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CHAPTER 31
Skylar
Was this really happening?
Or am I dreaming?I thought as I floated in a cloud of bliss.
Hank’s lips brushed lightly against my inner thigh tickling me and I giggled as I opened my eyes. This was happening. I could see the top of his head from the angle I was at, but I wanted to see more. I wanted to see his lips against my flesh.
My limbs were heavy as I began to lift up onto my elbows.
“Don’t move,” he commanded roughly as his eyes flew to mine.
The gruff sound of his voice caused the seam of my sex to spasm as a tingle of bliss shot through it. My lady parts were saluting him, saying, “Yes, sir.”
I reclined back, obeying the order. I’d never been with someone that I felt comfortable relinquishing control to. Even Richie. He’d wanted to tie me up, and I’d tried, but I just couldn’t do it. Before he’d even secured the second restraint, I’d used the safe word I’d insisted on having.
But everything was different with Hank. I’d happily allow him to tie me up. In fact, just the thought of it sent a tingle shooting to my center.
Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, Hank stood up. As I laid perfectly still, I watched as he stripped off his shirt. At first, my eyes drank in the magnificence that was his torso. He was chiseled to perfection.
“Wow,” I breathed out as my gaze traveled across the broad planes of his muscular chest and down to his defined washboard abs.
That’s where I noticed a pronounced, jagged scar on the left side of his torso.
“I got stabbed,” he answered the question that I hadn’t voiced.
His admission caused my eyes to fly up to his. “Stabbed?”
“It was a bar fight. I was fourteen.”
“Fourteen?” I could hear myself repeating everything he said and wished I had something more intelligent to say. “You were in a bar at fourteen?”
“I grew up in a bar.”
“Oh, right.” I felt like an idiot. Of course, he had. I leaned up and this time Hank didn’t command me to stop. My arm lifted and I ran my fingers over the raised skin. “Did you have to get stitches?”
“Twenty-two.”
I’d heard the stories of Hank fighting. He had legendary status in this town. He was as known for his fighting as he was for the curse attached to his family name. Working at the bar, I’d heard the stories of him taking on three guys at once, picking grown men up by their shirt collars when he was just a teenager and tossing them out of the bar. Men peeing themselves when he stared them down.
But seeing the evidence of his brawls and hearing the stories were two very different things.
“My mom hadn’t been gone that long and some guys were talking shit about her.”
“They were?” I wondered who would talk ill of the dead, especially to the person’s son.
“They were drunk and she wasn’t an angel.”
Everything I’d heard about Sabrina Comfort had been from regulars. She came up a lot when Cheyenne was around because everyone who’d known Sabrina said looking at Cheyenne was like looking at a ghost. When they’d see Cheyenne, it would remind them of a story about Sabrina.
People said she was well-liked, charismatic, beautiful, and the term “free spirit” was thrown around a lot. They said that she loved her kids but relied on Hank a little bit too much. They also said he’d been responsible for his siblings even before she was gone.
“I’m so sorry.”
Hank glanced down at where my fingers were grazing the raised skin of his scar. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“I’m not talking about that. Well, I am, but I mean all of it. I’m sorry for everything you had to shoulder at such a young age. I hate thinking of you going through all of that alone.” I continued tracing the outline of his scar and I noticed that his chest began rising and falling in shallow breaths.
