Текст книги "Obscured"

Автор книги: Tara Sue Me

Соавторы: Cat Waters
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

I think about the tattoo on my left hip that  Mike had put on me years ago. It’s been part of me for  so long, I don’t think of it most days. But now that I am thinking about, I want it off. Immediately. Yesterday. Five years ago.

“That’s when I decided I was going to be a cop and stop the guys who prey on young girls.”

“And you did it.”

“There are days I hate my job. I hate acting like I’m one of them.” He opens and closes his fist. “I always felt so dirty after I got home for the day. And discouraged because I knew I could never save all of them.”

I don’t think he’s shared this part of himself with many people, and I’m honored he felt comfortable enough with me to do so. “Your sister would be proud.”

He looks at me at those words, and I see traces of the lonely and lost boy he once was. “I watched you that day in the food court.”

I wrinkle my eyebrows. “When I stalked Isaiah’s wife?”

“The young girl you talked to.”

“Probably didn’t do any good.”

“You don't know that. If someone had talked to you when you were sixteen, would you maybe have made different choices?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Then you did everything you could.”

I’m suddenly hit with what he must feel everyday. “It never feels like it’s enough, though, does it?”

“No,” he says. “That’s why we have to focus on what we know we can change and to try not to dwell on what we can’t. And what you need to focus on is starting fresh. Are you leaving Nevada?”

“I don’t know. I thought about going back to the South, but part of me wants to stay here. Maybe not Vegas, but the Southwest.” It can be downright terrifying to have to make decisions. When I thought about where I wanted to live and knew I could go anywhere, I almost felt like burying my head in the sand. “Maybe I’ll become a hermit.”

“Never do that. You have too much going for you.”

I remember his words from when I was at his house and wonder if he really meant them. He’s not touching me at all today. In fact, it’s like he’s making a concentrated effort not to touch me. I want to say it feels like the only thing I have going for me is the ability to trust the wrong men. But I’m not ready to go there with him, so I’m quiet and hope there will be another day – some other time – for us to talk.

Chapter Twenty One

Five Months Later

It doesn’t happen overnight, but I’m slowly learning who I am and how I fit into my new normal. Though I hadn’t planned on going to a therapist, one day not long after Harris came by, I found myself in line to purchase whiskey at one in the morning. Unable to sleep because of thoughts of Mike, and haunted by thoughts of Vicki, I came to the conclusion I could sort everything out if I just had a drink. Or maybe enough to numb my brain so I didn’t feel anymore.

Before I made it to the front of the line, I clued into what I was doing, and I left the store without the bottle. The next morning, I called the first therapist on the list Harris gave me. He was right about her, of course; she’d worked with women in my position before, and with her help, I started on my way to rediscover myself.

Within a few weeks, I started work at a local pet store and rented a small apartment on the other side of town from where I lived before. But I still jumped at loud noises, and sleep continued to be an issue.

Harris keeps in contact, but it’s not like it was when we were at his house. I tell myself that those were stressful days for both of us, and our emotions were running high. That it was to be expected, shoved together the way we were.

And yet, my stomach still does flip-flops whenever he comes to the pet store.

About five months into my new start, he comes into the store unexpectedly on a Thursday. I’ve learned his routine, and he rarely deviates from it. Saturdays are when he buys cat food for Munchkin. He buys cans, which is funny because I remember a bag of dry food when I stayed with him.

“Hey,” I say to him, and then raise my eyebrow because not only is it Thursday, he’s not stopping by the cat food aisle. For a minute, I think he’s heard about Mike or Vicki, but he’s smiling and too relaxed to be bringing me such news. He reaches the counter.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask.

“I came to ask you a question,” he says.

“Go for it.”

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

The leash I’m holding falls to the counter. “What?”

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“A date?”

“Yes,” he answers.

I’ve done a lot of new things since I’ve been on my own, and I’ve had some new experiences, but I’ve done nothing resembling a date.

“Uh...I’m ... I should be.... I think....”

“Athena, it’s just dinner. I promise.”

I’m free the next night. I’m free most nights. And I’ve never been on a date.

“I’d really like to go on a date with you.” My words come out in a rush, and I’m a bit embarrassed, but Harris doesn't act like he notices.

“I’ll pick you up at your apartment at five?”

I’m going on a date.

My brain is still processing that information.

“Athena?”

“Yes. Five.”

He smiles and says he’ll see me then.

