Page 108 of When Sky Breaks

She was my first. My first love, my first of everything.

I vow to be her last.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

sky

Soaked and sated, I grab the towel August extends to me and openly gawk at his body as he dries himself off.

His biceps grow taut as he rubs the towel across his stomach and over his broad shoulders. His abs flex and I instinctively press my legs together and clutch the towel at my chest for dear life.

He brushes the fabric over his lower stomach, and down his muscular thighs, all the while staring at me through the damp hair flopped over his brow, his gray eyes holding a spark of mirth.

He knows what he’s doing to me.

That smirk on his mouth broadens as he sees my fingers twitch with the desire to run along the tattoos over his chest and down over his still hard?—

“I like the way you look at me.”

I bite back a smile and pull my hair up into some sort of messy, wet bun while searching for something to put on before the need to have him take me again arises. “And how do I look at you?”

August crowds my space, his warm chest millimeters from mine. His thumb runs along my lower lip. “Like you want to do that again. All night.”

Shivers roll over my shoulders and he dips to pick up a shirt. He lowers it over my head, and I breathe in the scent. It’s one of his shirts. He’s always liked me in his clothes. His way of staking a claim.

“You always knew how to read me,” I say airily, watching as he pulls up another pair of low-slung sweatpants that were hanging on the back of the door. Well, when he wears something like that, it’s kind of hard not to imagine doing that again and again.

My stomach chooses this inopportune time to growl, echoing off the tile of the bathroom. Now that my body just went through the best kind of exercise, I’m starving.

“Let me feed you. Can’t have you passing out on me. Foster would have my head on a silver platter with an apple sticking out of my mouth.”

I laugh, finish dressing, and follow him to the kitchen, hopping up onto a barstool and watching him open the fridge.

His back to me exposes what I saw in the tub, but was too caught up in lust and love to say anything.

“You got more tattoos.”

He looks over his shoulder and grins. Turning, he brings with him various meats, cheeses, and condiments, splaying them out onto the island before grabbing bread and chips from a cabinet near the sink.

I watch as he makes us sandwiches, my eyes traveling over the new ink nestled among the flames on his shoulder as well as what’s spanning his shoulder blades. He’s covering over the flames with images reminiscent of his travels and photos from his assignments.

Choosing beauty over a life lived in the ashes of his past.

“Hard to walk anywhere in California and not come across a tattoo parlor. I thought it was time to maybe mark myself with things that mattered.” He slices the sandwiches on the plates before grabbing two water bottles from the fridge allowing me another glimpse of the others.

It’s no surprise he got an old-school camera inked, but it’s what’s behind it that makes me hitch a breath.

He notices and a soft smile crests his lips. “Getting that one made me feel like you were always there with me. A brilliant sky lit up with the most gorgeous sunrise the artist could render. Felt fitting. A way to cast out the darkness.”

Tears well. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you right here in front of me.”

Unable to contain it, I leap off the stool and fly around the island to jump into his arms. They wrap around me, the warm skin of his chest on my cheek.

“You’re so—ugh, so goddamn cute.” I press a kiss to his bare chest and step back, poking him in said muscular pec. “Anything else up your sleeves, Mr. Slick? Better not be a secret girlfriend.”

He grins as he points to the plates on the island. “Eat. To answer your question, no, I have nothing else up my sleeve.” He pauses the sandwich near his lips. “I don’t think?”

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