Page 44 of Silent Is The Heart

He looks like I just lanced him. How do I tell him that he doesn’t have a damn thing to be embarrassed over?

I remember that day I came to his apartment above the shop. Regarding his voice, he said,‘I use it when I have to and give it a rest when I need to.’It’s sound advice. I struggled to figure out what I could do to make up for leaving without a goodbye and then dropping back into his life uninvited. Now that I knowI’mwhat I could have given him to ease his pain, I welcome the end of the struggle with open arms. I don’t need words to show him he can have what he wants.

Sighing, I lean my head against the back of his and take in a hit of his familiar scent. I give his waist a squeeze, hoping he receives it as an extension of what now feels like an embrace rather than a stockade to keep him from leaving. The wavy curls of the ends of his hair tickle my nose as I trail my mouthlower to reunite with his skin, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck.

All the while, he trembles in my arms.

Don’t be afraid, I want to tell him.Don’t be ashamed.

Trailing my hand slowly down his chest, I move my lips to his ear. I’m shivering with nerves myself. He has to feel it. He’s not alone in this.

“Let me give it to you,” I whisper, watching his throat undulate when I place a kiss there.

His stomach flexes under my touch, and he finally looks back at me. The transformation is astounding—completely open and vulnerable.

I’m not practiced at taking charge. I was under the mistaken impression that Easton grabs what he wants from life by the horns, but I can see that’s not the case where little old awkward me is concerned. Maybe for a moment that night at Pulse he did, yet I realize now that was him trying to teach me a lesson, but it wasn’t the real Easton. Not the one laid bare before me.

Stepping back, I slide his jacket off and toss it to the floor. Gripping the hem of his shirt, I draw it carefully upward, thanking the stars when he raises his arms. He’s still with me.

A scene of colorful designs from his neck to his navel reveals itself–a serpentine dragon threaded all across his upper body, at war with a demon of the sea that refuses to be drowned. I want to tell him he’ll never drown, not with me.

I tug my own shirt over my head and let it fall, baring myself in equal measure. I stand still, letting him take a look, feeling giddy at the way his eyes travel curiously over my flesh. He turns, still gaping like I’m made of something more fascinating than other human beings.

When he catches me watching him watch me, he makes a nervous sound. Be bold, I tell myself, stepping forward and cupping his face. It’s no longer difficult to manage when my lips meet his again.

One brush of our mouths isn’t enough. It opens a floodgate of need. His lips part for the tip of my tongue and I taste. Gripping my arms, he moans, meeting my enthusiasm, and then I’m lost. He kisses like he’s been studying a map of my mouth his entire life. How have I kept my hands off him for two months?

We take a step forward, a step back. We’re two starving people who’ve been denied the thing they want the most. When he palms my back and his hand slides to the base of my spine, pulling me closer, my head goes light.

Coming up for air, I have to force myself to move away. Before that confused look of his can take over the rest of his face, I grab his hand and tug.

“Come to my room?” I venture not caring how out of breath I sound. “I’d like to see what you look like in that bed you bought me.”

Smirking, he follows, sidling up behind me as we walk. Bumping pleasantly into me with each step with his hands on my waist, he peppers a few kisses across the back of my shoulders, letting me know exactly what I want to do next. I want to know every inch of Easton Bennick until he’s imprinted on my soul.

CHAPTER 22

Easton

I’m at a loss as to what just happened. First, I was laughing at how ridiculous he was over that movie. Next, he was prying my soul from my body with that hurt look on his face. Of course, I feel something. I can’t be around him and not feel ornotbe around him for that matter.

I can’t believe heknows. Now that he figured out what a heartsick fool I was, I’m helpless to turn off whatever is showing in my eyes. It’s a miracle he didn’t realize it sooner, to be honest. I’d say it’s mortifying, but the reward is far from anything to complain about. My knees are still shaking. He kisses like each touch of his lips mean something. Aaron Manicki knows a game I’ve never played, and it both excites and terrifies the hell out of me. I only know one game and kisses in the past have only meant I wanted to get off.

When he stops at the side of his bed and turns to me, I nearly swallow my own tongue. Now what?

I… I don’t think I can fuck him. Is that what he wants?

God, I can’t believe I just thought those words, but I mean, it’sAaron. It’s dreamy smiling, puzzle-loving Aaron, notI left town and now I’m back with an electrolarynx Aaron. Things are…different. This wouldmeansomething. What happens when you fuck someone and it means something? I fantasized plentyabout something meaningful with him, but fantasy is less discombobulating than reality.

When his palms glide down my stomach, I forget whatever the hell I was thinking. His warm breath hits my lips. There’s nothing I can do to stop myself from tasting them again, so I don’t even fight it. Each little puff of air of his I steal, each of mine that I hand over willingly to him, sinks me deeper into this blissful quicksand of the unknown.

His fingertips dip into the front of the waistband of my jeans, loosening my button. God, yes. I want them off even if just to feel all my skin against his. I’m glad he’s not being reserved for once because I don’t know what my problem is. It’s like I’m afraid if I move too suddenly this will all end. I have no choice, though, when my jeans pool around my ankles.

Stepping out of them, I stare at his fingers working his sweats down over his hips. My heart wallops against my ribcage. He didn’t just grab his sweats; he’s taking his boxer briefs down with them.

I’ve seen so many dicks in my life, one more shouldn’t be fascinating, but it’s Aaron’s. It’s hard, adorned with a thatch of dark hair at the root, and bobs as it slips free of the fabric. He flashes me a self-conscious smile. Shit. I’m gawking.

Right. We’re doing this.

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