Page 62 of Shadows of the Past
So many nights dreaming what it would be like to be his, so many dreams I didn't want to wake from just because he was there and free to love me.
"Are you okay?" I whisper.
His hair is wet and his mouth slightly parted when he leans down, and my hands dig into his skin, preventing him from pulling back.
He kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose, and when he reaches my mouth, he stops and answers.
"If anything I do isn't okay, tell me and I'll stop."
I don't think he could do anything I wouldn't like, but I don't tell him that. I just nod. Because this moment is about breaking down a wall between us.
His mouth begins to apply slight pressure on mine, and before we know it, the kiss becomes brutal, charged with all the built-up frustration, just like earlier. His hands find my back, and with his fingertips, he touches my skin. A shiver runs through my body, and I know we're pressed against each other, but I want to melt into him. He tenses when his fingers trace the scars made by that whip, and while normally I'd be shy about being touched on something so ugly, there's something in the pressure he puts on them, as if he wants to memorize every indentation.
I can feel his erection between us, and although I promised myself I'd be patient and not rush him, the desire to put my hands on him, to erase all the unwanted touches, all the scars left under the skin by the monster just a few rooms away, pushes me to lower my touch. I feel him freeze, and I break the kiss.
"If it's too much, I'll stop," I promise.
I don't exactly know what I'm doing, and this awkwardness makes me doubt for a second, but when I look at him, I know I want this more than anything in the world.
A sound that seems like agony escapes him, and I instantly withdraw my hand.
"No, it was fine," he tells me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"I thought...you made a strange sound."
He looks at me with that smile I see so rarely as he lifts me in his arms. I feel his hands kneading my skin, and this position, with my legs around his waist, positions him exactly where I feel the most delicious tingling.
Without clothes and other layers between us, I feel how much heat our bodies emit, and my gaze becomes hazy.
"Do you know how many times I've wanted to be able to do this? To be touched without feeling like I need to physically crawl out of my skin?" he asks.
Though I'm overwhelmed by his presence, I still find myself asking, "Where do you go some nights that you come home smelling like perfume?"
I wish my jealousy wasn't so obvious, but it's clear in my tone.
He leans down and kisses the corner of my mouth with a mischievous smile.
"It's all for show, Julia. No one has touched me the way you just did. And that sound I made wasn't from pain. It was shock. Because it's the first time in twenty-one years I've wanted this. It's the first time I've had to control every muscle not to thrust into you right now. But I'm not the only one with trauma, and I don't want to push your limits too quickly either. I know you want this, but I need to be sure you're okay."
I let each word pass through my body and digest it. I understand what he means, him being the one who woke me so many times when I had nightmares and held my hand until I got through it.
"I'm okay. I'm more than okay."
And, using my free hand, I position him where I need him and begin to gently rub against him. Not for a second do I take my eyes off him. Because what he doesn't understand is that every time I have a nightmare, I see a gold tooth and hear Martin's voice telling me how tight I am and how good it feels when he takes my body without permission. And I want to take my dreams back.
"Julia." My name comes out raspy as his forehead touches mine.
My breathing becomes ragged, and I feel a wave of heat penetrating my body. He's so hard and tense, and I know if he clenches his jaw any tighter, something will crack.
With one hand still under my backside, he brings his other to my breasts, and I become self-conscious of the fact that I'm not the most well-endowed woman in this department.
"Look at me, Julia."
I refuse to look up. This man is sculpted to perfection, while I'm too thin, too tall, too flat. What if he overcomes this phobia of intimacy and then looks for someone who matches him? Someone perfect like him?
"You're the only one I have eyes for. And everything I see is more than I deserve."
He moves his hips in a slow rhythm, and his penis almost slips inside me, at which point I raise my gaze to look at him. We both have a breath caught in our throats because it feels incredibly good.
