I grasp handfuls of his shirt at his back, reveling in the comfort he’s offering. My arm hurts a little where my stitches are located, but his embrace and the soothing support it offers my spirit and mind, makes it not only manageable, but nearly imperceptible. I nuzzle my face into his chest and squeeze him to me. His scent – a combination of coffee, mint and a brisk, fall morning - make me feel whole. For a few moments, while swaying back and forth, I take deep gulps, letting the essence of him fill my soul. It nurtures me in so many ways. Eventually, I pull back and look him in the eyes. I want him to see their sincerity and pleading for agreement, when he takes in my words, “I’m fine. None of this is your fault.”
“I should have been there,” he whispers so softly, as if we are in a room full of people and he doesn’t want to be overheard.
“No, you shouldn’t have. Being in a relationship doesn’t mean we stop living our lives. You have responsibilities, and so do I. You did nothing wrong, Luke. Nothing. It was just a day…up until then…a day like many others, and hopefully many more to come. Listen, if we are going to move on from this, you must stop blaming yourself.”
He doesn’t argue with me, but I know he doesn’t agree. I feel his arms tighten around me a little more, and suddenly I feel a shift in my awareness. Out of nowhere, I’m extremely aware of how erotic it feels to be naked against him, even though he is fully dressed. Each breath he takes presses his chest against my breasts; the sway of our bodies creating a sweet friction. His tendency to shift his weight and leverage his one leg slightly between mine in a gesture of offering me increased support and steadiness, awakens me. A feeling I haven’t felt for weeks runs through me like a waterfall, and pools in my lower belly. I want him to help take the memories of Deacon away. My hands start moving like they have a mind of their own, and start running over his chest, feeling the hard muscles underneath his soft shirt. I lift my head and look at Luke’s lips. They are full and inviting, and I don’t think twice before I move my mouth towards his. I gently take his lower lip between both of my own and nibble.
A soft groan of contentment comes out of Luke’s mouth, and now I couldn’t stop myself, even if I tried. His encouragement prompts me to capture his mouth with my own. I take control of our kiss by wrapping my arms around his neck, running my fingers from one hand up the back of his head, gripping his head with my good hand, and pressing him closer to me. I let my tongue and lips speak for me in their actions--not words--making sure he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I pour my love and need through each movement, and when he groans again, I capture it against my mouth.
He pulls away from me breathless, and his eyes are overflowing with lust and longing, no doubt mirroring mine. “Let’s get you in the shower.” His voice is raspy and sounds sexy. It makes me feel complete feminine satisfaction knowing that I affected him that way.
Right now, the last thing I want to do is get in the shower, but my need to feel like me again, and to wipe the last traces of Deacon off of me is overwhelming. As much as I want and need to go further with Luke, I feel tainted; contaminated, impure. Before we can go any further¸ I need to be unsullied, unblemished. Clean. Will it ever be possible?
I immediately push that thought from my mind and instead watch him place the shower chair under the water. Once he has it secure, he turns back around and starts securing the plastic bags and rubber bands over my cast.
“We should probably put one over my stitches too. I know the bandage is there, but they said not to get them wet for a couple days.”
“Good idea.”
He puts a bag around the bandage on my arm and then helps me get under the water and settled onto the chair.
I let out a sigh. The warm water is soothing and comforting and feels amazing on my skin, and I feel like it’s already washing the last few weeks away. It’s healing some part of me with each drop. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of warmth that runs over me in continuous waves. I open my eyes to see Luke rolling his sleeves up. When they are above his elbows, he grabs the soap, lathering it up between his hands. As I realize his intentions, my eyes meet his and I smile, encouraging his thoughts. I love that he wants to take care of me, and the truth is I need it too – on more than one level.
Reaching in to trail his hands over my shoulders requires a longer stretch anticipated and I notice that his sleeve and shift begin to get wet. He mumbles, “Forget this,” and before I can blink, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m coming in with you, it will make this easier.”
