Page 140 of The Space Between
When I turn around in his arms, I don’t reach for him just to lose myself.
I want to see him. Really see him with my eyes wide open.
I want to see every scarred, broken, beautiful inch of him… the man I love.
His dark hair is a mess. His stubble is rough against my fingers when I cup his jaw, tracing the scar that kisses the edge. Leaning up, I kiss it. He shivers beneath my lips.
He’s wearing flannel pajama pants with no shirt because I’m wearing it. The early morning light catches the scar that cuts down over his ribs and curves over his side. My fingertips trace it before I lean down and kiss it. My lips feather over it, following the line. When I reach the edge, I kisshim… slow and soft. My lips cling to his. He kisses me back, it gets heavy… intense.
He lifts me with a quiet grunt, his arms steady beneath my thighs as he carries me back inside. My coffee is forgotten. My skin is hot enough. I’m burning… for Gruene.
Carrying me upstairs, he lays me down on his bed like I’m fragile and precious all at once… like he’s afraid of breaking me.
I’m not afraid. I want to be ruined by him. I want the weight of this moment etched into every part of me.
His mouth is reverent. His hands greedy. His body is my home.
There’s no rush. There are no masks. There’s only him and me as the morning sun climbs higher through the window. His hands worship my breasts as he enters me, slow and deep. My legs wrap around his waist, and I grind into him. We find the perfect rhythm. The sounds of our lovemaking fills the room. Our moans, groans, and whispers of love envelop us. My back arches and my knees lock as I come around him. He follows me over the edge, buried deep inside of me, his face pressed to my throat, and my name a hoarse gasp against my skin.
We don’t say anything as we just breathe, wrapped together in the sheets, bare, open, and quiet. But it’s the good kind of quiet, the kind that means we’re not scared anymore… not hiding… not pretending. We’re just together.
“We’ve still got time,” I whisper, my fingers drawing slow lines across his back, feeling the raised skin beneath my skin.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low and rough. “We do.”
We’re not talking about the time before I have to leave for school, and he has to leave or work.
He doesn’t pull out and I don’t ask him to. We just stay.
The school dayis routine now.
The hallway smells like pencil shavings and gum under desks. The kids are wilder with the hint of fall break creeping closer. I’ve started putting pumpkins on my desk and they tease me about it, but they still ask to help when they see me unpack new decorations from my bag. They love the way I write their names in cursive, and they ask me to teach them. I incorporate it into our lessons. They fight to pass out graded papers. They’re learning, growing, responding and thriving… so am I.
None of them know that their teacher started over… that her name used to feel like a bruise… that a man who professed love took pleasure in hurting her, in humiliating her… that she was in Hell until she found the courage to run …. that she once packed a car with a few boxes in the dark and didn’t look back.
They don’t know how much Gruene’s hands have steadied me… how his kiss burns the ghosts off my skin. They only know that I smile now and that’s… enough.
At lunch, I step out into the courtyard, my phone in my hand. I text him.
Me
You workin' today?
Gruene
No. The season is almost over.
Reece has it covered.
Took the day off.
Gruene
Might start redoing the dock.
It’s a mess.
Me
