Page 22 of Was I Ever Free

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I haven’t shareda bed with anyone since I was a street rat with a dead girlfriend.

All these years, I’ve successfully avoided it.

Until now.

Not to mention how fast I agreed to it.

I let what’s left unsaid drift up along with the smoke from my cigarette while I look up at the night sky. The front door is ajar, I can hear Lucy coming out of the shower from outside. Continuing to smoke, I push away thought after wayward thought while I listen to her putter around the room until I finally hear a click of a lamp. Then silence.

I could just walk away. Leave and never return.

No one would care.

I sure wouldn’t.

I push off the wall instead.

The room is dark when I walk back inside, save for a small lamp on the empty side of the bed. Lucy has her back to the front door.

“Move over,” I order.

Lucy turns around to face me. “What? Why?”

“I sleep closest to the door. End of story,” I mutter.

There’s a pause, followed by a small huff, but eventually, she does as I say, sliding to the other side of the bed. Her gaze is now fixed on me, although most of her face is hidden in darkness. The hazy glow of the light glints off her skin where it does reach.

I didn’t bother with a shirt before heading outside. Her eyes linger like they did earlier and I don’t stop her. I rake my hand through my hair and release a breath, licking my lips. My gaze slowly slides up to meet hers and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. All I know is that I can’t look away while my fingers find my belt, unbuckling it. Then the button of my jeans. The slow push down my legs, followed by the quiet rustles of fabric falling to the floor.

She hasn’t stopped watching.

I don’t think I want her to.

I lean over and push the duvet down. The movement makes the sheets fall off her shoulder, fluttering past her stomach. All she’s wearing is an oversized t-shirt and black boyshorts. I swallow down the curse that nearly escapes my lips. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, her eyes never leaving mine. There’s nothing left to do but slide beside her in bed and I do just that. I break eye contact while I slowly reach over her to turn off the light, the warmth of her body under me feels almost too good to ignore.

But I do.

I lay on my back, as far away as possible, one arm behind my head. The darkness only manages to heighten her presence beside me. Counting my breaths, I try to ignore every dirty little impulse seeking to manifest within me. I hear the glide of skin on cotton sheets before I feel her feathery touch on my chest. It’s just one finger, but it could be her entire body on mine for the effect it has on me. By the way she was looking at me earlier, I’m not surprised she’s daring to touch me. It rattles me just the same.

Her index finger traces my tattoo, letter by letter and I can barely breathe. My hand closes over hers and I hear her breath catch. I nearly succumb to one of my earlier impulses—to push her hand even further down.

Instead, I gently place it between us on the bed. The silence pulses with tension, I can practically taste it on my lips. Suddenly, I crave another kind of taste entirely. Her skin on my tongue, soft sighs against my mouth.

Her quiet voice finds its way to my ear. Whispers in the dark. “Why?”

I close my eyes, trying to keep it together.

I let out a long sigh. “Why, what?”

But I know. I fucking know.

The silence that follows almost sounds like she’s gathering the courage to say it. Then she finally does.

“Why can’t I touch you?”

I swallow hard before answering.

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