t do that now.

  Shit, I hadn’t even been able to reply when he’d asked to have coffee with my mom and me. How much longer would I be able to avoid discussing my family?

  And if I did finally tell him the truth, would he still look at me the way he did now?

  “Of course I do,” he said. “Everyone has a chance to heal. Some people choose to stay in the past and let their scars define them. Others choose to let it be nothing more than a mark on the
ir body. That’s what I’ve done. It doesn’t define me. It sure as fuck doesn’t determine where I’m going.”

  My scar had done just that. But his was hidden, and mine tattooed more than just my skin.

  My scar was everywhere.

  I broke away from his silvery gaze and tried to fill my lungs with air. He knew I’d needed his encouragement, and I knew I did, too. But it was all too real, too fast.

  “Hey…come back to me.” He wrapped me into his chest, his hands pressing even harder. “You’re freezing. Let me get you out of here.” He stood in the tub, my legs crossed around his waist, my arms clinging to his neck. I could hear the water falling from his jeans onto the tile when he stepped out.

  It sounded like rain.

  He reached for a towel and spread its soft warmth around me, tucking it into my chest and under my butt. I watched as he carefully kept away from my neck and anything above it without realizing how much that meant. “You’ll be warm in a minute.”

  I wasn’t shaking because of the air temperature, though I didn’t tell him that.

  He carried me into his room, pulling back the sheet and blankets as he placed me under both. Once I was settled, he went into his closet and returned wearing dry clothes. Then he sat next to me on the bed, rubbing my blanket-covered limbs as if he were trying to warm them.

  “I know you have to go,” I said. “Don’t stay because of me. I’ll be fine here alone.” I tucked the blanket around my head. The only thing uncovered now was my face. The shaking was starting to settle down.

  His fingers ran up and down my thigh, staying on the outside, never coming close to the inside. “There’s nowhere I need to be. I just had to get out of those wet jeans.”

  I didn’t want him to leave the house, necessarily. But I needed some time to clear my head of everything that had happened in the last few hours. And to do that, I needed his hands off me. “That’s not true. I know you have to work today. You should have already been there.”

  His stare moved to my lips. “You need me more than my job does.”

  That was probably the truest thing he’d said.

  “I do need you, but I’m willing to share you right now. I promise I’ll be okay.” My hand snuck out of the blanket. I clutched his fingers and pulled them to my lips. I kissed each one softly. “I need to get some sleep. If you’re here, that won’t happen.” I nipped his knuckle.

  His eyes narrowed, and the corners of his lips pointed upward. He enjoyed the sharp little blast of pain as much as I thought he would. “For wanting me gone, you’re making it difficult for me to leave…”

  I laughed, dropping his hand and covering mine with the blanket again. “Go,” I teased. “Before I change my mind.” His lips weren’t far. It would have been so easy to lean forward and taste them. “You have to go.” If he stayed one minute longer, I would be popping off every button on his shirt, and then there really would be nothing separating us. When he didn’t budge, I tried again, “Hart, right now. I’m not kidding.”

  His grin dripped with as much seduction as concern. He stood from the bed. “Sleep here. I’ll come back to check on you when the guys go to lunch.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine before he backed away. “I’m glad I made you smile…a real one, this time.”

  And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WHEN I FINALLY woke, I was in the same position as when I’d fallen asleep. I didn’t know what made my eyes open. I was comfortable; I wasn’t too hot beneath the blankets, and I’d set the alarm on Hart’s nightstand, but it hadn’t gone off yet. Even though I’d only napped for a few hours, I felt surprisingly well-rested.

  I slowly unfolded from the nest of blankets and pillows I had built around me. I was still wearing the towel he’d wrapped me in. I hadn’t unpacked my clothes from the car, so I went into his closet to find something to wear. It was a walk-in with shelves and drawers and racks made of wood the same dark color as his furniture. All of them were full.

  The tips of my fingers brushed over the sleeves of his shirts and the hems of his pants. It smelled like him in here. His cologne. His body wash. Those scents had haunted me years ago when my fingers had ached to touch him—when I’d stared at the empty space on my bed where he used to lay when he came over.

  But there were no more empty spaces when it came to him.

  He was here. He wanted me.

  I didn’t understand it…but I didn’t feel as if I had to.

  I chose one of the button-downs—a white one. He had plenty more just like it. Releasing the towel, I slid my arms into the silky material and buttoned the bottom, leaving the top two open.

