Page 24 of Light As A Feather
“I need to touch you. Need you to touch me. I need you to hold onto me and not let go.”
“I can do that.” He plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “Turn around.” I don’t see but hear the soap dispense into his hand. With firm thumbs, he massages the soap across my shoulders, then pays the same attention to my back, pausing when he finds another new tattoo—I got quite a few while I was away. It was one of the only ways I could feel present in my own body sometimes, the only way to reaffirm my ownership of it.
Well, it was, until Ivan ruined it like everything else. Casting a glance at my wrist, I mourn the ruined tattoo.
But I don’t have the chance to dwell on it as Hawthorne’s knuckle drags down my spine, stopping at the dip on my lower back where the spider rappels from his fine string of webbing.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? I like this one, too.” He repeats the motion, the apt touch eliciting a tingling sensation and sending me up on my toes, my ass arching against him. A gravelly chuckle leaves him, one that’s equal parts satisfied and arrogant. “So touch deprived. So needy for me.” I shiver at the heat of his taunting words on my bare skin.
His hands find my breasts, holding me in that lustful position. I don’t fight it. Instead, I roll my hips back, practically begging for him to slip inside me. I want it all, I’m ready for it. But he remains still.
“God, I’ve fucking missed this.”
“Me too.” And I don’t just mean his hands on me. I’ve missed the simplicity of being in his presence, feeling the unwavering reassurance of his love. Admitting it out loud feels like I’m just asking for the universe to tear us apart, but I can’t help myself. I want to give this man everything he wants, everything he deserves. He should be happy, if anyone. I intend to make it up to him.
Our reflection catches my attention. The glass that surrounds the shower hasn’t fogged yet despite the hot water meeting the cool air, so every detail of our bodies pressed together is crystal clear. That throb between my legs pounds harder.
Following my gaze, he moves me so I’m pressed up against the glass directly across from the mirror.
“Look at you. You’re so perfect,” he groans against my ear. “Fuck. It’s so good to have you back where you belong.” Grabbing me possessively, he cups my pussy with one hand. “You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” My breath fogs the glass momentarily. It’s impossible not to get turned on by the sight and his words. My soft body is erotically splayed against the clear surface as we both stare, gluttons for my nakedness. “Fuck me like this. I want to watch.”
“Oh baby, I plan to. But I’m going to take my time with you. There’s no rushing into this. I’ve waited too long for that.”
A pathetic whimper escapes me in frustration.
Before my mind can register it, he spins me around and pins me to the surface with his hand collaring my throat. “Patience, Nightingale.”
I don’t mean for it to, but the sudden movement, the intensity of his hold, sends a thrill of fear through me. Immediately, his fingers loosen and drop away.
Gently, he runs the back of his hand over my cheek. “You know I’d never hurt you. Right?” I hate that he questions it, we both know that, but the reminder soothes that traumatized part of me that’s always on alert, ready for the hurt.
“I know.” I pull him close again. “I know.”
He leans forward, our foreheads resting together as he makes cautious strokes down my back. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Tell me what you need.”
“I need you. I want this. I’m just not used to being so close to someone. Not used to being touched so freely.”
“Me, either,” Thorne admits. “I haven’t been with anyone else.”
“Thorne,” I let out a nervous laugh, taken aback by the statement. Shame heats me more than the shower. “You haven’t…” I can’t bear to say the word. “There hasn’t been anyone else? What about?—”
“No oneelse.”
Biting my lip, I fight with my conscience over whether I owe him an explanation of my own. “I-I have.” My hands drop preemptively just so I don’t have to feel him pull away. But he only comes closer, his hips pressing into my stomach as his hand tilts my chin upward. There our eyes meet in that safe place, absent of judgment.
“Did they matter?”
“Of course not.” My pride has the audacity to be a little wounded. I let a lot of people into my bed over the years—especially when I realized how it infuriated Ivan when I allowed other men to touch me. All those men were for our mutual torment. Everyone else though, they were a source of comfort for those times when I just needed someone to hold me andmake me feel good. When I needed someone to remind me that I hadn’t sunk completely into that dark space. That I was still alive. That my body was still mine.
“Hey. Listen to me,” Hawthorne says a bit more sternly to recapture my attention. “I don’t care, Sol. I don’t care what you did while you were gone. There was never anyone who could replace me. Not a single person who could ever know your body like I do. Nobody who can make you fall apart completely and help put you back together. I’m not worried about anyone else. You’ve always been mine in every way that matters.”
I can only nod for fear that I’ll start crying. There’s no chance I ever would have admitted to myself just how badly I needed the affirmation. Not that I need his approval…or maybe I do. Maybe it’s the daddy issues—fuck him—or maybe it’s the Autistic trauma, but what I want more than anything is to be understood. My intentions, my choices, my mind. He never fails me in that way.
Emboldened, I meet his eyes again. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, but he fists my hair, wrapping the strands around it until it pulls taut. “Trust me, I’m going to make you feel every inch of my absence. But first, I’m going to have you dripping. You’ll take me so easily, you’ll see.” His other hand clutches the round underside of my ass cheek and jerks me up and forward, so I rub against his hard length. “Just like you do in our dreams.”
