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Then, her body opened, taking me in and swallowing me whole. Pushing my soul to the edge of the dark abyss and into a terrifying but somehow familiar bath of warmth and light.
“What the hell?” I uttered aloud, throwing my head back to rest on the couch's pillowed cushions.
Lennon's lips traveled the length of my neck, sucking and licking and biting until she reached the sensitive spot behind my ear. She placed a small kiss there, then moved her hands from my shoulders to my cheeks. She pressed her forehead to mine, found my gaze with hers, and then her eyes were fully open, like she was seeing me for the very first time.
Onyx eyes and opal soul, this was always meant to be…
And I saw her.
***
Women never stuck around after we fucked—I never let them.
Once upon a time, I’d liked the quiet, the way it spoke to me in lyrics and melody. Maybe it was why I never allowed myself to settle down—my subconscious was too afraid of the time it would spend in someone else’s company and not doing the thing that brought me peace and joy.
But Lennon was still here.
Picking through a cold carton of fries and sipping on a cup of flat root beer, she sat at the edge of the bed. Gloriously naked with the tendrils of her black hair in disarray over her shoulders and arms and back. I was still on the couch, arms stretched out and good leg perched on the coffee table.
Watching her.
She turned in my direction, eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “I can feel you looking at me.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I answered, tilting my head and studying her as she squinted and scrunched her nose.
She thought about it for a moment, then sucked in a breath and turned back to the food. “No,” she answered, slipping the straw into her mouth. “I just hope I remember what it’s like.”
“What what’s like?”
“Feeling you watch me,” she said before taking a sip.
Raising a brow, I asked, “You like being watched?”
The straw left her mouth as she shook her head. “Not really. But other people usually just stare. There’s a difference between staring and watching.”
“Oh yeah?” I lowered my foot from the coffee table to the floor and placed my elbows against my thighs. “And what’s that?”
“When people stare”—she plucked the last fry from the carton and popped it into her mouth, then stood with the garbage in hand—”they are seeing only what they want to see while they make their judgments.But when someonewatchesyou”—she headed to the garbage can and dropped the empty carton and cup into it—”they’re really seeing you for who you are. They’re learning.”
My head slowly nodded as I dropped my gaze to the black-and-gray tattoos marking my hands and fingers. “And some people write songs,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?”
Looking up, I lifted one side of my mouth into a half-smile, then said, “Nothin’.”
“O-kay,” she drawled with a smirk.
Lennon walked toward me and bent to pick up the little scrap of lace and her dress when I asked, “Do you want to stay a little longer?”
She stopped mid-bend to stare at me with gaping lips and widened eyes. “Um … are you sure? I don’t want to be in the way if—”
“I’m sure,” I replied, hardly believing it myself. Because Iwasn’tsure. Not when I was still in my slacks, not when this thing was still strapped to my thigh.
But I was sure I didn't want to be alone with the silence and the confusion crowding my weary mind.
“Okay,” she said, snagging her bottom lip between her teeth and hugging her arms around her middle.
“Oh, here.” I leaned forward and reached for my button-down on the floor, then handed it to her. “Sorry. I didn't even think you might be cold.”
