Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
He grabs my face and holds me with such intensity that I feel precious as he says, “I do.”
It’s said urgently, with a wild desperation and, more so, a complete understanding of the question.
Max starts with a kiss on my right shoulder since he’s sitting on that side. Then he blazes a trail of kisses up to my neck as his hand slides around to my lower back on my right side—the smooth side.
Then he shifts me so I’m turned toward him. He dips his mouth to my left shoulder, kissing me there, journeying along that raised, red scar. He’s kissed me there before, many times. Touched me there every night. Seen that scar and the ones on my upper arm in the past. But we both know where this moment is going—well beyond my shoulder, well past my arm.
With a firm hand on my chin, he raises his face, and with his eyes on me, he says in a steady, confident voice, “I’m going to unhook it.”
He’s not simply giving me a play-by-play. He’s giving me a heads-up that he’s going to touch my back for the first time. Everywhere. I swallow and nod, granting permission once more, even though it’s already been given.
His big, calloused hands cinch around my stomach, sliding over both sides of my back. They reach the hook and he undoes it, then lets the delicate lace fabric fall free, slowly sliding down my arms. He catches it. Sets it down on the bed.
He’s seen my breasts before, of course. But it feels different when he cups them, weighs them, then lets go. It feels different because when I lift my chin and meet his honest gaze, I say, “You can look.”
There’s a pause as he runs the back of his fingers along my cheek. He drops a tender, adoring kiss to my mouth, then shifts his weight. The mattress sinks. He moves on the bed, kneeling behind me for the first time.
I hold my breath. I’ve been here before. I’ve been left alone here before. My heart beats in my throat. Emotions swim up my body. Memories, too, along with images from the night of the accident. But I breathe through them, past them, cataloging the beat of the sultry song in the background, the faint scent of midnight and longing, the softness of the duvet.
And him.
While I want to lower my face, I don’t do that either. I stay strong because I am strong. I know that now. I believe that now.
A second later, Max’s big hands cover my shoulders, then glide slowly, tenderly. He’s like an archaeologist touching a treasure for the first time. One hand coasts down the smooth skin on my right side, the other along the bumpy, scarred, once-burned skin on the left.
He touches each side of me the same way. His touch is hungry and reverent as his hands travel all over the terrain of my body, the map of the last three years of my life. Then it’s no longer just his hands on my back. They’re joined by his mouth. Hands and lips and the scratch of his beard as he kisses all the imperfect pieces of me.
“I love them,” he says in a gravelly rasp.
I turn back to him, unsure I’ve heard him right. Because I’m not sure anyone could say that. “What?”
He clasps my cheek, drops a kiss to my lips that he finishes with a desperate sigh, then returns to my back. “I love them so much,” he says, his own voice full of emotion, like he’s fighting to keep it together. With a shudder, he kisses my back more urgently, all over. “Because they mean you’re alive,” he says, then he raises his face and bands his strong arms around me, pressing his warm chest to my back, clutching me against him like I’m the treasure he’s keeping safe. “You’re alive and here with me.”
Just in time.
I clasp his hands in front of my chest and hold on tight. But I can’t hold back the tears that flood down my cheeks. He is so much more than I’d ever imagined. “I’m here,” I say, but it’s not a whisper this time.
It’s steady and strong, like how I feel with Max Lambert.
“And I love them. I love everything about you, and most of all, this,” he says, his hand sliding up and between my breasts where he spreads his palm across my heart and covers it. Like he’s protecting it. Like that’s all he wants to do for me. Protect me.
And I believe he does.
I close my eyes because this moment is overwhelming. But I lean back against his shoulder, resting on him. The tears slide down my cheeks, and when they slow I say, “You make me feel everything.”
I can feel his smile. Can hear his grateful murmur. He kisses the salt from my face until I turn and capture his mouth.