  I dropped the towel in the hamper and wandered out through the living room. As I passed the dining room, just before arriving at the kitchen, I heard a noise and froze.

  “It’s me,” Hart said.

  There was a wall between us. I held on to its edge with both hands and peeked around it. He was standing in front of the island with his hand inside a plastic bag. “Did I wake you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Come here,” he commanded.

  I moved my body out from behind the wall, my bare feet tapping on the wood floor.

  “Stop,” he said after only two steps. His exhale was loud. He removed his hand from the bag and placed both palms on the countertop. “Turn around.”

  The look on his face told me how serious he was. Was he pissed that I’d dressed in his clothes, or was he getting ready to hurdle the island?

  I rose to my tiptoes and began to twirl.

  “Slower.”

  I obeyed his order, gradually making my way around until I faced him again. His eyes almost felt like fingers and they were all over me—my legs, my breasts, my face. Maybe out of habit—or maybe because I wanted to keep my scar hidden from him more than anyone else—I tilted my unmarred cheek toward him.

  “Get over here.”

  I felt the beat of those three little words shoot straight between my legs. That was all it took to get my feet moving again.

  I reached the island, leaning my back into the countertop as he shifted in front of me. His hands gripped the stone on both sides of me. I touched the starched collar of my shirt. “My clothes are in my car.” I felt the heat of his gaze, watching him eventually release his bottom lip, which he had been stabbing with his teeth.

  “When you’re in my house, I only want you wearing my clothes.”

  “Even your boxers?”

  “If I tell you to, yes. Nothing of yours…not even panties.” He bent his head, running his nose across my shoulder and to the opening of the shirt. “I want my scent to be on you—always.”

  The soft concern he had showed in the tub had been replaced with a vibrant urgency.

  There were spots on my body that ached for him. He leaned over me, his hardness pressing against me. Even though I could feel how much he wanted me, Hart wasn’t someone I could rush.

  “I don’t want my smell just here,” he said, kissing down my chest and stopping at the first closed button. His lips sat directly between my breasts. “I want it here, too.” The tip of his finger touched the middle of my thigh. “And here.” It moved closer to where my legs met. “And here.” Then it continued to slide up until it stopped on my clit. He only gave me the edge of his finger, and with hardly any pressure. It was enough to stop my breathing. “I want this spot to always smell like I’ve been here.” My back arched as he licked across my collarbone. “And I don’t think I can wait any longer to taste it.”

  I didn’t think I could, either. Without the counter behind me, my body would have melted into the floor. He owned it now—every drop of moisture, every thought, every breath that came from my lips.

  “Let me have it, Rae.” His lips were pushing the shirt aside while he worked his way over to my nipple. “Let my tongue make you come.”

  I moaned into the air, and my eyes closed. I’d already given him control, but his words confirmed how deeply he
was able to reach within me and the intensity of everything that swirled together now. “I’m yours.”

  His breath caressed my neck and wrapped around the base of my chin. “Fuck…I’m going to devour you.” He exhaled, and the breeze rushed between my skin and the shirt, hardening my nipples even more. “What time do you have to leave for work?”

  It was hard to bring myself back to the moment, to even know what time it was or where I had to be. His hands never stopped touching me, and his lips never stopped kissing my body while I thought about his question. “Not for a few hours, I think.”

  He nibbled on my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. He tasted like breakfast, sweet syrup and vanilla coffee. It was delicious. “I wish I could have you all night long.” His hands traveled up my sides, bringing the button-down with them.

  I couldn’t imagine telling him to stop so I could go to work. But I also couldn’t risk losing my job.

  “I—”

  His fingers brushed across my stomach and dipped between my legs again. I gasped.

  “If you want me to stop, tell me now.” He had only one finger on me, running over the length as it circled and spread my wetness. He gave just enough pressure to make me moan.

  When his finger suddenly paused, I reached down and placed my hand on top of his. “Don’t stop.”

  “Then tell me what I want to hear.”

  A wave quickly spread through me. “Hart,” I groaned. I gripped his arm, sliding down just enough so that the back of my head rested on the countertop. My legs spread apart a little more. His lips brushed over my mouth while the pad of his thumb continued to graze my clit.

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me this is mine and no one else’s.”

  “It’s yours.”

  His thumb moved up, then slowly down, flicking from one side to the other like a tongue. I could feel my wetness on his skin—not just damp or slick. I was sopping.

  “Now I want to hear you moan my name again.”

  My hips swiveled, urging him to push harder, to insert one, two of his fingers while he circled me at the same time. “Hart…”