Текст книги "Stain"

Автор книги: Francette Phal

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter 20

Aylee

I don’t see or hear from him for days after what happened in the art room and realize mournfully I have no way of contacting him. I can’t show up at his home again. I no longer own a bike. Once or twice, I’ve thought about going to Noah to ask for Maddox’s number, but what little pride I have remaining keeps me from further acting like the desperate fool. Besides, last time I saw them together, Maddox was throwing punches and Noah was on the floor. I tried to be there for him, but I can’t force it. Can’t make him trust me. He doesn’t judge me, so I’m going to make a conscious effort to attempt to do the same. I don’t know what Noah meant when he said those things that angered Maddox, but the way I see it, everyone has secrets. And they deal with them at their own pace. That I do understand. I’m not happy about his disappearance, and I miss him. So I’ll wait. My days progress in perpetual limbo while I wait for him to reappear back in my life. Either in group therapy, in school, or even at my house. I’ve become that needy for his proximity. It’s the end of the week again, and with the last ring of the bell, the end of school, too. I have my humanities study group upstairs in the library so I make a brief stop at my locker to drop off the books I don’t need to take home tonight. It alleviates the weight from my backpack, making it a whole lot easier for me to carry.

The library is massive and is considered one of Brigham High’s greatest accomplishments. It’s emptier now that it’s the end of the school day, but there are still students milling around. Finding the four members of my humanities study group camped out on one of the solid oak, rectangular tables a little farther back, I hurry to them. Alex, David, Jen, Cory, and I rarely ever interact outside of class, but in class we do pretty well together. When we have an especially difficult test, like the one our humanities teacher is giving us next week, we band together and help each other where the other is weakest.

Which helps tremendously considering the course load we get swamps all of us, especially with just this AP class alone.

“Hey, Aylee, Jen’s going for a snack run. You want anything? It’s on Alex,” David announces with a grin as he leans back against his chair.

“No, I’m okay, thank you.” I set my bag on the table and take the seat next to Cory, who has his ash-blond head down while texting.

“So, Aylee, I was just going over what we discussed in class today. You’re still up to tackling Greece, right?” David asks.

I nod, taking out my four-subject notebook, with its colorful array of Note Tabs sticking out from every other page. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Great, so we’re doing what we agreed on. We each research one of the historical eras, take notes, and then we’ll write up a master note with all the necessary events that’ll be on the test. We’ll run copies and study off of that.”

“You got it, commandant.” Cory’s snarky response earns a glare from the uncontested leader of our group.

When Jen returns with a bag full of food we aren’t supposed to have in here, she leaves it under the table to keep it from getting confiscated by one of the librarians. We work silently for a bit before splitting up to go research our assigned subject. It would’ve been easier simply using the Internet to gather all the necessary information, but Mrs. Keegan is against Internet research. As she puts it, ‘any Joe Schmoe can create a Wikipedia page these days, and mess with history. Whereas the words written in history books will never be altered to fit someone’s biased view.’ She has a point. But it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. Cory and I head to the second floor where more of the history books are kept. There’s no one up here in the stacks but the two of us.

“So, Aylee, I was wondering something,” Cory begins as we walk down the carpeted aisle and split to search for our section of history. I go right, while he goes left. Lost in concentration, I move through the towering shelves in search of books on ancient Rome, and am only half listening to what he’s saying.

“What?”

“What sort of music are you into? Because I have these Avicii tickets for Saturday and I know it’s last minute but I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for a while now.” I hear him laugh softly, a noise that sounds both like relief and release of nervous tension. “So, anyway, are you free tomorrow night?”

I’m grateful that we’re separated by the rows of shelves because I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a boy ask me on a date before. Heck, I’ve never had a boy be interested in me. Ever.

Except maybe for—

“No.”

One throaty word startles me to the core, and my mouth drops open as a gasp falls from my lips. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. I’d know that voice anywhere, even in a din. With eyes wide and a booming heart, I forget for an infinite moment how to breathe as he brushes my unbound hair to one side, exposing my neck to the delicious warmth of his wet lips. He’s right there, right behind me, pressing up so close I feel every inch of his hardened physique molding up against the softness of my backside. “Tell him no, Aylee.” It’s a whispered growl, heating with authority. Every inch of my skin crackles at his voice, at his nearness, like a livewire doused by water. With hands at my hips, he turns me around to face him. It’s been days since I’ve seen him and yet, the way my mind, body, and soul responds to the mere sight of him is astounding.

