Page 98 of Our Secrets and Scars

“Never,” he promises, and I believe him.

And for a while, we stand there that way, clinging to each other while passers-by swerve around us, muttering under their breaths and shooting us irritated looks. But we don’t care. This moment is ours, and nothing can ruin it.

“So, what now?” he asks finally, resting his forehead against mine.

“Now?” I smile at him devilishly. “Now you take me home.”

Twenty-Nine

Kinsley

Holden’salreadystrippedmenaked before we’ve even made it through the door to his apartment. Which is an achievement in itself, considering the number of layers I’d bundled myself in to protect me from the bitter Utah winter.

Our hands are everywhere as we tumble through the darkened space of his home. Mine are pulling at the zipper on his jacket, and his are wound into my hair as he forces my lips to his. The kiss is brutal and violent, yet filled simultaneously with total adoration. It’s desperate, apologetic and worshipful, and I take it all—everything he gives me I welcome without hesitance.

But it’s not enough.

After the emotional suffering we’ve both endured over the last couple of weeks, I need even more.

“I need you,” I whisper into his mouth.

The moan he releases is one of both appreciation and agreement. He pulls hard on my hair, forcing my head back so he can run his tongue up the length of my throat. The sensation is dizzying, making my hips grind against him of their own accord. I have no control over my movements or the sounds I’m making, I just know that I need him as naked as I am so that I can feel his skin on mine.

“Clothes.”

That’s all I can manage—just one word. And even then, it’s barely more than a breath.

I feel his smirk against me, that cocky tilt of his lips, and if I were any more coherent, I’d roll my eyes at the deep chuckle that rumbles from his chest. But I don’t, because I’m not capable of it right now, but also because this dominant, confident side of him turns me on like nothing else.

I’ve spent my entire life meticulously engineering my existence to fit in with everyone’s expectations of me. Every second of every day since I can remember, my mind has been overwhelmed by my treacherous pursuit of perfection. How to manipulate my mouth into the perfect smile. How to alter my voice to sound assertive and self-assured, though still maintain its femininity to not threaten the fragile egos of authoritative men. All my life, I’ve obsessed over every wrong word, every unintentional twitch of my face, and every too-loud breath.

But Holden silences it all.

With him, I don’t have to worry about any of that. I can just live truly and madly in the moment. He tells me what to do and how to do it, folds my body into the positions he wants, and puts me where I need to be. And all I have to do is go along with it. Trust that he’ll take care of me and follow blindly.

His control of me frees me from the prison of my mind and just lets me… be.

I’m not sure I can ever thank him enough for that.

We’re in his bedroom before I even realize that we’ve moved at all. He lays me down on the mattress like I’m something sacred and then strips out of his clothes, leaving them to puddle on the floor beside him.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen him this way before; the sheer perfection of Holden naked takes my breath away like it’s the very first time. The tattoos engraved all over him, the portrait on his chest that he had done in dedication to me, the barbell through his eyebrow, the crescent moon beneath his eye. He’s a work of art for my eyes only. And I love every piercing, every drop of ink, every perfect fucking scar that possesses him.

His eyes darken, and the soft light from his bedside lamp catches on his irises which are now completely black, as he breathes in the sight of me lying naked and twisted in his bedsheets. It’s almost frightening, but I’m certain that mine look the very same.

It’s several long moments of us staring at each other, both afraid to look away for fear of the other disappearing. And though he hasn’t touched me yet, not the way I’m aching for him to, just having him look at me like I’m the center of his whole universe is slowly piecing the shattered shards of my heart back together.

Then the tension snaps, and he’s on top of me. His lips make love to mine, our tongues battling furiously together. And though I’m squirming underneath him, moaning and whining from the total desperation of needing him inside me, there’s a part of me that isn’t completely lost in the moment.

Anxiety still stirs in my stomach, only slightly but noticeable all the same.

Because despite the way I’m kissing him right now and the three words I admitted just twenty minutes ago, one side of my mind is yelling at me to slow things down. To think about what’s happening and consider whether or not I’ve truly forgiven him.

I mean, I think I have.

But if I’m being honest with myself, the relief of seeing Holden at the café after thinking that he’d left kind of distracted me from properly dealing with the actual situation. Not being able to find him shocked me into the realization that nothing is worth losing him over, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with everything that’s happened.

It doesn’t mean that I trust him again.

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