Page 32 of The Heart We Guard
So, I strip off my clothes, pull on the robe that hangs on the back of the door. When I return to the room, Butcher is lying on his back in the bed, respectfully on his own half, but his gaze turns to me.
“I’m just going to turn off the light,” I say.
He smiles. “Whatever you want.”
I turn off the light and am surprised by how bright the room still feels because I can make out his shape in the bed, which means he can definitely make out mine.
“I’m going to take off my robe and get in bed.”
I’m going to take off my robe and get in bed?
Am I going to give him a play-by-play on everything?
I hear the gentle huff of laughter as Nolan realizes what I’m doing too. “I’m gonna stay right here while you do that.”
I slip out of the robe, fold it, and take a second to put it on the nightstand. One breath follows another, before I lift the covers.
The sheets are cool when I slip beneath them. And even though it’s still raining outside, my own breathing feels louder than the thunder.
“Relax, Greer,” Nolan says. “Everything’s okay. I promise.”
I turn onto my side and face him. “Are you comfortable? Nothing hurts?”
He turns to look at me. “I’m comfortable. Nothing hurts. But there is no way I can sleep on my side, facing you.”
I wiggle slowly, and I see Butcher smile. He opens his arm on his uninjured side. “Come here. Let me hold you.”
“I suppose we should get it over with,” I blurt as I wriggle across the bed. His body is warm and smells of my soap. I place my hand on his chest. I wonder whether he’d feel better if I put another dressing over his stitches. But the wounds are sealed enough that it’s not necessary.
Butcher laughs until he winces. “Jesus, Greer. You certainly know how to put a wrecking ball through a guy’s confidence. Never been something someone had to get it over with.”
I lay my head on the curve of his shoulder and it’s like the dip was made for me. He guides his fingers down my arm, letting them trail over the dip of my waist and the curve of my ass.
“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do,” he says kindly. “Putting yourself out there to let someone know your feelings for them are changing is a pretty vulnerable thing.”
The conversation in the bathroom comes back to me. “I would imagine it’s the same to share feelings about handling a life-or-death situation too.”
“Easier when the person you’re spilling your guts to is as kind as you are. I know you aren’t going to overly sympathize or make me feel…weak.”
“I’m not sure I could do that to a man like you, even if I tried.”
I feel his chest huff with laughter. “Pretty sure you could if you tried.” He runs his fingers over my shoulders. “You’ve got the softest skin.”
“I do? Thank you.”
“Part of me just wants to lie here stroking it until we fall asleep.”
But I need to know what the other part of him wants. “And the rest of you?”
“Is hoping you’ll come up here and kiss me,” he says.
I do as he says, moving up his body until I’m brushing my lips over his. I’ve treated several heroin addicts, and one told me that I was missing out on the rush. But I think this must be something like what they were talking about. Because it’s like some new substance has entered my blood stream, making it effervesce.
He slides his hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck, kissing me as deeply as I’m kissing him.
His tongue meets mine, but there is no fight for domination. Just a gentle exploration that untethers me. I can feel liquid pool between my thighs and feel the need for pressure somewhere…anywhere.