***

I’m a complete wreck the next day. Because I’m working the weekend, I have the day off. It really would have been better if I didn’t have the day off. By noon, all my clothes are on top of my bed, and by two, I’ve vetoed every outfit I own. At three, I stand in front of my bathroom mirror and give myself a good talking to.

It doesn’t work.

Nothing can erase the fact that I’m twenty-six and I’ve never been on a date. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been with a lot of men. Not one of them stood before me and asked me to dinner. Not one of them wanted to spend the evening with me just because I’m me and not because I’d be naked at some point.

I walk back into my bedroom and shuffle through my clothes once more. It’s another reason to hate Mike. The fact that I missed so much. For me, there had been no prom, no graduation, no first date. Nothing. But it’s a conscious decision I make not to let that anger rule my life. To do so is to give him even more power over me, and I refuse to do that anymore.

When Harris rings the doorbell at five, I’m wearing jeans and a green silk top. It’s not too casual and not too dressy. I open the door, and he’s standing there, smiling and holding flowers.

Flowers.

“Hi,” he says.

Flowers.

“These are for you.” He holds them out. It’s a combination of blue and white violets and they’re the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.

I tentatively take hold of them, supporting the glass vase they came in with one hand. “Thank you. I’ve... I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

I can’t stop looking at them.

“The white means ‘take a chance on happiness,’ and the blue means ‘watchfulness.’”

“Appropriate,” I say, catching his gaze and smiling. I step out of the way. “Would you like to come in while I put these down?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll stay out here.”

He’s being respectful, and I appreciate that. However, I can’t help but remember the way he kissed me and his promise after. My fingers remember the heat of his skin, and my body wants his hands on me again.

I place the flowers in the middle of my two-person kitchen table and hurry back outside. He’s waiting with his hands in his pockets, and when he looks at me, there’s a heat in his eyes I know I’m not making up.

“Ready?” He holds out a hand.

I nod and place my hand in his, and as our fingers entwine, I’m shaken once more because I can’t remember the last time I simply held someone’s hand. He squeezes his fingers briefly around mine as if he knows what I’m thinking.

“I made us reservations,” he says.

We drive to a new restaurant not far from my apartment. It’s an intimate bistro, and nothing like anything I went to when I was working for Mike.

In the last five months, I’ve gradually gotten over the fear that everyone who looks at me knows what I once did for a living. I remind myself I’m not the same person I was then and starting over means starting over.

Hardest to take are the looks men give me, though those are different now as well. Harris pulls out my chair when we’re shown to our table, and I sit down with a sigh.

He raises an eyebrow as he takes his own seat. “Are you okay?”

I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Yes, first date jitters.”

“We’ve had a few meals together. This one just happens to be out in public.”

“Not just first date with you. First date ever.” I frown. “Well, if you don’t count Mike, and I don’t.”

His eyes dim a bit at the mention of Mike, and I could slap myself for bringing his name up. I try to think of something – anything — to say to move the conversation in a different direction, but Harris beats me to it.

“Green is definitely your color. You look lovely tonight.”

I feel my cheeks heat, and I dip my head. Holy shit. I just blushed. And I’m lovely. He thinks I’m lovely. I wouldn’t have had the same reaction if he’d called me beautiful. Lots of men have called me beautiful, but he’s the first to say I’m lovely.

“And the flush on your cheeks is charming,” he says.

I look up. “Thank you.”

The conversation could have gotten very uncomfortable after that, but he picks up the menu. “I have no idea what I want. What are you in the mood for?”

Living on my own and doing work I want to do has completely changed my outlook on things. I no longer fear sharing my opinion or speaking up about what I want. And as I’ve moved further and further away from the me of years past, I’ve learned I like the me I’m becoming.

I pick up my menu and scan it. “Know what I’d really like?”

“What?”

“A huge burger with lots of cheese and pickles and mayo. French fries. And any soda that’s not diet.”

He laughs, and I forgot how his laugh made my insides warm. “I think that might be last thing I expected you to eat.”

“How about you? What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

He looks back over the menu. “Club sandwich. Extra bacon, cooked to where it’s almost burnt. Honey mustard to dip it in. French fries with pepper and a beer.”

I wrinkle my nose at the mention of beer.

“You don’t drink. I noticed that.” He places the menu down and folds his hands on top.

“I did at one time, but then I didn’t. I found that while the alcohol deadens the pain, it messes with your mind too much. Or at least it did mine.”