“Aylee?”

I can’t even think properly let alone reply when I hear Cory call me through the muddle in my head. “I’m...”

“Aylee?” I turn my head to the right to find Cory standing at the entrance of the aisle. I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s seeing. Probably me being squished up against the bookshelf behind me by a scowling, pierced, and tattooed guy who doesn’t seem at all inclined to release me any time soon. “Aylee, are you all right?”

“I’m…”

“She’s busy.”

Cory glares. “How about you let her talk?”

“How about you fuck off?” Testosterone brimming, he pulls away from me and makes a beeline for Cory. I have to run and maneuver my way in front of him to get him to stop in his tracks.

“Maddox, don’t…” My hand falls on his abdomen, just a few inches south of his rapidly-beating heart. When he looks down at me, it’s with storm clouds in his eyes. “Please,” I add.

“I need him to go away,” he answers, almost too quietly, like he can’t quite get around to tempering his rage.

I nod and attempt a smile. “I can do that. Just let me go talk to him.” When I move away, his hand whips out to grab my wrist.

“Do it from here.” He doesn’t let me go. His hold is loose enough to have me pull away if I want to, but I don’t want to. Not even a little bit.

Turning, I address Cory, who’s taken the entire exchange with a frown on his face. I can definitely understand how odd this must look. “I’m okay, Cory.”

His skepticism comes through in his next question. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”

“Or something,” Maddox growls.

“Aylee…”

“I promise, I’m okay. Maddox is just kidding around. I really wish I could go out with you this weekend, but I’m going to be painting Maddox for my art portfolio. That’s actually why he’s here. I need to talk to him about it.”

“Oh,” he says, reluctantly. “All right. I get it. Just…maybe some other time then?”

I nod slowly, chewing the inside of my bottom lip, “Maybe.”

“I’ll see you downstairs?”

“Yup, be right down.”

“I’d give him an hour tops, before you lose interest in him,” he injects with a cocky grin.

“Maybe, but at least I’ll be entertained for a good hour,” I answer back, meeting his narrowed gaze head-on. But because he’s too good at this game and the intensity of his stare strips me bare, I avert my eyes. “You’re here,” I say, inanely looking down at his large hand still encircling my wrist.

“I’m here,” he echoes.

Blinking fast, I take the chance to look up at his face. “Why?”

Without warning, he yanks me to him, and I gasp when he pushes me up against the bookshelf behind me and traps me there with his body. Sweeping a large hand behind my hair, he takes a strong, possessive hold of my nape and lowers his head until his breath fans my partially-opened mouth. “Because I want a kiss.”

Yes! Please, yes!

I anticipate the urgent brush of his mouth on mine like it’s a drop of water after years and years of drought. “I want you on my tongue, Aylee.”

I don’t fully grasp the implication of his words. All that matters to me is him satisfying the craving I have for his drugging kiss. I lift my head up more, close my eyes, and wait…and wait…and wait...

He chuckles softly, “Not here, for now.” His thumb glides along my bottom lip in a sweet, torturous caress. “Turn around,” he commands but doesn’t give me the chance to do it myself as he turns me to face the bookshelf. “Don’t move,” he adds hoarsely. His heavy breath along my ear produces a slow crawl of heat low in my abdomen.

I feel the absence of his warmth instantly and I want to turn around so badly to see where he’s gone or what he’s doing. But something keeps me from doing so.

So I wait and ask instead, “Wha…what are you doing?” My voice quivers in a whisper only to choke on a gasp as I feel his strong, firm hands at the waistband of my dark blue maxi skirt and then slowly he tugs it down. A current of cool air in the room sweeps across my exposed butt cheeks. Reaching down, I slam my hand on his to stop him from going any further.

“Maddox…” The stop catches in my throat at the feel of his soft, warm lips whispering along the curve of my butt. His fingertips skim up the sides of my trembling thighs and slip beneath the band of my cotton panties. With his breath steaming-hot along my cheeks, he slides the panties down my legs in a languorous motion and they fall on top of my skirt, pooling around my feet on the carpeted floor.

Panic has my head moving left and then right out onto the open aisle. The sudden idea of someone walking by at any moment to find me with my skirt down, my bottom half exposed, and Maddox on his knees behind me shoots the most electrifying thrill down my spine, invoking a soft moan.

