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“It is!”
“Do you not want me anymore?” I can practically taste the fear in his angry voice.
“This is not about you, dammit!”
“Is it not? It’s me who you’re pulling away from. It’s my touch you’ve been avoiding or rejecting, when I’ve only ever wanted to comfort you. I’m not imagining this, little witch.”
“I need time.”
He inhales deeply, pulling his lips into his mouth, but his eyes hold an intensity I want to dive into head on. He’s so… everything. He’s fucking everything. All kinds of wrong when the world has fallen off its axis because Ronan Hennessey’scomfortingtouch is not what I’m supposed to be thinking of right now. Especially since his thoughts are innocent… mine aren’t.
“I’m okay with that, as long as you’ll still be here when that time’s up. But I need to know if it’s more than grief that made you shrug away from my touch out there.” He points toward the door.
“Are you kidding me?! Is this what this is about? Me rejecting you in front of yourfriends?! What is this, high school?! Get out of my way, please.” But there’s no politeness in the tone.
His gaze darkens, head tipping down to me so slowly I can practically taste his annoyance.
“You could do it in front of the goddamn king, little witch, I don’t give a fuck. I only pointed it out because it was the last time you did it. Now, tell me what’s going on,” he seethes, but I’m already pissed off.
“No. Get out of my way.” I’m deflecting, and I can’t seem to stop myself.
But the bastard is like a wall in front of me, refusing to move an inch and I can’t bear to have this conversation right now. I slam my hands against his middle in an attempt to shift him away, and the man winces, his body folding ever-so slightly.What the fuck?I’m not that strong. I lift my hands to touch him again, but he covers his middle with his forearm before I can reach.
I look up at him, brows furrowed, but not in anger, then pull his arm away and lift his shirt.
“Ronan! Oh my God, you’re hurt!” I grab his biceps, turning him around until his back hits the bathroom cabinet, switching places, then touch the mean stitching on the side of his abdomen, not far from his waist.
“What happened? Who did this?! When did this happen?”
It looks similar to the ones marring my thighs. So very similar. I lift his shirt higher and frantically begin to check every inch of his torso, panicking that there might be more. There are bruises, so many bruises, at various degrees of healing, some darker than they should be, some already in the faint yellow stage.
“Have you been hurt this whole time?! Goddamnit, tell me what happened!”
But the man stands there, pulling his lips between his teeth, and I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of amusement in his eyes. They’re… warmer now.
“Answer me!”
And he does… but it’s not the reply I was expecting.
He grabs my head in his hands and presses his lips to mine with such fierceness, I grab onto his forearm to steady myself. He kisses me like he’s been thirsty for decades and I’m the only lagoon in the middle of a desert. My legs turn to mush and those stab wounds have nothing to do with it. Core tightening, my already sensitive nipples hurt against the graze of the bra.
Fuck… I didn’t realize how much I missed this. His lips on mine, his touch, him. All of him.
I let him in, and he doesn’t hesitate as he slides his tongue into my mouth, exploring every inch of me with a subdued hunger. There’s more of him to give, but it’s not that kind of kiss. This kiss is filled with longing… the soul demanding the connection, not the body.
His hand threads into my hair, pulling my head back to deepen the kiss, only I wince into his mouth, and it all stops in a heartbeat.
“Fuck! I’m sorry.” He brushes that hand against my head, soothing it immediately.
“It’s okay. It’s gone. It’s just a bit sensitive.”
He brushes a palm over his face, and it’s like he takes off a mask. The look in his eyes, the color under them, the curl in his lips, they all change into something I want to nurture and nurse back to health. It’s pain, fear, and something… something that looks back at me every time I look in a mirror—guilt.
I caress his cheek, wishing I could wipe it all away and make it better. But it doesn’t go anywhere.
“Baby,” he sighs. “I have to ask. I’m so sorry, I just, I want to try to understand, and learn how to… how to help. Did theytouchyou?”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this question.
