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TWENTY-EIGHT
Felix
I force myself to breathe in. Then out. Then in again. How the fuck could anyone hurt her?
Laia gently pulls back from where she’d hidden her face in my neck, her eyes glassy, her gaze wary and sad. So fucking sad, I want to find the prick and rip his fucking head off.
“Do the scars bother you?” Her voice is no more than a whisper as she glances to the side of the vanity then reaches for the hand towel by the sink and holds it awkwardly over herself.
My eyebrows twist up in the middle, my fingers flexing where they’re still wrapped around her. The lack of color in her cheeks is all I can focus on. “There are more?” I swallow down the bile burning up my throat just thinking about what she’s been through to get here.
Her mouth presses into a line and she fidgets with the edge of the towel held up almost to her throat. “There are more … but only if you know where to look. He wasn’t stupid.”
“Show me.” My jaw aches with tension, my voice ragged even to my own ears. My chest is raw, like something’s clawed its way in there and settled in for the long haul. Fury? Vengeance? Whatever the fuck it is, its roaring at me to protect her. To keep her safe. To find the pathetic bastard and see how brave he is against a real man.
Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips and her chest lifts with a long inhale before she covers my hand with hers and pulls it from her waist.
I steel myself against the very real possibility of that wall slamming down and never coming up again.
Still holding my gaze, she lifts my hand to her collarbone and presses my fingers to a slight ridge there.
The whole world spirals and zooms in on that one ridge, and it’s like the air’s been sucked from not just my lungs, but the whole damn room.
“He threw me down the stairs.” Her lips form a slight O as she releases her breath.
I run the pad of my finger over the bump that’s invisible beneath her skin. Simultaneously horrified and awed that she’s trusting me with this … with her.
I nod. I think. The movement’s so tiny I’m not even sure I make it.
She straightens a little. Like a tiny show of defiance against whatever memories are playing out in her mind as she swaps the hand holding the towel with the one covering my fingers. Then she guides my fingers to where her earlobe meets her head and the slightly raised scar hidden in the crease. “He dragged me back up those stairs.”
There are no words.
She moves my hand to her ribs and this time her chin does begin to tremble. “There are more, Felix. But this is the one that saved me.”
I press my palm against her ribs. Her skin’s still damp from the bath, still a little pink and warm.
“He had to take me to the hospital.” Her lips curve into a slight smile and she shrugs.
Shrugs like what she’s just told me hasn’t gutted me—hasn’t just completely ruined me.
“The nurse treating me figured out what was going on, and the next day I was out of there.”
Silence settles between us. Thick and full of questions. I bring my hands up to cup her jaw, stroking my thumbs over her cheeks, tipping her head back. How many black eyes were hidden beneath the lotions and potions on those shelves? How many split lips? Bloody noses?
How many times had she needed someone to protect her, and nobody came?
Her hand slides over my wrist and her eyebrows raise. Like she’s waiting for me to speak. My gaze drops to a line of slightly darker skin across her forearm, and I take my hand from her face to lift her arm, flicking my gaze from the scar to her face.
Her laugh is shocked. Slightly wobbly, but it’s nowhere near as bitter as I’d expect. “This one was all me. Ovens can be mean when you’re not paying attention.”
That she can laugh at all after living the life she has fills my chest with a rush of appreciation for the strength it must have taken her to move forward.
I brush my thumb over this scar as well.
“Say something,” she whispers.
“You—” I clear my throat and the catch in my voice. “You inspire me.” I clench my teeth. “You’re brave, and so fucking strong.”
She starts to shake her head, pink staining her cheeks.
My mouth is pressed against hers before she gets the chance to brush off my words. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see a woman blush.
There’s no hesitation in the instant parting of her lips or the stroke of her tongue.
I pull back and scan her face. She’s flushed. Just the way I like her. I cup her head and tilt to the side to press a kiss to the scar on her earlobe. “And no.” I tug the towel from where she’s still got it held up over herself. “The scars don’t put me off.” I press another kiss to her collarbone, then bypass her seriously tempting breasts and lift her arm to trail my tongue up her ribs. “They don’t put me off.” I twist myself around her other side and kiss the back of her hip and the jagged white line there too. “At all.”
Her yelped out giggle eases any residual tension from my shoulders when I straighten again. I slide my hands over the curve of her ass and pull her tighter to me. And when she wraps her legs around my hips and clasps her hands behind my neck, the rush of feeling that spreads through my chest has me pausing. Staring at her face. Trying to figure out how the hell we got here.
“Felix.” The corner of her lips twitch and she clenches her thighs around me.
I lift my chin and my eyebrows. “Huh?”
Her fingers sink into the hair at the nape of my neck, and she frowns, humor shining in the green of her eyes. “You’re staring.”
My gaze drops to her mouth. “You’re worth staring at.” I lean in and press my lips to hers, lingering there until her eyelids flutter open again.
