Page 78 of Something Like Sunflowers

He cups my cheek and kisses me as if there’s no time left between us, immediately searching my eyes.

“Calm down, Alpha Male.” I smile, fingering the hem of my shirt, riding it up inch by inch. “Just because you read a bunch of my books doesn’t mean you need to go un-aliving all my insensitive exes. Even if it would be a major turn-on.”

“It would be, you say?” He grins.

His eyes follow my movement as the shirt goes up my torso and over my neck, exposing the upper half of my body, and the top portion of my vertical scar. I brace myself for the weight of the world to crash down, but there’s nothing.

No sound.

No cringe.

No scowl.

No widening eyes of disgust, or furrowing brows of sympathy, or words of rejection to spark tears that spill over pillows of tomorrow.

All I see is love in his eyes.

I toss my shirt to the floor and peel the shorts down my waist and thighs, earning a groan of approval from Hunter when I’m totally naked before him.

My horizontal scar, from the emergency abdominal hysterectomy, is now exposed to him for the first time.

The scar that stole our child.

I lean back on the bed and for once in my life, as intense of a moment as this is, full of dredged-up memories and sadness, I don’t feel broken underneath the stare of a man.

He sees all the pieces of me, and he’s every bit a part of them.

The past, the history, and the wounds.

The faults that bind us together, and the scars that forever seal our love are etched across my skin like a story. One only he and I can finish.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, just how he knows I like it, and goosebumps ripple across my skin when he hums into my breasts.

“Wanna taste every inch.”

He swirls his tongue around my nipple, and pleasure rushes to my center, sending my hips rocking against his body. A low growl rumbles from his throat, and I can’t help but wonder what that sound might feel like in other places on my body.

Reading my mind, he lowers his kisses, leaving one hand to pinch my nipples to points up top, while he teases his mouth down my stomach, licking and sucking at the skin above my scar lines.

My breath hitches when he nears it, but my center still throbs for his touch. I don’t want him to stop. And what’s even crazier, the feelings that normally come in these moments—the rejection, the guilt, the pain—aren’t present right now.

It’s just me and him.

Devyn Lynn Campbell and Hunter Isaac, the boy I’ve always loved.

From top to bottom, he places purposeful kisses across the once-marred flesh, but it isn’t until he reaches the top of the vertical scar that touches my ribcage, that I feel his tears. He leans his weight into me, his head sagging as quick tufts of air release from his lips, breath blowing across my skin, and arms wrapping around me in an apologetic hug that says volumes, without saying anything at all.

He’s crying. For me.

For her.

For all of us.

I sift my fingers through his reddish-blond hair, and I’m reminded of the other little girl.

The one we didn’t lose.

The one who came into our lives at different times but needs a family. The one who stole Hunter’s heart and is fast collecting mine along with it. Suddenly, seeing this through is more important than my pain, my past or my scars.

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