by Abbie Roads
Instinct raised his arms to shield his face. But no blow ever came. Instead, she lightly, gently wrapped her fingers around his wrists and tried to tug them away. He resisted. Humiliation burned a bright and steady blaze across his flesh.
Fucking shit. Not facing her was only gonna made it worse.
He submitted to her, allowed her to breach his defenses. The only saving grace was the dim light from the lamp on the end table. Maybe she wouldn’t notice that he’d turned embarrassment’s favorite color.
Concern for him carved a deep wrinkle across her forehead. Great. Why couldn’t a portal to hell open right now so he could jump in? That would be better than having to admit that he’d acted like an abused dog. “I…uh…don’t do so well with… You know…”
She stared at him for a long time, then tenderly touched the scarred side of his face with her fingertips. He didn’t want to meet her eyes, but he was helpless against her. He saw the question she didn’t speak aloud.
“Yeah. I’m…jumpy”—that was better than calling himself a pussy—“since that happened.”
She wanted to know more. He could see her curiosity but wasn’t going to tell her anything else. It would only make him sound childish—in need of growing up and getting over it. He turned his head to the side so she could no longer see the scar.
And that’s when he felt her fingers on the bottom of his Henley, tugging the material up, up, up.
His gaze snapped to her. He couldn’t look away. She was a beacon in the dark, a promise of salvation. But what the fuck was she doing? He stretched out his arms and lifted so she could pull the shirt over his head.
Was she… Did she want to… Was there any way to mistake her intentions here? His mind searched for any and every possible meaning behind her taking his shirt off. All he could come up with was that she wanted him.
Her golden eyes were warm and her mouth slightly open as she took him in. The only words he could find tumbling around inside his head to describe how she looked at him were a combination of approval, awe, and adoration that no one had ever given him until now.
What little pride he had pumped up a few notches under her perusal. With both hands, she traced the cleft between his pecs, then the hollow of muscle that ran down his stomach. Her touch was cool and carnal.
Goose bumps erupted on his skin. His dick went from zero to boner in record time. The way her inner thighs hugged his hips, she had to feel it. She rubbed herself against him. Fireworks of pleasure burst through him. Oh yeah, she felt it.
Her eyes widened, then slid half-closed. A moaning gasp, brimming with desire, escaped her lips. Whenever she chose to talk to him, he just knew her voice was going to be sex and satin to his ears.
He wanted to spend an eternity studying her, memorizing each detail of her features. Even with the cut on her forehead, she was beautiful. His kind of beautiful. A whole world of beautiful.
But…there was still wetness on her cheeks. No matter how much he wanted this, he wouldn’t do it with those tears on her face.
“Hey.” His voice came out a rough and ragged thing. Slowly, her eyes found his. Goddamn, whenever she looked at him—really looked at him—it was as if she saw beyond the surface to his deep-down dirty core. And somehow liked him anyway. Her head tilted to the side, and her brow furrowed.
“I can’t do this with grief on your cheeks.” Slowly, he reached up and grasped the sides of her head, letting his fingers slide into her hair, and then used his thumbs to wipe at the wetness on her skin. She closed her eyes the way a child does when she’s tolerating her parent cleaning an injury. He could see that now. She was injured. Not just physically. Emotionally.
And this—her legs wrapped around his body, making it clear what she wanted, being on top, taking the lead—was her way of coping. She wanted to fuck the pain away. And he would let her use him to do it. Maybe he was a shit for letting this go any further. But he wouldn’t stop her. Not because he was Mr. Altruistic and willing to sacrifice his body for her mental health. No, he would let her take this as far as she wanted because he wanted the connection with her. He wanted to bury himself balls deep inside her and never leave.
When her cheeks were dry, he whispered. “I’m going to kiss you now.” He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted a simple kiss until he spoke the words aloud.
Her eyes popped open as though she was afraid, but she submitted to the gentle pressure of his hands still in her hair. As the distance between them closed, her gaze never left his. A wary trust shone in her eyes. He knew that look. It said she would agree to this as long as he didn’t hurt her, yet she was still expecting the pain. And he was going to do everything in his power to never cause her harm. Only pleasure.
In that impossible last moment, right before their lips touched, something hot, magnetic, and powerful roused inside him. Something dormant about to awaken and forever change him.
Her lips touched his. A spark of electricity jumped between them, startling them both, but neither moved away, and neither closed their eyes.
She tasted of winter and snow. Surprise flared in her eyes. Her warm, wet tongue found his, and he lost himself in the sensations of her. He wanted to keep looking at her, but she was too much. She overwhelmed all his senses. He smelled her clean, natural scent. Tasted her sweetness. Felt every inch of her body that touched him.
Nothing else existed. No world. No problems. No past. No future. The only thing that remained was her. She surrounded him. Owned him. Through all the years of suffering, he’d been biding his time, waiting for her. The reason he hadn’t ended himself decades ago? Some innate knowledge that she was out there in the world, and eventually, they would meet.