Good Lord, what’s wrong with me? Do I actually want someone to see us?

Yes.

The answer is a dark little whisper in my mind. It ripples like a caress through every crevice in my body.

This is scandalous.

Wicked.

Wrong.

But how can something so wrong feel so intensely right? So astonishingly good? If this is sin then I’ll gladly burn for just a stroke of his tongue along my most intimate place. For him, I’d burn for eternity. I want his touch. I welcome it, crave it, in fact.

It takes everything I have to fight the impulse not to look back. But I need to. I have to see what he’s doing. “Maddox…someone might come.” I look over my shoulder and down to find him staring up at me, a devilish grin pulling at the corners of his wicked mouth, while pure mischievousness glints in his smoky gray eyes.

“Yes you will,” he murmurs, “I’ll make damn sure of it.” The promise in his voice melts me.

My breath tap-dances in my lungs, coming out hot and fast against the books in front of me as I feel the all-too-thick intrusion of his finger slip between the V of my slick flesh.

He makes a guttural sound and it’s so primal, so animalistic that everything female in me responds to it, my core throbs reflexively, my breasts grow fuller, and my nipples pucker inside my bra, demanding the warm relief of his mouth. “Damn, Aylee,” he says, throatily. “You’re so fucking wet, baby.” His finger glides up and then down, and up and back down, playing in my slickness.

“Arch your back and stick your ass out for me,” he directs silkily, masterfully pulling on my strings. Pushing slightly against the bookshelf, my back bows and I thrust my hips back for his total enjoyment.

He grabs the globes of my butt between his hands and parts my cheeks, stripping me completely of any sense of modesty. And then him breathing me in, his face so close to my swollen, pulsating flesh is…indescribable. When his mouth touches my lips, my knees weaken, and it takes gripping the shelf to keep myself upright.

He kisses me there where wetness drips like honey. He uses his tongue that’s so hot, so wet, and so firm to slowly, thoroughly eat me. He feasts on my flesh like it’s ambrosia from the gods. He’s in deep, and I’m bent practically in half, my butt cheeks spread wide. Soft, gasping moans tumble free from my open mouth as I try to pull away from how intense it is. But his grip is so strong that it keeps me exactly where he wants me. My entire universe condenses down to where his beautiful tongue nibbles, licks, and flicks over the incredibly-sensitive nerves of my clitoris. Pleasure I’ve never known, so fierce and astonishing, wrenches a stunning cry from me as my body spasms from my incredible release.

My knees buckle and this time I don’t have the strength to keep myself up. But then he’s there. Strong, muscular arm encircling my waist as he holds my body tight against his. He turns me to face him and covers my mouth with his in a hungry, toe-curling kiss. I taste my essence and I taste him, and the combination of us is deliciously intoxicating.

Chapter 21

Aylee

Later, we’re in his apartment. Leaving the library had been one of the most embarrassing things I’d ever had to do. The instant Maddox and I came down from the stacks, I immediately knew that everyone below had heard my scream of pleasure. While Maddox waited for me outside the library, I hastily packed my things and with an extremely red face, said goodbye to my study group. Just before we left school, Maddox asked if I was able to paint anywhere. With the simplest reply that I could muster, he helped me lug my supplies to his truck and drove us to his apartment. We’ve been working on the painting for the last two and a half hours. We’re taking a small break before getting back to it.

While I wait for him to come back from the bathroom, I sit on a chair in front of my easel, staring at his likeness emblazoned across the canvas. It’s not nearly as close to the real thing, and I’m starting to realize it never will be. Maddox Moore is too much of a force to be captured in a medium. But what I have is turning out to be one of the best renditions of him I’ve ever done. He’s in there in slashing brush strokes. Crimson red and white, and then there’s the negative space in the shadows that creates the illusion of destruction. He’s a god in my painting.

Ares .

Fearsome. Insatiable. Dangerous.

“Magnificent,” I murmur in a daze as he walks within my line of sight. My mouth goes dry as I stupidly stare at him. He should be modeling, I think inanely. Underwear, jeans, skin maybe? It doesn’t matter so long as the option of much clothing is denied to him.

