Page 126 of Beyond Protection
"I'm not—"
"You are. You control the version of Mac that everyone sees. Make jokes when you're scared. Charm people when you want distance. You've done it so long you don't know how to stop."
My throat closed around a deflection, another joke.
He saw it. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't perform. Not here. Not now."
His hand slid under my shirt. Palm warm against my ribs. Resting. Feeling me breathe.
"I'm going to touch you," he said quietly. "And you're going to let me. You're not going to reciprocate and make this equal. You're just going to lie there and receive. Can you do that?"
Everything in me wanted to say no. Wanted to take control.
Eamon's hand pressed slightly. "Can you do that?"
"I don't—I've never—"
"I know. That's why you're doing it now."
He kissed me again. Slower. His tongue traced my lower lip before sliding inside my mouth.
When he pulled back, I was breathing hard.
"Shirt off," he said.
I pulled it over my head. The adhesive from the wire had left marks—small rectangles of irritated skin.
Eamon touched them. "Did this hurt?"
"A little. Pulling it off was worse."
"I'm sorry."
"For what? You didn't—"
"But I let you wear it. Let you walk into that market. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I chose it."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it."
His mouth followed where his fingers had been. Kissing the irritated skin. Gentle. Like he was slowly erasing my memory of the wire.
He touched my ribs with his hands. My stomach. The body I'd trained and controlled, programmed to perform on command.
"You're beautiful," Eamon said quietly. "You know that, right?"
"People tell me that."
"That's not what I asked."
I didn't answer because no, that wasn't my assessment. I knew I photographed well. Knew my face opened doors. But beautiful?
Eamon's hand stopped moving. "Look at me."
