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“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really. I’d rather you help me forget it.” A coy smile unfurls on her lips.
I kiss her jaw. The shell of her ear. “I can do that.” The word rumbles in my chest. She moans a sound that makes me hard in record time. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Positive.”
“We don’t have to be at the Fourth of July celebrations until noon. I can think of lots of things we can do in the meantime.” I flick my tongue along the shell of her ear. “And all those things require me seeing you naked.” I kiss the corner of her mouth where her scar is. “Without it being dark in here.” My tone is a reverent whisper.
I haven’t seen her naked. Not in the light where I can appreciate the sight of her better. She’s only let me make her come when the light is off. But that’s because she didn’t want me to see her scars. The scars I still haven’t seen.
But it’s been two weeks since she told me about them and about her previous life. I want to see all of her.
I want to kiss each scar and chase away her pain.
She swallows, her eyes uncertain. “Okay.”
“Let me know if it gets to be too much.” I cup her face and stroke my thumb along her cheek. “I’ve got you, Jess.”
She nods and her eyes turn dark and beautiful.
I slowly peel the sheet down, giving her a chance to change her mind.
She’s wearing one of my T-shirts, the hem bunched around her hips. The cut on her leg from the accident is now free of stitches. It’s the small round scars peppering her upper inner thighs that have me inwardly cursing.
I don’t have to ask her what caused them. There’s only one thing they could be. Cigarette burns. Anger flares in me at what that prick did to her, but I carefully school my expression to keep the anger from my face. Instead, I kiss each scar, silently promising her body, the woman who has captured my heart, that I’ll never treat her like he did.
I’ll only worship her.
I push the hem up, exposing her stomach. It’s there I witness the rest of the roadmap of abuse. I have no idea which scars were the result of her husband’s hand, and which were from her time in prison. All of them make me want to curse everyone responsible for her pain—including the police and prison guards who failed to protect her.
I take the time to kiss each scar. I don’t ask her what caused them, and she doesn’t volunteer the answers. Her fingers reach for the scar on my arm, jagged and white.
“Shrapnel wound,” I say.
She pushes herself up to sit, the hem of my T-shirt pooling around her hips. Her fingers shift to the small scar on my chest. “Is that what caused this one?”
“Yes, but from a different incident.”
She’s not the only one with scars on their body with different stories to tell.
Her fingers brush across a thicker scar that cuts through my healthy shoulder. None of these old wounds are new to her. She’s seen them when I’ve been shirtless while working on her renovations.
“That one wasn’t from the Marines. I was in a car accident during college. Colton was in the car too, and he saved my life. That’s what made him decide to be a paramedic.” Instead of the accountant his old man had been pushing for.
Her fingers continue to the tattoo on my arm. The tattoo of a mountain scene inside a maple leaf. Two hockey sticks form a diagonal cross under it.
“This is beautiful,” she says on a hushed whisper. “The details are so realistic. Did you get this because you love hiking?”
“Yes, partly because of that. Colton and I lived for the mountains. Even as kids. The hockey sticks are because we played hockey together as kids and in college. I got the tattoo last year after he died.”
“To keep him with you.” This time her whispered words seem to be more directed to herself than to me. She traces over the picture, and her touch sends a surge of desire through my veins.
“Exactly.”
“It’s a great idea. And so beautiful.” Jess peels my T-shirt over her head, tosses it to the floor, and lies back on the mattress.
I join her and kiss her long and deep, consuming her like she’s consuming me. My hand skims along the curve of her hip, down her thigh, and brings her leg to wrap around my hip. I slip my hand between us, and my fingers push the edge of her panties aside. I stroke her heat, spreading the wetness waiting for me like it’s a gift from the gods.