Only Maddox can turn a walk into a statement of sexual rebellion. Barefoot, and with a bare chest, he struts around his apartment with dark-rinsed blue jeans that hang low on his hips. Too low. He has his hair up in a ponytail, making his high cheekbones more pronounce, his stare more intense. I flush and duck my head when we lock eyes. The way he looks at me with such unrepentant thoroughness has me going up in flames. The scene in the library crashes on me like a monsoon. God, all the ways I let his glorious mouth and tongue feast on me. Thinking of it even now, hours later, and my body still tingles. It felt amazing because I wanted his touch. I still do.

“Say something?”

I hear his throaty chuckle. Shaking my head, I mutter, “No.”

“You hungry?”

He heads to the kitchen and I hear pots banging. Raising one knee up on the chair, I nod before setting my chin on it. “You cook?” I ask with a smile.

He grins wryly. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

“A little, yes.”

“I’m no culinary chef, but I’ve learned to make some pretty good stuff.” He gathers ingredients from the fridge and grabs a bottle of beer while he’s at it. “My mom…she was a great cook.”

Intrigued by the chance to learn even more about him, I ask, “Did she teach you?” I pray the question doesn’t cause him to retreat.

He takes a long swig from the bottle and then, “When she could.” He shrugs, setting his beer down on the counter to grab a butcher knife from the drawer beside where he’s standing. “It was one of the only things that made her really happy. She wasn’t happy a lot of the time. But when she was cooking…yeah, she came alive for a little bit.” There’s so much emotion in his voice, so much pain when he talks about her, even from here I can feel it.

I’m on my feet and at his side in seconds. I say nothing because sometimes silence is so much more profound than words. I simply rise on my toes to gently kiss his cheek before setting my head on his arm. And he lets me. We stay this way for a span of a small eternity. I stand as his crutch, letting him know I’m here for him, to give him whatever it is he may need. My reward, the only indication that he accepts my silent support and comfort is when he swings his arm around my shoulder. He gathers me close where I fit up against him so perfectly it astonishes me. Guiding my head to his chest, his one arm still firmly wrapping around my shoulders, he encircles my waist with the other and places the sweetest kiss on my head. My eyes fall shut and I sigh softly. Nothing and no one can take away this bliss from me.

We fall into a rhythm. He cooks while I chop and dice the ingredients he needs. It’s so natural the way we move around each other, so much so that it feels like we’ve been doing this for ages. He takes every opportunity to touch me, to kiss me. I feel wanted. And the happiest I’ve ever been. He stands behind me now, nuzzling my neck, rotating his hips so that I feel the thickness of his bulge between the crease of my buttocks. I moan, instinctively thrusting my hips back as I nearly chop my finger off.

“Careful, Aylee,” he tsks, taking the knife from my hands and setting it far away from me. “I like these fingers.” He breathes against my ear, and taking my hand, he brings my fingers to his lips and takes my index finger into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it and I quiver.

God, the things he does to me.

Releasing my finger, he takes my chin and turns my head up to gain access to my mouth. I taste the beer he just had. I taste the dark potency of his desire. I taste him. It’s a heady flavor that lingers on my tongue and coats my taste buds. He pulls away and leaves me breathless. Twitchy. In desperate need of something I can’t quite name. But it’s there, I know it, it’s just simply out of my reach. Like an itch you can’t scratch.

The food, stir-fry chicken with vegetables and a side of white rice, though delicious does very little to satisfy the itch. I’m on edge and I don’t know why, but with every breath-stealing kiss from his lips, I grow anxious.

“So how do you want me?” he asks when we’re done eating.

Naked and on top of me.

Heat explodes in my cheeks and I blink at him, mortified that I might’ve just said that out loud. Relief washes over me when he simply stares back with a slight lift of his right brow. “Um…just how you were sitting on the futon.”

The unexpected chime of my phone has me running to my backpack. I’m so grateful for the save. I find it in the outside pocket and stare down at the screen. It’s the alarm reminder showing me I have group therapy in ten minutes.

Honestly, I haven’t forgotten. I’m just thinking I won’t go. Not only do I need to finish the painting, but everything in me is fighting the idea of losing my time with Maddox. God, I’m not nearly ready for this day to end. I’m willing to do just about anything to prolong it.

Rising from my kneeling position on the floor, I turn to him. “I need to make a phone call.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You good?”

I nod, running a hand through my hair. “I just need to let my mom know where I am.”

“You need me to drop you off?”