“Why not a diet soda?”

“I don’t like artificial sweeteners.”

The waitress stops by to take our orders, and after she writes down my burger and his sandwich, she steps back. “You look familiar,” she says to Harris.

Harris had been in the news shortly after rescuing me. He wasn’t one to like being the center of attention, and he’d hated it.

“I just have one of those faces,” he says.

“The papers said you were rescuing a woman from a trafficker,” she replies, like he didn’t say anything.

“I read that story, too.” He glances at me. To make sure I’m alright?

“That poor woman. I hope she’s doing okay.”

“Me, too,” he says and coughs.

The cough reminds her of where she’s at and what she should be doing. “I’ll go put this order in.”

He leans back in his seat, exhaling deeply.

“You’re a hero,” I tease.

“Nah. Just doing my job.”

“I think they’re one and the same.”

Our conversation over dinner is light and easy. Harris is easy to talk with and quick to joke and smile. It doesn’t take long before I don’t feel nervous at all. We finish eating, but we’re still talking. He tells me about growing up in foster care, and I tell him stories from my childhood in the South.

He asks why I went to work at a pet store when I’d mentioned before I wanted to work in a bookstore, and in a soft voice, I share what happened with Mike and the books. And, I tell him that working around animals was a close second to owning one.

We arrive back at my apartment hours later, and my heart is racing as we walk up to my door. I’m not sure how to end the date. I don’t want him to leave just yet.

I don’t hesitate before saying, “Will you come inside?”

I can see he’s conflicted about how to answer, and my heart plummets.

“I want to,” he finally says. “But I think tonight’s not the time.”

I know my face shows my disappointment, but I feel a bit better when he's asks if he can take me to dinner tomorrow night.

“Really?” I ask, and at his nod I say, “Yes.”

He leans his head toward mine, and my lips are hungry for his. I remember their taste and the way I felt when they touched mine. But all he does is lightly brush my cheek. I groan, and his lips tickle my cheek as he smiles.

“Believe me,” he says in my ear. “I feel it too, but I want you to burn for me. To have you so needy that the merest hint of my touch sets you on fire.”

“I’m there,” I beg.

“Not yet. But soon.”

The next evening, he brings a picnic and we eat outside at a nearby park. We sit on a bench for an hour afterwards watching people. It’s strange and odd and wonderful and fun, this sitting around and talking. I tell him I want to one day be in a position to help other women escape the sex market. He tells me I’m well on my way.

I’m fairly certain he’ll kiss me after the picnic date, but he once again only brushes my cheek. I run my hand down his arm and he just whispers, “Soon.”

I decide to switch things up, so on Monday I call him and ask him if he would like to come to my place for dinner on Wednesday. I can tell I’ve caught him off guard, but he agrees.

It’s when I’m bustling around Wednesday evening, twenty minutes before he shows up, trying to make everything perfect that I realize this might have been his plan the entire time. I have never invited a man to my apartment for anything. Sure, Mike came by, but he owned the place. And yes, I asked Harris over when I was in the hotel and he stopped by to pick me up, but it’s not the same.

Was that why he hesitated? Does he know how big of a step this is for me and wants to make sure I’m ready? I wear something causal: jeans and a tank top. I’m not going to seduce him. He apparently has this whole thing well planned out and I’m going to let him lead.

But when he rings the doorbell and I let him in, there’s something different about him. He’s all heat and muscle, and the look in his eyes when he sees me is damn near flammable.

We sit down and eat the lasagna I prepared earlier in the day. Harris is charming as always, making me laugh at Munchkin’s antics. He is somewhat reserved, though, like he’s studying me. Watching for something.

“Thank you for inviting me over tonight,” he says, when we’re finished and the dishes are in the dishwasher.

“I wanted you to see me in my element. I saw you in yours.”

“I’m not sure that completely counted, since we were trying to outsmart people the entire time.”

I shake my head. “Those nights we’d go out in your backyard. That was the real you.”

“Yes.”

“I like the real you.”

“The real me likes you, too.”

“That night when we were out there, those things you said? You meant them?” I don’t specify which things.

His eyes grow dark. “Yes, I meant every word.”

“When you kissed me,” I say, ready to talk about it that time in his backyard. “It was like nothing I ever felt before.”

“For me, too.” He takes a step closer to me.

