Page 151 of Beautifully Wounded

You pervert, Abbey.

“Stay with me?” he asks, and my perverted-ness rushes away at his tone.

He sounds so… vulnerable.

“Of course,” I say quietly, shuffling down until my head hits my pillow and I roll on my side to watch him.

There are emotions swirling inside me that I’m not used to. I hate seeing him beaten, yet I love that he likes to share the quiet moments with me. It feels special somehow.

I stare at him until his breathing deepens and evens out, and then eventually, I must fall asleep, too.

I’m not sure how long I sleep for, but when I wake, the night is quiet, darkness is still beyond the window, and Ringo is still sleeping soundly next to me.

I get up and use the bathroom, slipping out of the hoodie for a few minutes to put on some more deodorant, since I’m sweating more than usual tonight.

I can’t tell if the air is thicker or if it’s just me, but I don’t feel as cold as I normally do.

Even so, I slip the hoodie back on, smelling Ringo wrap around me, the simple act somehow quieting any chaos that started up in my head.

Returning to the room, I get a cold bottle of water from the fridge and guzzle half of it down, watching Ringo as I do, still sleeping peacefully.

There’s just a hint of light filtering in through the thin fabric of the curtains. Light from the courtyard beyond. There’s a streak of it running diagonally across his abdomen and chest before slicing over my pillow.

The way it hits his skin kind of makes the white in his tattoos glow. I move back to the bed, placing the bottle on the side table and shifting to sit on the mattress where I was lying minutes ago.

I’m so tempted to reach out and touch where his tattoo glows. I bet it’s hot. And soft. And smooth. Would he feel it if I touched him?

My gaze darts to his face to see he’s still sound asleep, his lips slightly parted. I lick my own lips, the urge, no, the desire to kiss him scaring me a little.

Why do I want to touch and kiss this man so much?

The flutterof that ache between my legs has returned. Thoughts of earlier today, or perhaps that was yesterday now, returning to me like a teasing slap.

I watched him pleasure himself. I actually lay in this bed touching myself while he jerked off in front of me. I even let him taste me off my own fingers.

Ohhh, that was so hot. So intimate.

Heat gathers between my legs, familiar and aching.

Why does this man have this effect on me?

I want to touch him so badly. I want to see what his skin feels like. I want to lick it and taste it. I want to be the one to give him pleasure.

It’s too late when I realise what I’m doing, stretching my arm towards him, my finger hovering over his hot flesh before it finally makes contact and brushes over the hard ridge of his abs, feeling the satin of his skin, hot and tempting.

33

Iwake to a gentle brush of fingers gliding up my abs and over my chest. I assume Abbey doesn’t know I’m awake since her fingers don’t stop exploring, which is why I keep my eyes closed and breathing slow.

I don’t want her to stop. I don’t want to scare her away and think she can’t touch me like this. Fuck, if she wanted to drag a blade over my skin, I think I’d fucking let her.

The graze of her fingers shifts south, going back down over my ribs, moving closer to the towel still secured around my waist.

Of course, my cock starts to wake the fuck up. I feel it swelling, stretching, hardening under the towel, and I have to wonder if she can see it as those delicate fingers linger at the top of the fabric covering my bottom half.

I’m about to ask her to take the towel off when I feel it shift, and I fucking hold my breath, not wanting her to stop as she slowly eases the fabric apart.

A small gasp falls from her, and for a long moment, nothing happens.

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