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The memories keep coming.
I press his hand to my shoulder.
The camera flashes.
Then I guide it to my stomach. The time keeps ticking, the camera keeps flashing, and I reel out of control.
Shaking like a leaf, I let his hand rest on my hip.
It’s when I attempt to move his hand again, he becomes rigid, his hold on me tightening until I finally open my eyes and stare up at him. And for the first time heavy tears leak out.
He sees it.
Like I’ve punched the air from his lungs, his mouth sets into a hard line.
He’s seen the photographs.
He’s touching me everywhere I’ve been hurt.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to see, but in there, he’s furious, protective. He schools his features until all that’s left is adoration.
This amazing man has no clue what I’m doing, yet somehow, he still understands it.
He understands me.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he demands quietly, his own voice cracking. “It’s just me, pretty girl.”
His hands move on their own accord now as the camera continues to capture the journey, and I don’t take my eyes off him for a second.
Strong and warm, his hand spreads out over my collarbone until his fingers dance past my neck and his thumb brushes my lower lip. A lip that has been busted more times than I can remember.
With a tortured groan, he cups either side of my face and presses his forehead to mine, all the while gently soothing away non-existent bruises from my cheek bones, around my eyes, my temples.
I already know how a man’s hands can inflict pain. Logan taught me that they can also heal the wounds.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. With his words, a sob ruptures from deep in my chest, and all the touches before his drift away as if they’ve been washed away with the threatening storm outside this studio. “You’re perfect.” His breath sweeps across my neck as his lips touch the shell of my ear, and his next words take root in the depths of my soul. “You’re safe.” His hand glides down my arm, leaving goosebumps prickle the flesh as his thumb motions in circles around my wrist. “You’re mine.”
He tours my body, his fingers the needle, thread, and stitch, healing open wounds he didn’t create.
Dizzy from him, my eyes fall closed as he continues whispering in my ear. “You drive me crazy in the best way, and I’m in love with every inch of you.”
Eyes locked, that familiar energy charges in the air around us.
Pressing on my toes, my lips graze his as I whisper, “I need you.”
Grabbing the back of my neck, he takes two steps and pins me against the wall, his eyes searing into mine. I see a wildfire there, uncontrolled and insatiable, licking my skin with white hot flames.
His kiss elicits a moan from me that echoes in our intertwined breaths.
In an effortless movement, he lifts me, my legs instinctively coiling around his waist, our bodies perfectly aligned against the cold, unforgiving wall. With a swift yank, my panties are off, the sound of ripping fabric only spurs him on.
His jeans follow, discarded in a heap at our feet.
I feel him against me, hard and ready, and the anticipation has me gasping for breath. Then, in one deliciously agonizing motion, he pushes into me.
The familiar stretch draws a cry from my lips, both from pleasure and sweet, sweet pain. He fills me completely, never loosening his grip.
With my eyes falling shut and my hands clutching his broad shoulders, I retreat into the sensations taking hold.