I swallow. This is hard. This isn't me being paid or forced or in any way coerced. It’s me as a woman and the woman I am is so very unsure about herself. “Will you kiss me again?”

“Now?”

I nod. “Please.”

He takes two more steps, and then he’s in front of me. Slowly, he lifts one hand to cup the side of my face, and I close my eyes when his thumb brushes my cheekbone.

Gently, so gently, I barely feel them, his lips sweep across my own in a soft kiss. I clutch his forearms. I want more.

“Please,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move. “Caden.”

He takes a step back and brushes his thumb along the line of my lips. I part them and tease his fingertip with my tongue.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, or anything that doesn’t feel good.” His eyes are dark, and the longing in them takes my breath away. “I have to be honest: I’m scared as hell to do anything physical with you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I want it to be good for you.”

His honesty endears him to me even more “I’m scared, too. I keep thinking: what if I’m broken that way? What if I can’t enjoy it?”

“Do you enjoy it when I kiss you?”

I decide to throw the gauntlet down. “I don’t know; you only really kissed me that once.”

His eyes flash with something, and he gives me a teasing smile before he frames my face with his hands. “Let’s remedy that, why don’t we?”

I only have time to nod before his mouth is over mine and oh my God yes, it is the same. I moan and pull him closer. It’s an invitation he accepts, and his hands trail downward, pulling me tight against him.

His tongue teases my lips open, and I’m consumed and engulfed by all that is him and the only thing that doesn’t feel good is the ache of needing more. I tuck my hand into the back of his waistband so my fingers rest right above his ass.

He pulls back. “Did that feel good?”

I want to whine that he stopped. “Yes. Very.”

“Do you want to stop there or keep going?”

I make sure I’m looking him straight in the eye when I say, “I want to go further.” And then to prove it, I take his hand and l lead him to my bedroom. I reach the middle of the room and turn to face him. “I’ve never in my entire life invited a man to my bedroom. You’re the first.”

He pulls me into his arms for another kiss. I’m beginning to think I could live on his kisses. Then he moves his lips to my neck, where he nips the skin, and I shiver.

“That good?” he asks.

“Very.”

His hands slip down to my shirt. “Can I see you?”

I draw the shirt over my head, and I could bask in the appreciation in his look. I thought I’d feel awkward, like I did when I stripped in front of him while we were on the video call, but I don’t. His look empowers me, makes me strong, and I want even more. “Your turn.”

“I’m not near as gorgeous as you.” But he pulls his shirt off anyway.

I suck in a breath at what is hidden under his clothes. There are round scars on his upper arms and one ragged line above his heart. “What happened to you? Who did this?” I ask in a small voice.

“Perils of living in foster care.”

I point to one of the round scars. “Is that a cigarette burn?”

“It was.”

“How could anyone do this to you?” I run a finger around the puckered skin on his arm.

“They were bigger than me.”

“You’re just like me, except you have scars on the outside and mine are all inside.”

“Our pasts are what brought us both here tonight.” He shakes his head. “Because of that, I can’t find it in me to regret any of it.”

I lower my head to his arm and kiss the scars there. “I knew you were beautiful beneath your clothes.”

He chuckles. “Beautiful?”

I palm my hands over his chest and feel the strong beating of his heart. “Every inch of you is beautiful. Inside and out. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

He leans his head down and kisses me again, a bit more forcefully this time, and he walks me backward to the bed. I’m scared and excited and giddy and ready for more and wanting to stay in this moment forever. My knees hit the bed, and I sit down.

Harris drops to his knees and keeping his eyes on mine, unbuttons my jeans. I lift up so he can take them down, and when they’re off, he pulls me to the edge of the bed, so I’m open and exposed to him. I still have my panties on, but I know he can see how wet I am for him.

He places kisses on my upper thigh while at the same time, teasing that sensitive area on on the back of my knee. His nips my skin closer and closer to where I ache for him.

“Are you burning for me yet?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, surprised I’m still able to form words.

“I’d like to make you come like this.”

There have only been a few men who have attempted that, and I always ended up faking my pleasure. Of course, I’m an expert at faking. But I don’t want to fake with Harris.

“You’re tensing up,” he says. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, I’m just...” I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to be broken.”

He places one last kiss on my kneecap, and then he joins me on the bed and pats a pillow. “Come up here.”

I join him, aware as I do of the storm brewing in his eyes. It’s a look of restrained longing and seeing it reignites my own. He props himself up on one elbow and his fingers circle my nipple.