“No!” It comes out too quick, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of leaving him. “No, I won’t be long. Just need some privacy.”

He stares narrowly as me for a few long seconds before pointing to one of the rooms behind me. “There’s not much space for privacy, but you can use my room. Second door on the left.”

“Thank you.” And I walk away in a rush before I say anything more to embarrass myself.

When I enter his bedroom, I mentally prepare myself for what I’m about to do. I chew nervously on my lower lip as I bring my phone to my ear.

Three rings and then, “Hi, sweetheart, I’ll be there to pick you up—”

“Actually, Mom, Mallory’s going to pick me up. She’s been having a really tough time at home so she asked if I could spend the night.”

I’m holding my breath throughout the long, pregnant pause that follows. Anxiety has my heart racing and my palms sweating. I’m sure she knows I’m lying. “I don’t know, Aylee…your father…”

“Please, Mom? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. She just really needs me right now.” It’s astonishing how externally calm I am. There’s not even the slightest quiver in my voice to give me away.

But I’m crossing everything. Fingers, toes, and my eyes, for good measure.

A long, heavy sigh and then, “All right, I understand, and you’re a good friend for wanting to help that girl.” I notice how she says that girl. There’s an edge to it. It’s nothing new however, considering she’s never been overly fond of Mallory. Not a lot of people are. “Aylee, this has to be the last time in a long while, okay? We don’t want to make your father too angry.” No. We wouldn’t want that. The thought produces a bitter sludge of anger in my throat.

“Just tonight.”

The lies are easy to believe because to her I never lie. I’m good girl Aylee. Reserved, spineless, and so easily malleable.

“Okay, I love you. Be good.” Like I know how to be anything else. But then I’m learning, aren’t I? If this is what being bad feels like then I gladly relinquish my good girl badge right here and now and claim my bad girl crown.

I send a quick text to Mallory so she’ll cover for me, and instantlyreceive a message saying:That’s fine. But I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t bother to reply. I’m not so bold as to invite myself to spend the night with Maddox, and have every intention of asking him to drop me off at Mallory’s, just…later. Much later.

As I look around, it suddenly dawns on me exactly where I am. I don’t know why it thrills me so much to be in his bedroom, but it does. A bed, dresser, and closet to the left sum up the things in the small space. But everything here is his. He’s touched it, worn it, rolled in it, and slept on it. Maddox is everywhere in this room. Taking a seat on his bed, I tentatively grab the sweater strewn on the edge. Bringing it to my face, I inhale deeply, soaking my senses in the intoxicating scent of his cologne. Like an addict overcome with her drug of choice, my eyes droop shut as I fall back on his bed in sweet, sweet delirium.

Eventually I make my way back to the living room. I’m a little lightheaded and giddy, as if I have alcohol swimming through my veins. But I’m only assuming this is what being drunk feels like, considering I’ve never had any alcoholic drinks before. I find him by the partially opened window near the kitchen; he’s on the phone, in motion, pacing back and forth in an unhurried gait. In three–fourths profile, the sun dies beautifully behind him, and as though even it can’t resist Maddox, it stretches out brilliant rays of dimming sunlight just to touch the young god in a mortal body. He really is too beautiful for words. Rushing to my canvas, I pick up my brush and palette and jump into action with instant inspiration. It’s a moment that needs to be captured.

When he’s done with his call, he pockets his phone and heads my way. “Be right back, need to check something.”

With a frown, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

He nods. “Work.” It’s a terse response; he doesn’t see the need to elaborate further as he walks away. My eyes trail after him until he disappears in his bedroom.

With every minute he’s away, I grow tenser. Worrying the corner of my lip, I wonder if I’m overstaying my welcome. Am I making a mistake by inviting myself to stay here longer than he wants? I abruptly come to my feet. I head to his kitchen to clean my supplies. If he intends on kicking me out, I want to at least be prepared. Tucking my palette in the large inside pocket of my canvas bag, I grab my damp brushes from where I set them on the floor next to me and put them in as well. All this takes approximately five minutes and in that time frame I’m trying not to picture what he’ll say when he comes out of his bedroom. I don’t want to go. How big of a fool will I be if I blurt that out to him? Or worse, beg him to stay. Beg him to keep me here for as long as I want. Am I that shameless?

