Page 93 of Knot All is Forgiven

"You have your nipples pierced," she hums, her eyes traveling down my torso. "And your belly button?"

"All the cool girls were doing it."

She snorts, brushing her finger across the tattoos on my chest. "How many do you have?"

I glance at the back of my hands, the sun on my left hand and the crescent moon on my right. "Basically, my entire body," I tell her honestly. "Once I started, I couldn't stop."

"Why'd you start?"

"It was right after me and the guys split. I was so angry, so hurt, that I wanted to have an outlet for it. This felt like the least self-destructive thing I could do."

She runs her hands over my shoulders and collarbone, stopping at a small circular spot of untouched skin. "Why's this blank?"

I can't stop the blush that climbs up my face, heating my flesh. I dip my head, unable to make eye contact with the Omega of my dreams. "I couldn't bring myself to put anything there."

"But why not?"

"Do you remember the summer between ninth and tenth grade when we were at the waterpark?" I ask, finally looking up to make eye contact.

"Yeah, you were being an idiot and broke your clavicle because you dove out of the raft." She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes at me. "I still can't believe how stupid you were."

"Hey!" I say with mock indignation. "What fourteen-year-old boy isn't an idiot?"

"All of you certainly were," she grumbles. "But that doesn't explain why you didn't get tattoos here."

"Afterwards, I was so sore, and my body was beat the fuck up, but there was a part that wasn't bruised, do you remember? You looked at it and said-"

"'Looks like your body left me space for my bite mark,'" she whispers. Her long fingers grab my chin, and she wrenches my gaze down to hers. "What are you saying, Simon?"

"I'm saying I couldn't tattoo it. It didn't feel right when that's your spot."

I tried several times over the years to put a tattoo there. But I never went through with it. It never felt right to put color in a spot that was always meant to hold the silver scars of her teeth.

"Why did you ask me to come in here, Jordan?" I say quietly, my breath feathering across her lips. "Why me?"

"You never gave up on me," she replies, her hand drifting from my chin to rest around my throat, under my jaw. "You were always there, weren't you?"

"I used to sit outside of HUG and hope to see you at the coffee cart," I admit, feeling like a creep. "Sometimes I'd sit across the street and just stare up at the light in your window and hope you'd catch me, if just so I could get yelled at by you."

"Why?"

That single word holds the heaviest question she could've asked. There is so much I could say to it. I could tell stories about our childhood together, cut myself open, and bleed my truth onto the floor of the nest, pouring out every obsessive, anxious, obsessive thought I've had about her.

Instead, I stroke my fingers down her cheekbone.

"Because I love you, Jordan Cross."

Her lips crash into mine, almost pushing me to my back. She's nearly flat on top of me, kissing me with an aggressive passion that hurts, but in the best way possible.

Jordan's tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for her, letting her lead, encouraging her to take from me what she needs. I wrap my hands around her waist and drag her down to rest over my rapidly thickening cock, where I begin to grind her against my length as we devour each other's mouths.

She pulls away. "No, I'm in control here."

I drop my hands and nod, locking eyes with her, praying she sees the sincerity in my gaze. "Whatever you want from me is yours, Jordan. I belong to you, mind, body, and soul. Just please, please, let me love you. Please forgive me. I'm begging."

She sits up, rocking against my cock, shooting pleasure up my spine. "Begging, huh?"

"I'll get on my knees. I'll kiss your feet." I shift her a bit so I'm sitting up, looking her directly in the eyes. "Jordan, I have hated and regretted every fucking moment without you. I can't do it again. I don't know if I'll survive."

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