Vivian yawned and snuggled against his broad chest. “So don’t.”
“You aren’t scared of me? Of what I’ve done?”
“The only thing you’ve ever done is make sure I’m safe.” She yawned again, fighting to stay awake long enough to help him understand. “And now that I know you a little better, you know what?”
He tensed under her. “What?”
“I still want you. Okay?”
His soft huff made her hair shift, tickling her cheek. “Okay.”
Chapter 9
A sweet, low ache lifted Vivian from her dreams, drowsiness vanishing at the familiar sensation of Zeke’s lips on her neck and his fingers between her legs. She smiled and spread her legs wider. “Good morning.”
“I’d like to make it one,” he said, sliding the pad of his thumb slowly over her clit.
She shuddered and stretched, breasts jutting higher from the movement. He expertly captured a nipple and flicked his tongue over the point, teeth biting in just hard enough to prevent her from escaping.
“Zeke, I need to get to work.” She reached out for him without thought. Zeke hissed and froze when her hand brushed against his shoulder blade.
The skin beneath her fingers was ridged, a map of crisscrossed wounds intersected by patches of unmarred flesh. A muscle twitched under her hand from how tensely he held himself. She lifted her hand from his back, guilt slicing through her as his captors’ knives had sliced his skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t.” She waited in silence as he took a deep breath, then another. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No. I just...” Abruptly, he rolled over, covering his eyes with a forearm.
She pushed herself up on an elbow, concern growing the longer he didn’t speak to her. Strangely nervous, she brushed her fingers over his arm. He jerked from the movement, but didn’t uncover his eyes.
“Tell me,” she urged.
“After everything that happened—Syria, my mother—I hate to see those scars.”
“I can understand that.”
“And I don’t let anyone touch them.”
Vivian blinked. “Ever?”
Zeke’s lips curved in a rueful smile. “No.”
She threw a quick glance toward the kitchen area. She still had almost an hour before she had to leave for work. She refused to let this ruin their morning.
Zeke made a grunt of displeasure when she poked him in the ribs. “Roll over.”
“Darlin’, not now–”
“Now.”
He grumbled, but obeyed. Once again, he held himself stiffly, as if he were afraid for her to see the damage. And that’s what it was. There could be no denying that the wounds that had been inflicted on him were designed to inflict pain and little else. Certain intersections were more scarred than others, clearly places where he’d been cut more frequently.
“I’m going to touch your back,” she warned, drawing back the sheets so she could clamber on top of him.
“Damn, you’re warm,” he muttered when her core pressed against the top of his hips.