“I’m going to explore every inch of you. We’re both going to discover what turns you on.” He runs his fingertip across my pebbled skin. “Because you are many, many things, but broken isn’t one of them.”

He starts slowly, touching and teasing me with light strokes everywhere. He’s not in any hurry, and I feel my apprehension fade away, only to be replaced with a growing need. He explores my arms and my legs and other places I never thought of as sexy.

“Oh,  yes,” he says when he finds at spot that makes me thrash my head. “That spot makes you feel it deep inside doesn’t it?”

It’s only the crook of my elbow, but all he has to do is lick it and I almost come undone. “Yes.”

“Wonder what would happen if I bit it?”

I can’t even make a word when he does. I mumble something that makes no sense. He lifts his head and comes back up to kiss me and then settles into place at my side. I’m a quivering  mess of desire and I’m going to explode when he touches me where I most want him to.

He drags one finger down my chest, across my belly, and I start to think Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, please don’t stop because I think I know where he’s going. The finger stops when it reaches my panties.

“I need you to take them off if you want me to continue,” he says. “I think we’ve proven that you’re not broken, and we don't have to go any further if you don’t want to.”

I take the panties off in less than three seconds.

He murmurs his approval and gets back into position by my side, his one hand still resting on my belly.

“I’m going to touch you more intimately now, are you okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to make you come with my fingers.” His voice is rough. “Look at me while I pleasure you.”

I open my eyes and meet his gaze right as his hand restarts its journey downward.

“I’m going to tease you until you’re mad with lust, and then I’m going to dip my fingers deep inside you. Make you want me inside you so bad you don’t think you’ll be able to breathe without it.”

“Yes, please. Now.”

My hips lift off the bed when he circles that needy part of me, but I keep my eyes on his.

“Mmm, someone liked that,” he says, doing it again.

Pretty soon, we start a rhythm. He teases my clit, and I jerk my hips, trying to get him inside me. I feel something building, and his gaze locks onto mine as he slowly sinks two fingers deep within me.

“Feel my fingers?” he asks. “My cock is bigger, and it’s so goddamn hard.”

Dirty talk has never really done anything for me before. It’s always come across as crass . Men talking to get themselves more aroused. But when Harris speaks, looking me straight in the eyes, I feel his words. More than that, I want to feel him.

Then his thumb stars rubbing my clit while he thrust his fingers in and out, and all coherent thought leaves my head.

“Oh, God, Harris.” My eyes close as an unfamiliar feeling builds.

“Open your eyes, Athena.” His voice is thick with emotion. “I want to see your eyes when I make you come. I want you to see what your pleasure does to me.”

I want to tell him he’s talking crazy. How could my pleasure do anything to him? But I open my eyes, and I see I’m wrong. His expression is one of need and desire, surely, but I can tell it’s more than what he’s doing that makes him that way. It’s watching me. My pleasure, my reactions are turning him on.

The building tide of my release is growing closer, and his fingers are good, but I want more. “Need you,” I say.

“You have to come first,” he says. “Trust me. It’s killing me as much as it is you to wait. But you’re going to come before I even think of getting inside you.” He sinks his fingers in deeper. “You’re so hot around my fingers. I can’t wait to feel that heat around my dick. I’ll probably go fucking insane.”

He moves his fingers slightly, and it’s so close. I feel it building and growing, and I’m desperate to reach it. His whispers encourage me, and my eyes nearly roll back into my head when the most incredible tempest of pleasure overtakes my body.

Something inside me shatters, and I’m not sure I’m even breathing as wave after wave crashes within my body. I’m muttering nonsense, and as my world tilts back to normal, Harris is kissing my cheek.

“I’ve never seen anything more perfect,” he whispers.

“Oh my God.” My body is still weak from this first orgasm, and I suddenly feel shy, which is the most absurd thing ever. I snort out a sob and a giggle at the same time.

He strokes my hair and captures my gaze. “Okay?”

“So much more than okay. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Shock flickers across his expression, but I don’t want to talk it about. I feel him hard and heavy against my thigh, and I want that feeling again, with him inside me this time. I reach down and stroke him.

“Now, Caden.”

He waits only long enough to roll on a condom, and then he’s between my legs and guiding himself to where I’m wet and needy. I bend my knees, giving him better access. My eyes close when I feel him brush his tip against me.

