Page 87 of I Choose You

“Ohhhh.” She closed her eyes and leaned to the side, resting her head on the couch as she turned to face me. “That feels good.”

That fucking moan. It was torture hearing that and remembering how she’d made that noise when I was deep inside her.

I grinned and gently pulled her hand. Her eyes popped open as she shifted toward me. With her hand in mine, I massaged her palm and fingers. I traced the line of tattoos as I rubbed her.

“What is this symbol?” I asked again.

She had to say something. Because if I continued touching her warm, soft skin, I’d want to see and feel every inch of her, especially with that dreamy gaze and low moans of approval.

“It’s a Celtic symbol,” she finally replied. She scooted closer, giving me her arm. “It represents eternity. Mom and I got it the day after high school graduation to celebrate. We wanted to get something matching to mark a reminder that we could get through anything together.”

I frowned. She said it matter-of-factly, but the words sounded heavy. “Get through it?”

“High school was torture for me.” She bored into me with her green stare. “There were days I really didn’t think I’d survive.”

I sank under the weight of her words. She said it with a detached tone, like it was in the past. Done and over. But I knew damn well she had to have suffered. High school was a hard time for everyone, and I hated that it had been that bad for her.

“Not only that, but we were still dealing with the fallout of my dad. Mom suffered from his abandonment for a long time.”

“He left?” I asked. I knew her dad wasn’t in the picture, but I’d never known any details.

She sighed, and I moved my fingers up her toned forearm, massaging.

“He walked out one day. Just like that. I’d just finished seventh grade. Mom claimed he hadn’t been happy for a while, but he gave no explanation. No note. No call. Just gone. It took a long time to heal. I doubt Mom has yet, but we had each other. And we got through it together.”

I could relate, and the reminder of having lived through a loss saddened me. Kody, Dad, and I had survived my mother’s death, but we had closure there. We’d known about her illness and we’d been able to spend time with her before she was gone. It wasn’t an abrupt, voluntary departure like what Brooke’s father had done, but the aftermath was the same.

Left behind and missing a parent.

She hummed as I rubbed near her elbow again, and the sound tore me from the sad reminders she’d evoked.

“Feel good?”

She nodded, nestling into the cushion. “Maybe I need to get a new mouse,” she mused, flexing her fingers.

“Overusing it?” I teased as I dragged my fingers up to her palm again. Playing on her slip of the tongue about admitting I’d had tendinitis from tennis, I cleared the air from serious topics.

Eyes closed, she grinned. “Shut up.”

“What does this one mean?” I asked of the swirling lines over her knuckles. Just like she had doodled in high school.

“A reminder to not get tied to anything negative.”

I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.

Her eyes popped open. She stared at me as I turned her arm and rubbed up her full sleeve. “What about this one?” I asked, tracing the flowers locked in ice.

“A reminder not to go through life with a chip on my shoulder.”

I dragged my hand back down, reveling in the freedom she gave me to touch her. To savor every soft, warm inch.

She twisted and laid her other arm out. “But this one is to remind me to stay resilient.”

I moved to the maze of lines, spreading my caress there.

“And this?” I dragged my hand up her arm to her shoulder. Her breath hitched as I lowered the straps of her cami and bra. Revealing the world of color and lines, I refrained from going too far.

She tilted her head to the side, giving me access to trace the design.