Tied (All Torn Up 2)

He understands me. Cares for me. We share the same pain and hope. I’ve witnessed him going from a man of no words or smiles, who yawned at my arrival, to a man who has healed me with words and caresses, blesses me with the most handsome, sexy smile ever, and has now given us a home that promises a lifetime of special moments and memories.

After moments of silence that really isn’t silence at all, but a space of time filled with a deep exchange of emotions that are better felt than spoken, he pulls me into his arms and covers my mouth with his, once again pulling me into that mesmerizing place where I can’t think but can only feel. And as his mouth possesses mine, and his hand slips to the back of my neck to clench a handful of my hair, tugging gently as his kisses deepen, I feel so much. I slide my hands up the back of his shirt, needing to feel his skin, the warmth and solidity of him. A faint moan sounds in my throat when his tongue sweeps fervently over mine, and his hand roves down over the curve of my hip to cup my ass, pulling my body hard against his, letting me feel him pressing against me through our clothes. The hardness of him ignites an army of electric tingles that flow from the center of my thighs and disperse in all directions—to my breasts, to the tips of my fingers, to my toes—every cell aching for more of him and the sensual static he creates.

So this is desire…feeling I may just die if we can’t possess every inch of each other.

His hands move to cradle my face, and our kisses subside to barely-there, feathery touches. His eyes are deep and alluring as a midnight ocean, locked onto mine as he continues to render me powerless with his lips. Weak and wobbly, I lean my body further into his.

“I love you…” he whispers against my lips.

“I love you…I love this house.” I let out a dreamy sigh. “I love us.”

He tilts my head back and kisses my throat, sucking lightly before moving his lips up to brush his nose across my ear. “I’m fuckin’ wild for you. I’ll build you a castle up in the clouds to make you happy.”

“No…I never want to leave here.” I turn my head to catch his lips, and he kisses me hungrily, backing me up until my legs hit the edge of the bed. Gently, he pushes me back onto the bed, amongst the dried flowers that I’ll gather up later and put in a box with the notes he’s given me. I want to save every souvenir of our life together that I possibly can.

I circle my arms around his neck as he gently falls on top of me, and I welcome the careful weight of him. His thick hardness between my legs sends quivers through my thighs, and when he grinds himself against me, my insides scream, yes, more.

Feather told me, during one of our late-night ice cream chats on the couch, that someday my mind, body, and heart would all come together with the right guy, and I’d want him like crazy in every way possible—regardless of the things that had been done to me. Oh boy, was she right.

I lift his shirt and he quickly pulls it off—his skin is like sizzling velvet under my tentative touch. He dives into my neck, devouring the sensitive spot near my collarbone. His hair falls across my face and neck—soft and smelling of coconut and tobacco, the sweet, masculine scents tangled together in such a perfect representation of him.

He removes my shirt and bra, his lips and fingertips trailing up and down my arms, then down between my breasts, teeth grazing here, tongue caressing there, coaxing each inch out of its coma of sensation. My body awakens under his patient, sensual touch as numbness recedes into the shadows of the past and a deep yearning takes its place, here to stay.

He stands and removes my boots then reaches for the button of my jeans, glancing up the length of my body until his gaze rests on my face, searching my expression for a sign of consent, and I smile softly.

Yes

My jeans and panties are slowly pulled off, and he kneels at the end of the bed, his hand still holding my foot, and he plants a ring of kisses around my ankle, following the faded rope scar from so long ago. Mistakenly, I thought it had healed, but I realize it hadn’t, not really, until this man I love put his hands on me and freed me. He moves up my body like a lion, slow and sure, dragging his tongue up my inner thigh, sending goose bumps across the surface of my skin. I reach for him, my hands just barely touching his tousled hair, but he resists my urging. Instead his lips halt right below my belly button. He traces the lettered scars with his lips, lavishing kisses across each one, his hands capturing mine at my sides. As I close my eyes, a single tear slides down my cheek. Maybe it’s for the little girl who was sliced for crying too much for her mommy. Maybe it’s for the man who’s always going to punish himself. Or maybe it’s for us, for being so twisted and tied with guilt and love.