Page 6 of Sing for Me
He's trapped in these ugly thoughts.
No one else gets how much it hurts.
No one else understands him.
He's handsome. Incredibly handsome. But it's not his brilliant eyes that grab my attention.
It's all that pain in his expression.
The way he hurts like I hurt.
The way he understands how this feels.
I watch the video twice.
Three times.
Until I fall asleep.
***
The weight shifts in my bed.
There's a breeze ruffling my sheets.
It's sending my hair in every direction.
It's soft on my eyelashes.
There's another pressure on my skin. It's nearly as soft as the breeze. Nearly as delicate.
Fingertips.
Fingertips on my forearm.
On my shoulder.
My collarbone.
It's been a long time since anyone has touched me like this. Since anyone has touched me at all. There was my high school boyfriend, then a few almost-hookups.
School takes all my time.
No guys.
No...
Fuck, those fingertips feel good. My eyelids are still pressed together. I can't see him. Somehow, I can tell I'm safe. That he won't hurt me.
That he only wants to bring me comfort.
Pleasure.
He drags his fingertips down my chest. Over the neckline of my tank top. The weight of his body sinks into mine. He's heavy and hard and warm.
My skin is burning from his touch.
I'm hot everywhere. I can hear his breath. Feel his heartbeat. He's alive. And he's making me acutely aware of how alive I am.
