"Twice." I can't open my eyes. "I wasn't there for the heavy fighting."
Then I feel it. The gentle trace of her finger down the center line of my spine. I shiver at the unexpected, erotic sensation.
But I am completely undone by what she does next.
Abby
I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his shoulders.
I can hear my mother's cries. See the flashes of black and blue ink from the cut-rate tattoos when her boyfriend slaps her, shouting at her that she should control me. That she shouldn’t put up with my mouth, my attitude.
I don't want to remember, but the memories are coming, rising up in the darkness. I feel ill, physically sick.
But I stay. I refuse to let the bastard who hurt my mother because of me rule my life any more. He's done enough damage. To me. To my relationship with my mother.
And I need to move on. I am so tired of being stuck in the past.
"What do you see when you see my tattoos?" A deceptively quiet, gentle question.
"My mom. Her boyfriend." I suck in a shuddering breath. No sense in hiding it. It’ll be harder later.
Josh is tense beneath my touch now.
"I see everything I lost when my dad died."
"He hurt you." A vibration of potential violence in his stillness.
"He hated me. Hated that I was mouthy. Hated that I talked back. He tried to tell my mom that I needed my ass beaten to learn some respect."
I force myself to look at the tattoo on Josh's back. I trace the outline of the guitar pick shape on his skin. He trembles beneath my touch. It unnerves me how such a simple reaction can send such a surge of pleasure bolting through me.
A pleasure laced with something forbidden.
I trace the edges of the black lines between his shoulder blades with the edge of my nail, then I press my lips to the center of his back. He sucks in a hard breath and makes a strangled noise deep in his chest. The sound vibrates through his body and into me.
"When he couldn’t get his hands on me, he punished her."
I stay there, frozen, long after those words, encased in years’ worth of shame, have left my lips and tainted the air around us.
It's a long moment before Josh turns and draws me into his arms. He leans back, dragging me down with him into the tangle of sheets that smell warm and familiar. He kisses me, and it is soft and sweet and everything I never expected from anyone.
He is violence, caged and restrained. But at that moment, he is the most thoughtful lover I've ever had. His mouth is gentle on mine, stroking, sipping, tasting. He cups my face. "He can't hurt you anymore."
"She's still with him." And I almost choke on the unexpected bitterness in those words. I thought I’d made peace with all of that.
Guess not.
"Christ, Abby, I'm sorry." He pulls me close, and I wrap my arms around him, surprised by how much those simple words hurt. It is an acknowledgment that everything I've tried to become has been built on a lie.
A charade.
I push out of his arms and lean over him, cupping his face with one hand. "Thank you."
He frowns. "For what?"
"For not judging me." I brush my lips against his.
“For what? Surviving a shitty childhood? That’s easy.” He grins against my mouth. "If you had told me you hate puppies or something, I might have had a hard time handling that."
He tangles his fingers against my hair and pulls me down, claiming my mouth. There is raw possession in this kiss and I am not for a moment fooled by his teasing words.
But I'm soon beyond thought as he kisses me and takes me out of this world to a place where there is only him and only me and the pleasure he strokes to life in my body.
It's one of the things I'm starting to love about him. The strange paradox of this man. He wears ink carved into his skin beneath his t-shirts yet can argue philosophical and political theory like a man raised in expensive boarding schools. But when he touches me, he is just Josh. Pure. Simple. Energy and heat. As passionate in love as he is in everything.
I close my eyes as he peels the clothing from my body. Lose myself in sensation as he traces my breasts with his tongue. His touch is sensual and slow. Patient. Pressure and heat build inside me. I want his clothes off. I want to be skin to skin with him. Touching him like he’s touching me. Exploring. Learning.
There is something freeing about giving myself permission tonight. To touch. To feel. To let go for once in my life.
His fingers are sliding over my skin. Slowly, lower. Lower. A caress of skin against my hip bone. And then his fingers slide beneath my panties and I am lost in a brilliant starburst of sensation as he strokes me where I am soft and wet and burning for him.
His lips follow his touch. He licks me, then blows on my skin. Warm and wet, hot and cold. I am nothing but a twisting mix of sensations.