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The way his eyes flared and his hands settled on my hips a little tighter than he usually touched me these months told me he felt it too.
“You just notice I live here?” he asked, voice thick and a little rough as the flame grew with his hardness pressing against me.
“Well…yeah,” I said, my voice throaty and breathless.
“That a problem?” he asked, eyes searching mine.
I searched his right back. “Is it permanent?”
Heath’s hands moved to the side of my neck, pulling me down so our foreheads touched. “Baby, it’s us. You know it’s permanent.”
My stomach flipped for a completely different reason than our current position.
“That scare you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “But after months of feeling fear that what was inside me, eating at me, it’s a nice kind of fear. It’s a good kind.”
His face changed, a mixture of joy and dread.
“You wanna talk about what made you walk today?” he asked, voice soft.
I swallowed. “I haven’t been talking,” I whispered in response. “At the meetings you take me to. I haven’t been talking. I haven’t been strong enough to talk.”
“You’re strong enough to walk through those fuckin’ doors,” he hissed. “You’re strong enough to carry the weight of the world.” His hand tightened. “You’re strong enough.”
I smiled. “Today I was strong enough to talk. To tell the truth. What I haven’t told anyone. Not you, not myself, not really. I’ve just been pretending it wasn’t real, and if I didn’t admit it. Didn’t vocalize it, maybe it would decay my insides.”
Heath knew. I could see it in his face, the way his entire body braced like someone would seconds before a car accident. “I could lie and say that I haven’t pushed you to tell me because I wanted to handle you with care.”
His grip relaxed as if he was now just realizing he’d been pressing his fingers into my skin hard enough to bruise.
He brushed a curl from my face. “I could lie and say I wanted you to feel safe enough to tell me when you were ready,” he said, voice rough. “But I can’t fucking lie to you, Polly. Not after everything. Not even to protect you from my weakness. And that’s what it was. I was too fucking weak to handle the truth. And that’s my greatest fucking shame because you handled it for yourself, and everyone else.”
Pain ricocheted through my body as a tear trailed down Heath’s cheek.
A tear.
For me.
The strongest man I’d ever met was being brought to tears.
Because of me.
“You’re so strong,” he rasped. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever fuckin’ met.”
I framed his face with my hands as his words became strangled with the depth of his emotion. “No. You’re strong. Because you knew, Heath. I know you did. I lied to myself and said that you didn’t. But you knew. You knew even if you didn’t admit it to yourself. Because you know me. Every inch of me. Every inch of me is yours. And he couldn’t take that. It’s taken me a long time to see that.”
I brushed at his cheek, wiping the tear away.
I didn’t have to say that ugly word that I’d finally uttered aloud today. Which was good, since I didn’t know if I could pass it through my organs without it tearing them. Because Heath knew. He knew without me having to say. His tears told me that.
“I’m ready,” I whispered, leaning toward his mouth, my eyes not leaving his. “I’m ready for you to show me I’m yours again.”
I subtly moved against him, touched my mouth to his, my intention clear.
Heath froze.
“Sunshine,” he growled against my mouth. “We don’t have to. I’m willing to wait ‘til you’re ready. If it’s too soon—”
I shut him up with a kiss.
A real one.
He was hesitant at first. Not because he didn’t want me, no the hardness pressing through my leggings was evidence of that, but because he was worried I was doing my Polly thing, jumping into something without thinking. Jumping into something that might damage me, us in the future.
This was the one thing I was sure about. It wasn’t jumping blindly when I knew Heath would catch me.
My tongue slipped into his mouth and that’s when he responded. That’s when he unleashed his hunger. A low growl vibrated through his body and into mine as he clasped the back of my head and tore into my hair.
My grinding became a lot less subtle.
In fact, it could only be described as desperate.
Violent.
Heath was standing, still kissing me, hands still tearing my hair from its ponytail. I instinctively wrapped my legs around him, my entire body jerking when his hardness pressed against the thin fabric of my leggings.
He moved, and every movement was torture, creating a new friction, building a new fire, driving me wild.
He didn’t stop kissing me.