“Keep them open,” he says. “I need your eyes on me.”

Watching him as he enters me makes me feel more exposed than anything I’ve ever done, but I see the vulnerability in his expression, too, and I realize there are two of us. And we’re together, and it’s the most obvious thing, but I’ve never viewed sex as an act you do together. It’s always been something done to me.

There’s an ache of pure joy deep inside my soul when he’s fully inside me, and he sees it and lowers his head so our foreheads touch.

“Athena,” he whispers.

“You make me happy,” I say, and I know it sounds silly, but they’re the truest words I’ve ever spoken.

He raises himself so he’s propped above me on one arm, and suddenly there aren’t any words that fit the moment. He takes my hand with his free one and entwines our fingers. And he starts to move.

Oh.

My.

God.

It’d been incredible with his fingers, but now, like this....

Somehow, without even knowing, I’d locked a part of me away ten years ago. With his patience and honesty and gentleness, Harris had just taken the key and set it free.

Free. I squeeze his fingers and wrap my legs around his waist, anchoring myself to him as if the truth twists back into place and became crystal clear for the first time in ten years.

“Hold me,” I whisper, fearing I’ll take flight if he doesn’t keep me grounded.

The wave is coming back, and it’s even bigger, but that’s okay because he’s with me this time, and he’s not leaving. His back arches above me. He’s moving, and I’m moving with him, and it’s the most natural and normal thing to do.

I grab hold of his waist with my free hand, loving the feel of his strength bringing me this pleasure. His hips speed up.

“With me this time,” he pants. He takes our joined hands and slips them between us, teasing my clit. The simple movement makes the wave grow more, and my body tenses in anticipation. “Close?” he asks.

“Almost,” I say, needing more but not wanting it to end.

His movements become slower, but more focused. Each stroke brings me nearer and nearer until I can’t hold it back and I’m caught in that storm for the second time. He groans, and with one last deep thrust, his body shudders into mine.

***

My previous post-sex experience has left me unprepared for being in Harris’s arms. I’m used to cleaning up and getting out of bed and, more often than not, facing the anger or shame of the person I’ve just been with. Then, when I was finally alone, facing my own anger and shame.

There is none of that with Harris. He excuses himself to dispose of the condom, but when I try to crawl out of bed, he pulls me back under the covers and slips his arms around me.

“You aren’t leaving yet,” he grumbles.

“I thought this would be the awkward part.”

“There is no awkward between us,” he says, and kisses my forehead. He takes my hand and kisses it.

“That was....” I shake my head, unable to find the words.

“I feel the same way,” he assures me.

“I didn’t know it would feel so good.” I look up to see if he thinks I’m being silly, but he simply nods.

“It should always feel good,” he says. “If I ever don't make you feel good, I’m doing it wrong.”

“I’ve always  had to fake before.”

He lifts my chin with this finger. “No faking with me ever. If you’re not into it ,or if it doesn’t feel good, let me know.”

“Does that mean we’re going to do it again?”

He chuckles. “Eventually, but not right this second. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Which is fine with me. I could stay here in his arms forever. We’re silent for a few minutes, but then my hands get itchy to touch him, and I stroke his back and his chest. I trace one of his scars.

“Do they bother you?” he asks.

“No, not yours. Something of mine bothers me. I wish I could get rid of it,” I say.

“You have a scar?”

I lift up on my knees and turn so my back is to him. “He marked me.”

I don’t have to tell him who He is. It’s a black “M” right above my hip bone. I’m surprised he didn’t see it that day when we performed for Mike on the webcam. But he was probably focused on other things at that time.

He runs a finger over it. “Bastard. I could kill him for that alone. Marking your skin.”

“I’m lucky I was one of the older girls. He branded the new ones.”

He nods. He would know, of course, working as closely as he did with him.

I look over my shoulder, trying not to be self-conscious that he’s basically looking at my ass. His head tilts a bit, and he traces the M again.

“You know, the upper part of the M is rounded,” he says.

“So?”

“I’m thinking, instead of getting it removed, why don't you have it made into something else? I think it could easily be turned into a butterfly.”

I don’t look at my ass a lot, but I remember the tattoo. I know exactly what it looks like. “A butterfly? I like that.”

“And symbolic. Of you breaking away. Becoming something new. Being revived.”

I turn around and pull him up so he’s on his knees, too. “I had no idea you had a poet’s soul, Caden Harris.”