My mouth instantly waters and I almost laugh at the feeling. With all the seriousness I can muster, I manage to say, “Yes, that’s a good idea. I don’t want you to get soaked or for your clothes to be ruined.”
I watch him like a starved animal. I swear it’s like everything starts moving in slow motion. I see the buttons of his shirt come apart one by one, each accomplishment revealing his flesh, inch by stunning inch. I want to touch and taste him. Feel him beneath my fingers; watch his muscles move. He’s barely undressed and already I feel warmth between my legs. When he starts to unzip his pants, my mouth goes dry. I feel like I’m ready to combust, and he’s completely oblivious to the effect he’s having on me.
I continue to observe with unashamed fascination as he slides his jeans and boxers down his legs, at the same time toeing off his shoes, and lastly lifts his legs one by one to remove his socks. When he’s standing before me, I practically dissect him. Beginning at the tips of his toes, my eyes move to his muscled calves and thighs, and stop at the juncture of his thighs. My own body aches in response at the sight of his. I miss him with a physical desperation that shows itself in the tightening of my stomach, the hardening and pronouncement of my nipples, and the quickening of my breath.
I advance my gaze to his hard abs, chiseled chest, strong neck, full lips, and then meet his glorious blue eyes. He’s looking right at me and I feel not the slightest hint of embarrassment that he was standing there, silently encouraging my exploration. I wonder when he perceived that task turned to pleasure, and oblivion became interest and desire. Hopefully, the water helped mask any drool that may have escaped my mouth. His eyes reveal longing and lust - the curve of his lips show amusement. I clear my throat and tip my head back in the water, trying to distract myself.
I swear I hear a chuckle, prompting me to open my eyes, and when I do, I’m startled to see him right in front of me. Since I’m sitting and he’s standing, it makes for a rather interesting display. I smile and look up at him, his grin is ear-to-ear and I laugh. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
I shake my head and quit talking when his soap covered hands once again start running over my collar bone, shoulders and down my arms, carefully avoiding the wrapped part of my arm. “Raise your arms over your head.” I do, and he even gets my armpits with the soap. As his hands go over my chest and stomach, he bends closer and lower, paying special attention to every mark and bruise. My breath catches when his activity abruptly ceases and he lowers himself to his knees. He is no longer looking at me, but appears to be analyzing my body with glassy, glazed over eyes. I start to reach out to touch his face in comfort, but freeze as he leans toward me and places his lips against my skin, gently kissing the worst bruise on my good arm. He leaves his lips there a moment and then I see his eyes move to the next mark and he kisses that too. He takes his time, lovingly touching and kissing every spot. It doesn’t matter how small it is, he gives it attention. He even kisses the scratches on my knees and the few bruises and scrapes on my legs.
When a tear falls down his cheek, silent tears of my own immediately match his. He looks up at me when a sob catches in my throat that I can’t disguise. If I wasn’t already sitting, I would fall over at the look in his eyes. Outrage. Sadness. Desperation. Guilt. Compassion. Love. He cups the side of my face, brushes his fingers over my cheek, and then kisses my tears away too. “I love you, Livvie.”
I take his head and cradle it to my
chest. I run my fingers through his hair and let my tears continue to fall. “I love you too,” I whisper.
“I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“You didn’t. You make me feel loved.”
He gives me a soft smile and then it changes to a smirk as he grabs the soap again. His hands run over and under my breasts, holding them in his hands for a moment, making my breath catch. I know he’s trying to change the heaviness in the air around us. The bastard even brushes his thumbs over my nipples and chuckles when they pucker immediately in response. I indulge his efforts.
“You’re an ass.”
“Hush.”
