Page 50 of One Night Years Ago

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Natalie. Not because I don’t want to, because God knows I do, but being seen with me will turn you into a pariah. Look at what my mother’s going through.”

“With all due respect, Hunter, I’m not your mother.”

He laughed. “I know that, believe me.”

“Why don’t we get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow,” she said.

He looked at her, uncertain. “You mean together?”

“What I have in mind, I can’t do alone,” she said. She looked pointedly down at his crotch, saw his hard-on grow. Instead of horror, she felt a sense of power. She’d wasted so much time feeling sorry for herself, thinking she would never be whole again, that she’d never really given herself the chance to heal.

He pulled her towards him until their bodies were flush against each other.

“Oh God, Hunter,”

“I can’t wait to be with you again,” he whispered. He dipped his body, hooking his right arm behind her legs and lifting her gently against him. She held on to his neck for balance but knew he wasn’t going to drop her. He carried her as if she didn’t weigh anything, heading towards the guest bedroom.

“Not there,” she said. “I want to do it in my bed this time.”

“I want to do it in every room of the house,” he said, walking up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

She chuckled as he laid her gently on the bed. He sat beside her, kissing her gently, and she noticed how careful he was being not to crowd her.

She bit his lip. She didn’t want him to treat her like she was injured.

“Hey,” he said, but returned the nip affectionately. He was struggling with her jeans. They were tight. She lifted her hips off the bed and shimmied out of them.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, slipping a hand inside her panties and tugging down. “Take this off as well,” he asked, his hand touching her bra strap.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Is it because of the scar?” he asked.

She nodded. “I don’t like to look at it.”

“I have scars too,” he said, shrugging out of his shirt and exposing his upper torso. Her pupils grew wide with desire as she saw his muscles.

He pointed out a scar between the head of his pectoralis major to his deltoid. She traced it gently with her fingers.

“Where did this come from?”

“I fell off a bicycle,” he lied. Her hand moved further down, making him shiver in pleasure. Her index finger rested at a puckered scar to the left of his belly button. “And this one? Also a cycling accident?”

“You show me yours, I’ll tell you all about my scars.”

Her shoulders hunched, defensively, and she turned away from him.

“Hey, Natalie, I was just kidding. You can stay as dressed as you like. I was just trying to explain that I … that your scars don’t matter to me. But I would like to see all of you.”

“What if you find it as repulsive as I do?” she whispered, her voice laced with infinite pain.

“I promise I won’t,” he said, rubbing her back gently.

Her hands went to her bra strap and unclipped it efficiently. She turned around to look at him, not wanting him to see how much it cost her to keep her hands by her sides, how much she wanted to reach up and cover her breasts.

He kept his eyes on hers for a moment then looked down at her breasts, which were full and high. The right nipple stood at attention. The tissue surrounding the left nipple was where the damage had happened. He wouldn’t be able to see the bite mark anymore, it had thankfully healed, but her nipple had been almost bisected by the injury.

He took his time looking at her breasts before raising his eyes back to hers.