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Gently, his hands come down on my bare shoulders and he rubs them up and down. I gasp at the sensation and squeeze my eyes shut. Every muscle tightens, and his hold on me stills as I start to tremble. I’m trying to fight the ghosts, I really am, it’s just so hard.
“Avery, who’s behind you right now?” he asks, sliding his hands over my back to gather up my hair. Pushing all of it over one shoulder and to the front, his hands flatten against my skin and run over my shoulder blades to the top of the dress.
“You are.” My voice is rough and strained.
“How does this make you feel?” He unfastens the eye hook, grabs a hold of the zipper, and slowly starts to pull it down.
“I don’t know.” I’m feeling so many things, it’s hard to pinpoint one specific emotion.
He stops moving his hands. “Tell me.”
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to keep me in the present, here with him, by talking.
“Nervous.” My hands are shaking, and I will them to stop.
“In a good way or bad?” The warmth of his breath brushes across my ear.
“Bad,” I whisper.
He pauses.
“Well, that just won’t do.” He pulls the zipper to the bottom and cold air finds its way between us. Clutching the dress to my front, one of his fingers starts at the base of my neck and runs over the bumps of my spinal cord. My body likes this and goosebumps chase after him. He hums with approval.
Nuzzling his face, which is slightly rough, against my neck, he kisses me under my ear.
Oh my God. His mouth is on me.
Instantly, the ghosts disappear. It’s not lost on me that all it took from him to release me from the roots of fear is just one kiss. One kiss to make them wither up and die.
Sinking into him, he molds himself to my back and runs his hands down my arms.
Time slows, and I memorize every detail. The feel of the fabric of his shirt, the press of the buttons into my skin, the softness of his hair against my cheek, the size of his warm hands as they run across my skin affectionately, and his smell. He smells so good.
Eventually, he pulls back. The warmth is immediately gone and my back chills. His hands drift under the fabric of my dress, and around to my stomach. I release my hold on it, and it slips off my body and pools at our feet. Wrapping both arms around me, he pulls me back against him so my head falls to his shoulder, and he hugs me tightly.
“Avery, relax.” There’s a gentle command in his words. I didn’t realize I was still so tense, and I let out a sigh to release it.
One of his hands can stretch almost the entire width of my stomach and as he begins to move them, I decide his hands are one of my most favorite things about him. They move across my stomach, up over my breasts, back and forth across my collarbone, down my sides, over my hips, and up the insides of my thighs.
Time stops.
Over and over, he repeats the pattern.
He’s loving me with his hands; he knows this is what I need. He’s replacing old memories with new ones. New ones with him.
Turning around, my breath catches at how incredibly sexy he looks. His dark hair is sticking up, the blue in his eyes has darkened, his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are wet. Needing to see more of him, I start to undress him by unclasping his suspenders, pulling the dress shirt from his pants, and unbuttoning it.
He doesn’t move. He just watches me.
Pushing the shirt onto the floor, my eyes catch his as I pull the white undershirt up and off too.
Ash is so handsome. The muscles, the lines, the dips, his skin, his coloring . . . he’s flawless.
Reaching up, my hand falls to the middle of his chest. His skin feels like it’s burning, and I love it. Deliberately, I drag my hand down the front of him and he trembles just before catching it with one of his. He moves my hand back up and wraps it around his neck, using his other to pull me in closer.
No words are said. But as his eyes lock onto my mouth, and he licks his lips, I feel as if that one move speaks volumes.
Leaning forward, he captures my mouth with his, and I’ve died and gone to heaven.