He continues the cleansing of my body, over my hips, down my legs, even washing between my toes. He moves behind me to get my back, and then wraps his arm across my chest, “Hold on to my arm angel.” His hand tucks under one of my arms and he pulls me up a little bit and I brace my weight against his arm. It’s a good thing too because when his other arm touches the area between my legs I almost fall right then and there. “I’m just being thorough. We want to make sure we get everywhere.”
All I can manage is an “Mmm hmm.” It isn’t only his hand between my legs, it’s also the feel of his hardness pressed against my ass. I can feel that this is affecting his body as much as it is mine, making my need for him triple. My breathing starts getting crazy, but once again, my thoughts are stopped in their tracks when he sits me back down. I barely resist a groan in protest.
“I’m going to wash your hair for you.”
“You don’t have to do that, I can do that much.”
“I know you can, I want to.”
“Okay, then.”
His hands in my hair stop all protests. I don’t know what it is about someone else massaging and touching my scalp that feels so amazing, but it does. I practically whimper, “Okay, I’m pretty sure I would be fine with you doing this every day.”
Luke chuckles, “Oh yeah? So, you don’t want to do it yourself anymore?”
“Nope. No idea what I was thinking. I’m pretty sure we are going to need to take all future showers together for this very reason.”
“Mmm, I can get on board with that.”
I sigh, happy in the feeling of contentment that washes over me. Luke’s mere presence makes me feel safe and secure, but this type of spoiling and generosity engages a keen sense of protection and love. I have so much to work through physically and emotionally, but Luke has no idea how much he’s helping. He’s the perfect medicine for my mental and physical wounds.
When he finishes, he shuts off the water and reaches for a towel. He removes the plastic coverings he placed over my arm and leg as he dries me off, then dries himself. He tosses the towel over his shoulder, reaches down, and picks me up, holding me close to his body, taking care to avoid contact with the worst of my wounds and bruises. I capture his lips again in another kiss.
I want more. I know he was going to be distant, not wanting to start anything that he doesn’t think I want to finish, but he couldn’t be more wrong. I want to be with him. I need to feel him against me and know that he is with me in mind and body.
I increase the pressure of my kiss. He swiftly moves across the bathroom floor and sets me down gently on my hospital bed and before he can choose his next move, I caress his face and make my intentions clear by pulling him closer to my body. He comes willingly and I press my breasts into his solid chest. The contact makes me gasp into his mouth. Luke keeps things gentle initially by holding my face still in his hands, like I’m a breakable china doll. But I’m not. I don’t want him to treat me like something that’s been broken. I don’t want to be treated differently, not by him.
I pull my mouth from his, look into his eyes, “Luke. I want you.” I want him to help make the memories go away; to cover the pain and fear with love and passion.
He stares into my eyes for a moment and I can see the internal battle going on inside of him, “I don’t know, angel. Your leg and your arm – I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please, Luke. I need you right now. I don’t want you to treat me differently. I know that he… please,” I whisper. I swallow and let him see the pain and uncertainty in my eyes, “Don’t you… don’t you still want me?”
“Oh angel, I couldn’t want anything more. It’s not even a question of that.”
“Prove it. Please. I need you to show me.”
He looks at me again for another beat and then, in a flash, his lips are once again on mine. His tongue is begging for entry and I immediately give it to him. I relish the taste of his mouth, his lips, and the heat they create in my belly and between my legs. Just his kiss makes me feel like I’m on fire.”
Tearing my mouth from his, I take his hand and place it on my breast, “Touch me.”
He wastes no time answering my request by kneading one breast in his palm while he trails kisses down my neck, across my collar bone, then down to one breast. Taking my nipple into his mouth, he teases it into a hard point and releases it with a loud pop. Then he moves across to the next breast, giving it the same attention. I can’t help the moan that escapes my throat. All I want is him, all I feel is him. He’s removing the memory of the touches and fear from another on me, and all I see is Luke.
“Now, Luke. I need you now.”
Luke groans, and positions me like the weight and awkwardness of my cast are nothing, placing his mouth at my neck and bites down gently while he slowly eases into me at the same time.