A need born from something more powerful than himself moved his hands out of her hair and onto her waist. She wore such bulky clothing that her true form was visually hidden, but he could feel her through the layers. Felt the bones of her hips and the hollow of her stomach underneath his hands. He slid his fingers up under her shirt, craving her skin the way the devil lusts for sin.
The first ripple of marred flesh met his fingers, then another and another. What was… Before his brain finished asking the question, it had already supplied him with the answer. Scars. She was badly scarred.
She grabbed his wrists, her grip firm and unyielding. She used her injured hand in a way that had to hurt and would probably cause it to bleed again. Leaving no room for argument, she guided him away from her body, pressing his wrists to the floor on either side of his head. She stared into his eyes. She didn’t want him to touch her. No, it was more than not wanting his touch. It was fear. She was afraid of him touching her.
He lay completely submissive to her, not fighting the way she held him. “Hey. It’s okay. You’ve got a scar. I’ve got a scar. It’s no big—”
She let go of his wrists to settle both hands over his mouth and shook her head. He wanted to argue with her. Wanted to convince her that no matter what resided underneath her clothing, she was beautiful. Gorgeous in a way that was meant just for him. Call him delusional, but he believed in that more than he believed in any higher power. Scars were nothing compared to the shadow of death that surrounded some people.
Without removing her hands from his mouth, she bent over him and looked into his eyes. Her long, golden hair fell around them like a stage curtain. The ends of it tickled his palms, still lying where she’d placed them. She stared deep inside him and let him do the same with her. She was asking for his promise not to touch her and questioning if she could trust him.
She finally took her hands off his mouth.
Slowly, so she could see his intentions, he reached up and cupped her face with both his hands—the only kind of touch she found acceptable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I would never hurt you. And I would never judge you by the scars you carry. I promise.”
Her eyes searched his, looking for d
eception, but he had none.
Gently, she grasped his wrists and moved them to the floor, just above his ears once again. She leaned over him. For a split second, he thought she meant to kiss him, but instead she shoved her nose against the side of his neck—a gesture both sweet and intimate. Goose bumps pebbled over his skin. Her hair fanned out across his chest, so appealing and pleasant, he wanted to stroke the strands against his skin, but he wouldn’t move from the position in which she’d placed him.
She inhaled deeply as if she enjoyed the scent of him. He turned his face into her hair and did the same, smelling all the secrets he longed to discover.
Her lips against his neck were a cherished treasure as she kissed and nipped and licked him. His dick yearned for the same treatment.
More than anything, he wanted to grab her, roll over on top of her, and mark her as his. But he lay still, trembling under the weight of his promise to not touch her.
She sat back, taking all the pleasure with her. He opened his mouth to promise again and again and again that he wouldn’t touch; he just wanted—no, needed—her to continue. She ripped the zipper of her insulated pants down, then shifted off him long enough to get one leg out—her actions speaking louder than the words trying to come out of his mouth.
Call him a perv—he would have to own it—he strained to see that lovely cleft of skin between her thighs, but her shirt was long and covered her too well.
And then she yanked at his pajama pants. He lifted his hips so she could pull them down. Holy shit, this was really gonna happen.
When she’d freed his erection, she stopped. For half a moment, he thought she was looking at him with revulsion, but then she reached for him—her hand scalding and cooling against his skin.
Her touch devoured him, vanquishing the ability to think and leaving him only able to feel. Feel everything. Her fingers on him, tracing the bulging vein that ran up his shaft, leaving heat and pressure and the urge—oh God, the unbearable urge—to push himself inside her. His balls burned; his dick throbbed. The pleasure and agony too much to bear. He thrust his hips at her in a primal gesture of desperate need.
And then a miracle occurred. She straddled him again, lifting herself as she wrapped her hand around his dick and positioned herself above him. Her hand on him one of the wonders of nature…until millimeter by millimeter, she sank down.
Color and light and sound winked out of existence. He was lost in sensation. Her warmth, her wetness, her tightness. There weren’t any words in existence to describe the nirvana of being inside her. He felt enlightened, as if she were a deity who’d granted him a priceless gift. Herself.
“Oh, Hell… Hell… Hel—” He couldn’t contain the words flowing out him. “Helen.” The name slipped out of him unconsciously.
She froze.
Oh shit, what had he done? He clawed his way out of the ecstasy and back to logic, barely. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t even know anyone named Helen.”
A small, curious smile brightened her face as she pointed at herself and nodded.
His brain—absent blood flow—took longer than it should to understand. “Your name is Helen?” Incredulity filled his tone.
The smile that fired on her face was one of pure angelic beauty. It lit up his soul like a sunrise.
She sat back on his hips, and he slid impossibly deeper inside her. That was her answer. Her name was Helen, and it had just bubbled up from the muck of his mind as if he’d known it all along. How had that—
She raised herself, the friction of her sliding against him too wonderful to allow thought. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from touching her, his arms shaking with the need. But he’d amputate both limbs before he’d break a promise to her.
A guttural sound of pain and pleasure burst out of him, and he arched his spine, the intensity almost too much. She groaned, and together, they made a perfect song of sex.
She rode him, pumping, grinding, setting a rhythm and pace that blinded him in the beauty of her using his body. This was for her. And he’d be damned certain she got what she needed.