Reclaiming my seat on the fold-out chair in the middle of the living room, I cross my legs as it suddenly dawns on me that yes, I am that shameless. I would do all those things. Beg him to stay. Beg him to keep me for himself in this apartment. And that scares me more than anything. I scare myself when it comes to this guy. All the things I’m willing to do with him, for him, they’re limitless. He makes me feel limitless. With him I’m experiencing emotions I’ve never felt before and they’re all as exhilarating as they are frightening.

He moves so silently I barely hear him until it’s too late. From behind me, he cups my jaw and tilts my head back far enough that I have no choice but to look at his face. He wears his mask of impassiveness but in his fierce, gray eyes I see everything he cannot outwardly show. It’s rampant emotions head by barely bridling passion that instantly ignites a searing blaze inside me. He languidly traces his thumb across my bottom lip, a tender gesture I note he reserves just for me, tugging it gently down to expose my mouth. “Beautiful lips,” he remarks in a rough, throaty murmur.

He bends down, eclipsing everything. He’s all I see. All I want to see. There’s no gentle coaxing when he spears between my parted lips to invade my mouth with a warm tongue that entangles with mine. He kisses me long and he kisses me slow, each time dipping in for more, and my body’s temperature spikes to such a degree I can no longer ignore how damp my panties have become. “How far do you want me to take this?” He respires against my lips and tingles run freely throughout my entire body. He’s asking for my permission.

I want to respond to what he just said but how can I when he does things like this? The simple process of thought completely escapes me as I watch the slow trail of his tattooed hand slide down my chest. He’s wearing a watch, I note inanely, a large black-on-black skeleton watch that only seems to heighten the sensuality of what he’s doing. It’s a warm, rough palm gliding along fever-hot skin, and my breath hitches when he dips inside my shirt and cups a hand between my breasts. With his index finger near my right nipple, he slips beneath my bra and teasingly swipes over the hardened bud until I squirm. And my back bows as I thrust my chest into his hand. Wanting more of the friction.

“How far are you willing to let me take you, Aylee?” He breathes onto the shell of my ear, still slowly swiping over my tender nipple.

This time the question comes through with clarity, but there was really never any need for him to ask. He already knows my answer. “All the way,” I whisper, breathless with conviction that possesses my whole body.

He growls low in his throat at my response before covering my mouth with his. Pulling back, he moves around and swiftly tugs me from the chair, his skilled hands promptly gripping my hips, and he lets them slide down the sides of my thighs before bunching my skirt up my legs so that it won’t interfere with his next action. He displays his breathtaking strength once again and hauls me up his body. His hands immediately gliding down to grab the globes of my butt as I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms grip his neck. He takes us to his bedroom and sets me down on his bed. It’s all done in perfect succession. All done with care. He’s a predator on top of me. Large, formidable, and terribly, terribly hungry. And I’m the quarry, trapped, desirously anxious, and with my fate in his hands. But I’m eager, so breathlessly eager for his first, second, and third bite. I want to be devoured until there is nothing left of me, until I come apart in his arms

Throwing a doe-eyed look in his direction, I bite the inside of my lower lip, restlessly anticipating his next move. And that only causes him to lean in closer, hold me tighter. “You won’t be hurt, Aylee,” he murmurs next to my mouth, his hands threading in my hair, sliding down my back to expertly unhook my bra. “Never here.”

His fervency is unwavering but there’s a tenderness in his passion-drenched eyes that obliterate any last bit of doubt I may have unconsciously been harboring. Having discarded my cardigan back in his living room, he makes short work of my shirt and my skirt, tossing them somewhere into oblivion.

Vulnerability is the moment I’m left completely nude beneath the unerring, burning scope of his gaze. I can’t possibly imagine what he sees. But I know my body. I’ve memorized every tiny imperfection and I know it can never compare to the dozens of others he’s undoubtedly seen. I’m too skinny. Too fair. Lying down as I am, my breasts have flattened down to my chest from the unfair crush of gravity so that I feel horribly flat-chested. He doesn’t need to look too hard to make out the scars from my battles with my demons. My skin is littered with cuts, and the most recent ones between my thighs bring home the fact that my body isn’t made for intimacy.

“Goddamn.” Blinking at the words, I look at him. His eyes narrow, but they glint like diamonds on his face as he trails his gaze down the length of my body. Shivers ripple along my skin as though he just touched me. Goose bumps rise as I get caught in the intensity of his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”