“In that case.” She arches her whole body into mine and deepens the kiss. Long and slow, it has one of my hands flexing on her ass the other sliding up the side of her neck, my thumb brushing her jaw, my body pushing her back until her shoulders meet the mirror behind her.
The noises that leave her have me kissing her harder, angling my head to take it deeper.
She pants against my lips, her knees hitching up my sides, heels digging into my ass, hands dropping to the button of my shorts.
Breathing hard, I pull back and tug her hands from my waistband. “Wanna know what else I’ve been thinking about all day?” I meet her stare, my tongue touching my top lip before I plant my hands on the counter either side of her hips and kiss her jaw, breathe in her vanilla scent, and graze my teeth down the side of her neck before meeting her heavy-lidded stare again. “These legs.” I slide my hands over her knees and push them further apart, my gaze moving over her flushed face. “Wrapped around my neck.”
Laia
If my face has ever been this hot before I can’t remember. My nose wrinkles, and his eyes narrow.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I press my fingers to my lips, then my whole hands to my burning cheeks. “It’s nothing.”
“Laia.” His voice is a low grumble, his hands still on my knees, still holding them shamelessly apart, but his stare never strays from my face. “Talk to me.”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I can’t—”
“—You can.”
I grimace. It’s not attractive, but let’s face it neither are flaming red cheeks. “Fine, I’ve never … nobody’s ever—”
“—Made you come with their tongue.” His lips tick up at the sides like he’s trying not to smile.
My mouth closes with an audible pop. “Yes, I mean no. Never. I mean, I’ve only ever been with … and he, well he wouldn’t. He didn’t like to reciprocate even when I—”
“—Stop talking. Please.” Pressing the butts of his hands into his eyes, he leans back, head tipped to the ceiling on a long, drawn-out groan.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
He instantly drops his hands and cups my face. “I’m not mad at you. Never you.” He clamps his mouth shut then takes a long breath and the smile he was fighting wins out after all, spreading across his face. “Let me do this, Laia.”
“No. Yes. What if you don’t—” I press my lips together but hold his stare apparently no longer capable of finishing a sentence.
“Trust me.” His eyes flash with a confidence that has me nodding despite the nerves and memories.
His gaze moves over my face, his smile straightening into something much, much more serious. Then, moving slowly like he’s still waiting for me to back out, he leans in. “Trust me.”
“I do.”
The kiss starts soft, gentle even, his tongue barely tickling mine, his hands still cupping my face, big body curved over mine. He moves with care, slow and controlled, but for once, it’s not enough to make me forget what’s about to happen.
“Relax.” He kisses my chin, the side of my jaw, his hands sliding down my sides and over my waist tugging me to him until I’m perched right on the edge of the counter and my shoulders touch the cool glass of the mirror again. “If you don’t want this—”
“I do,” I blurt out, earning myself one of his crinkly-eyed smiles.
“Okay.” His fingers flex on my hips, his thumbs at my hip bones, his tanned skin vivid against my paleness.
“Okay.” I nod.
His attention flicks down then he leans in and presses a kiss to the edge of my jaw, bristles scratching down my neck, over the rise of my breast. My chest lifts and falls in sharp little pants. And then his lips seal over my nipple, and my hips jerk up off the counter, my head coming away from the mirror, body curling over his. I twist my fingers into his hair, my mind finally, finally quieting, zoning into the drugging splice of heat shooting from my breast to my core.
He moves to the other breast with a rough groan, his teeth grazing over the tip.
“Holy shit,” I breathe against the top of his head, his clean, fresh air scent filling my head, my heels digging into his lower back as his big body moves against mine.
And then he shifts lower, his hands back on my waist, holding me still, his tongue trailing down the center of my belly. My fingers tighten in his hair and my heartbeat kicks up until it pulses in the dip of my throat. This is happening.
His chin bumps my pubic bone, his wide shoulders pushing my thighs apart. This is really happening. My abs tense and I release his hair to grip the edge of the countertop.
His rough chuckle puffs warmth over my lower tummy. “Laia.”
“I’m good.” I’m not. I think I might faint.
“Laia, look at me.” He rests his chin on my belly and squeezes my sides.
I bite down hard on my lip and force myself to look down my extremely naked body to his intense blue eyes. My legs are hanging over his shoulders. Hanging. Over. His. Shoulders.
“You can say no.” His brows lift.
I shake my head, my attention caught on the slow pull of his bottom lip through his teeth, my whole body flushing.
He holds my stare, slowly pulls back then he kisses me. Long, slow and right, right there.
A pant catches in my throat and my toes curl, but he doesn’t stop. He does it again. And again. Andagain until there is nothing—nothing—left in my head but him and his tongue and I cannot believe I’ve spent twenty-seven years without this in my life.