Her pace quickened, her thrusts harder and messier. His control slipped, and he bucked against her, hips slamming into her with a wild frenzy. And then she seated herself so deeply upon him that he swore he touched heaven. She flung her head back on her shoulders, moaning her bliss while her hands kneaded his pecs. Her body clenched around him, her orgasm giving him permission to let go.
“Helen. Helen. Helen.” He chanted her name in time with his thrusts. A tiny part of his mind remembered that he’d imagined this moment back in the tent. How could that be?
Something immense and powerful and awe-inspiring crashed over him. Everything he’d thought he knew about life and love was torn apart, then somehow pieced back together in a new order that made him strong and powerful and made him feel fucking indestructible. That’s the effect being with her had on him.
She watched his orgasm, a self-satisfied grin tickling the corners of her mouth. When he’d spent every ounce of himself, she draped herself across his chest, her breath coming in long gulps of warm air directly over his heart.
As if the bonds on his hands had finally been broken, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. Her body seemed so small and fragile, but she carried a quiet strength inside her. Yeah, she might be injured, but she wasn’t weak.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back in soothing circles. She squirmed and snuggled tighter against him, like a kitten seeking warmth and safety. Through the fabric of her shirt, he felt the rough ridges of scarred skin, but he kept up the comforting caress. If she knew he could feel her scars, she would become frightened. The last thing he wanted.
She relaxed against him and sighed a sleepy, contented sound that would’ve had his lips tilting upward at satisfying this gorgeous woman, but all he could think about were the scars. He couldn’t risk deviating from his strokes to map out each one, but they were extensive. Almost as though someone had taken a cat-o’-nine-tails to her. But then there were other places, hollows where the skin had sunken in instead of puckering out. Fucking. Christ. What had happened to her?
A car accident? A fire? Then a thought slammed into him so violently, it knocked his mental world off-kilter. Had someone done this to her? Was that why she didn’t talk? Because he knew she had the ability to speak. The way she groaned and sighed—he could hear her voice behind those sounds. Had someone hurt her badly enough to steal her voice?
His brain stopped functioning. Something hot and angry pumped through his veins. A rage so potent, he could taste it in his mouth, smell it in the air. He wanted to kill whoever had harmed her. Rip them into pieces and then beat them with their own body parts.
He’d stopped rubbing her back and was now tracing the lines of her scars with his fingers. Which only fueled his anger. He forced his hands to stillness before he shook her awake and demanded to know who had hurt her so he could hunt them down and perform some anger management on them.
Bloodthirsty and possessive seemed to be his new norm when it came to her. He didn’t mind. Yeah, he’d just met her, but she didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt familiar and… What was the word he wanted? Destined.
Destined? Did he dare to believe that she could be meant for him? It was too fucking late for that question. He knew she was supposed to be his. But he wasn’t sure she felt the same way. She might be seeking comfort of the one-night-stand variety. Well, then it was gonna be his job to convince her to stay with him without seeming like a psycho stalker.
The wood floor was cold and uncomfortable against his back and ass cheeks. And yet he’d lay here holding her for two eternities and a forever. Logic and rationality were too weak to make him end his time with her. He’d hold her until she didn’t want to be held any longer.
But right here, right now, he would memorize everyth
ing about her. The way her hair felt like a soft breeze against his chest, her soft inhales and warm exhales, her breasts pressed against his chest through her shirt as she slept. The way it felt to have his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. And he’d never forget for as long as he lived what it felt like to be inside her.
He’d sacrifice his life to keep this one moment alive.
* * *
Outside, an anemic dawn had just begun its attempt at dragging in an unenthusiastic new day. Or maybe Thomas was just reluctant for the night to end. Over the past hours, he’d come to terms with the fact that an eternity of holding Helen would never be enough. He was that far gone.
She lay on top of him, in the exact position she’d fallen asleep. He’d expected to be uncomfortable, but he wasn’t. Holding her all night pleased him in an unexpected way. The steady inhale and exhale of her breath relaxed him. The weight and warmth of her better than a heated blanket.
As he held her, he looked around his living room, seeing it for the first time. The old Victorian wallpaper was subtly colored with pink blossoms and ruby-throated hummingbirds. The rich brown of the crown molding and baseboards were a perfect accent. He’d loved this place from the moment he walked in the front door, seeing it in only black and white. Now he loved it a little more.
Helen jerked violently in her sleep. The first time she’d done that, it’d startled him. Almost as if his body had a mirror response to hers. But after the third time, he’d gotten used to it.
He tightened his arms around her. “Shh… It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Thomas whispered the words to the top of her head resting on his chest. He kissed her hair, and her body relaxed and drifted off again. What horrors visited her dreams? He wanted to go all medieval knight and slay her dragons.
Dawn had finally slipped into day when she stirred against him, sighing a sound so full of contentment that he grabbed on to the melody and refused to let it go. He wanted to luxuriate in her satisfaction, but he was a damn coward. He slammed his eyes closed, breathed slow and deep, and pretended to be asleep.