Face notched with awe, he slowly shook his head. “You’ll always be different, Maggie. It’s what makes you so special.” He took a small step closer and whispered, “Maybe stop worrying about your weirdness and just embrace it.”
His eyes dropped to her hips where the five lines of a music staff wrapped her skin, unsung notes of pain inked into her flesh for all eternity. His head tipped as he approached, his expression weighing and reflecting the importance of the marks.
The urge to cover herself pinched, but her rigid body didn’t move. She wanted him to see her, all of her, including the scars she hid on the inside.
The backs of his fingers softly traced the notes, and she sucked in an audible breath. “What is it?” he rasped.
Goosebumps rose on her skin. “Thank You by Led Zeppelin. It was the song we danced to at our wedding.”
He nodded with proper deference, his hand slipping away from the sacred notes to drift back to his side. “It’s beautiful.”
Every breath felt like time shifting mountains, permanently redesigning the world as she knew it. Her chest cramped painfully as something in her heart lifted, and she shied away from the effort caring for someone might take. Like a fractured bone that needed to be rebroken in order to heal, maybe it would be less painful to leave it broken.
“I’m nervous.” The confession murmured past her lips on a shaky breath.
“Me too.”
Her body trembled with tumultuous energy. She feared so many contradicting things in that moment. She feared the phone would ring with an interruption. She feared losing her nerve. She feared forgetting how to do this. She feared embarrassing herself. She feared disappointing him. She feared she might hate it. But most of all, she feared she might love it.
Everything with Ryan came so easy, almost too easy. It was as if they’d known each other forever even though they really only became friends a month ago.
“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do.”
Would she ever be ready? She wanted him to hold her in his arms. She wanted to be kissed, touched, cherished. She wanted that sanctuary more than her next breath, but he was the only person alive who made her want those things.
She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall down her arms to the bed. No going back now. Her gaze fastened to the green comforter. Waves of jolting adrenaline rolled up her spine as she waited for something to happen. Slowly, her head lifted.
He stared at her, slack jawed. “Maggie, I really want this, but I want you to be comfortable with it more.”
She slid to the edge of the bed and stood, gently taking his hand and lifting it to her wildly beating heart. “I’m nervous because I want this too. And because I haven’t done this in a really long time.”
His mouth formed a sympathetic smile. “I feel the need to warn you that I might … disappoint…”
Her gaze lowered. “I doubt that.”
He closed his eyes and laughed without humor. “I’m single for a reason.”
She reached for his chest, mimicking the way his palm pressed to her beating heart. “I’m almost certain this…” She gestured to his body. “…isn’t the reason you stayed single all these years.”
Her touch drifted across his tattooed chest, tracing dips of muscle and chiseled flesh. He was gorgeous, fit, toned, and so kind and gentle. She slowly explored the topography of his upper body, learning his sensitive parts and familiarizing herself with his many tattoos. She’d ask about each individual one later.
When she glanced at his face again, his eyes were closed, as if no one had touched him like that in years. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have his own reservations.
“Is this okay?”
His lashes lifted and his nostrils flared with a deep inhale. “Your touch feels amazing.” His hands balled into fists at his sides.
She smiled and whispered, “You can touch me too.”
His gaze studied her for a moment, giving her the chance to revoke her words. When she said nothing, he dove low and sealed his mouth to hers.
His hand sifted through her hair, cupping her head, tipping her back onto the bed as he kissed her with explosive need. His gentle grip closed around her breast, massaging softly as he climbed over her, his weight sinking deliciously into her.
The edge of his thumb teased her nipple as his tongue delved deep into her mouth, seeking, conquering. She arched into his caress, her legs opening and her body cradling his. The press of his erection through his jeans drew a hungry moan from her throat.
The pinch of his fingers over the rigid tips of her breasts set her body on fire. Her touch raked through his hair, and as he dropped his head lower, she held him to her chest, arching in pleasure as he tasted her flesh. She’d forgotten how incredible a man’s touch could be, how strong and tempered, yet raw and coveting.