“It’s an honest response. It tells me I’ve either pleased or embarrassed you.”
“I also blush when I’m angry,” I challenged with a grin. “So how can you tell I’m not just angry all the time?”
“It’s different.”
I set down the scissors and ran my fingers through his hair. “Different?”
“When you’re angry, you get…well, red. Instantly flushed. When you’re embarrassed or pleased the color is like a flower on your cheeks…it spreads out—pink and soft.”
I stared at him, my insides beginning to quiver, my breathing picking up. “You notice things like that?”
He nodded, tilting his head back. His eyes caught the light, swirls of blue and green staring at me. “You blush when aroused, too, Megan.” His hands began sweeping the backs of my legs, sliding higher with every pass, the heat of his fingers burning through the thin material of my yoga pants. “I do?” I sputtered, clinging to his shoulders, feeling the coiled muscles contract.
His voice became low and husky. “Yeah, you do, but it’s different. It starts on your chest and blooms up to your face, deepening the more turned on you get.” He paused, the tip of his tongue peeking out and teasing his bottom lip. “Sort of like what is happening”—he tugged me closer— “right now.”
I gasped as he lifted me into his lap, his mouth covering mine. His kiss was deep and carnal, his desire evident in the way his arousal pressed up against me. “God, I want you,” he groaned into my neck. “I want you spread out on my bed all pink and soft for me—everywhere.”
Yearning shot through me, hot and bright. I had no idea how he did this to me. One look, one sexy sentence uttered in his low, raspy voice, and I wanted him.
“Your hair,” I protested feebly.
“Fuck my hair,” he growled, thrusting into me. I moaned at his need, my own desire spiking. He could have anything he wanted.
“No,” I shot back at him. “Fuck me, Zachary. Now.”
He stood up, his arms holding me tight. “With pleasure.”* * *Zachary was curled around me, head resting on my chest, fingers caressing my hair, tugging at the mess he’d made with his hands during our frenzied lovemaking. He certainly did love my hair. Once again, the floor was strewn with pillows and sheets, but the remaining lamp had been put in a different place for safety. In a gentle sweep, I slid my fingers over the back of his neck, feeling the slight shiver that went through his body at my touch.
“Zachary?”
“Hmm?”
I paused, trying to keep my voice light and even. “Can I ask you some questions?”
His body tensed, fingers stilling, at my words. He rolled over, an arm covering his eyes. Immediately, I missed his warmth. I moved closer, laying my hand on his chest, over his heart, and the small spattering of scars around it. “Does this hurt?”
“No.”
I laid my head down on his chest, not speaking, unsure if he would elaborate.
The room was silent for a moment, save for his fingers drumming a restless beat on my arm. “My skin everywhere on the right side is incredibly sensitive, Megan. Some of the burns were worse than others. In some places, the skin around the scar is more reactive and the scar itself has no feeling in it at all. There’re times I’m in pain and when I am, I take pills. I feel temperature changes easily. I wear loose clothing, my showers are barely warm, and I never, ever go outside unless I’m fully covered. I can’t stand the feel of the sun. It’s like being burned all over again.”
“Oh.”
His lips brushed my temple; a tender pass of affection. “In answer to your question, none of your touches hurt. You are far too gentle for that.” He assured me, his voice quiet. “Your touch actually soothes me.”
“But you tense up every time.”
He exhaled deeply. “I’ve been alone a long time. No one has touched me for almost twelve years. In fact, no one has ever touched me the way you do—my entire life. It…takes some getting used to.” His arm held me a little closer. “I’m trying, Megan.”
My heart ached with his quiet admission.
His whole life?
“I know you’re trying.” I paused, glancing up at his face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Zachary, or do something by accident to cause you pain. That’s why I’m asking.”
His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “I don’t like to talk about this.”
“I need to understand.” Pushing up, I met his nervous eyes. “I need to know the boundaries.”
“Boundaries?” He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Things that make you uncomfortable—bother you. For instance, I’ve noticed you have no candles around. All your appliances are electric.”
His mouth tightened, his fingers pulling on the blanket, twisting it up tight. “Yes. I don’t like candles or things with open flames.”