“You feel so good, Livvie. So wet, so tight. You were made for me.”
“Yes, you. Always you, Luke. Only you,” I pant in response.
He slowly starts moving in and out and I have an ache deep in my belly that is begging me to meet its demands. I want more. Luke moves his hand between our bodies and starts rubbing the part of me that is aching to be touched.
“Oh god, yes. That feels so good, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
That ache moves through my body like a song reaching crescendo and before I know it, I’m falling off the edge and losing sense of everything, other than riding out my body’s screaming demand. I never want this to end. My release wracks my whole body, and makes tears instantly come to my eyes and fall down my cheeks. I feel amazing, but want to cry at the same time, so many feelings are inside of my body and heart that I can’t even make sense of.
Luke is unaware of my tears, with his head buried in my neck, and is moving faster now. I tighten my good leg around his hip as tight as I can encouraging his pace, wanting him harder, wanting him faster, wanting him to show me with every pound how much he wants me. Needs me.
He cries out with his release, the sound muffled by my neck, and we stay with our bodies pressed together, trying to catch our breath without moving. I want to stay like this. Safe, loved, secure in his arms. There’s no danger here; no fear.
“You okay, angel?”
I smile, “I’m perfect.”
Luke chuckles, the sound making my heart skip a beat. He eases out of me, helps me recline in the bed, removes the towel that somehow has remained in place, and helps me tidy up. His touch is gentle, his eyes full of love, and I want so much to return his smile and pretend that all is right in the world. But I can’t, because deep inside of me, scratching at my throat and pushing behind my eyes, is the need to scream and cry.
11.
TRYING TO CONTAIN A VOLCANO
Olivia
I’m propped up in bed with a fluffy pillow elevating my leg. My Kindle is on my lap, a drink sitting within easy access on an adjacent table, and the remote control snuggled next to me in case I get a yearning to watch TV or listen to my favorite music. Luke has been waiting on my every need, ensuring that I have anything and everything I could possibly want or need. I’m snuggled and wrapped like a cocooned butterfly, all nice and warm in my comforter and I’m finally wearing a pair of my favorite pajamas. They are kitschy pink and patterned all over with shoes, purses and lipsticks. It’s a nice change from that stupid, ugly hospital gow
n.
Speaking of which, I have an idea about those. I look at my laptop and read through my post again about the evilness of hospital gowns. I seriously think I should start a petition about the need for new hospital attire designed with a trendy look. I mean come on, yes people may be sickly, but it’s not as though they don’t know what they have on and a stylish gown might go a long way towards making them feel better. Add that to the fact that no item of clothing - well, perhaps except those drop seat pajamas for children - should ever be designed that allows ones ass to hang out. I definitely think I’m onto something.
It’s nice to feel content for the first time in days. At first, it was tough walking back into the condo. As soon as we came through the door, my mind flashed back to the terrifying moment I realized Pyper was tied up on the couch. I saw Deacon standing in the living room with a gun again and I couldn’t move past the doorway. Fear made me completely immobile. It wasn’t until I felt Luke’s reassuring hand on my back that the visions faded and my pulse started to return to normal.
Pyper and Luke are nervous. It’s written all over their faces. And they pace a lot and keep fidgeting and asking over and over again if I needed anything and if I’m okay. Sometimes I feel like they are waiting for me to either break down or lose my mind or stab someone or worse… stab my favorite dress or handbag to pieces. I finally made my way to the bedroom to get away from their weighted stares.
I’m dealing with it. One minute at a time. I figure eventually I’ll work myself up to one day at a time, but I’m not there yet. My mind doesn’t allow me peace for long. Just as I begin to engross myself into some activity, a memory from my time with Deacon assaults me. I keep hoping if I just keep pushing them back into the box in the back of my mind, eventually they’ll just quit trying to take over. I simply want to forget.
Pretty Little Dreams Page 9