Off Limits

chapter 22



Emily



I wake up sprawled across Nix’s chest again. Both times we've slept all night together, it's how our bodies seem to naturally come to rest in our sleep. I love the feel of his body against mine.

Both my cheek and palm are resting on his skull tattoo, and they both feel the slow thump-thump of his heart rate while he slumbers. Thinking of the night before, I start drawing lazy patterns with my fingers over his skull.

Nix was a little intense last night...not that I minded. In fact, I liked it...a lot!

But something happened in the car on the way home from Newark that put Nix in a mood. I obviously have no clue what was said to cause this shift but he was more distant than usual after our discussion about me returning to that bar.

It's almost as if Nix wanted to prove a point. I just can't figure out what the point was. As soon as we walked into Linc's apartment, Nix took Harley for a quick walk. I waited in the living room, surfing Facebook on my iPhone until he came back.

When he walked in and unclipped Harley, he practically lunged at me. Stripping off my clothes, he pulled me into his arms. Using his mouth and hands, he had me begging him within minutes. And here's where I think he was trying to prove something.

Rather than carry me off into the intimate haven of his bedroom, Nix did nothing more than push me up against the living room wall. Turning me so that my chest was pressed flat against it, he merely undid his pants, rolled on a condom and then he was driving into me within a matter of seconds.

It was a huge turn-on, the intensity of the passion he was unloading onto my body. We may not have been in a bedroom with soft sheets and plenty of comfortable space to roll around. He had my naked body plastered to a cold wall while he remained clothed. But there wasn't an inch of my body he wasn't touching with his body, mouth and fingers as he slammed in and out of me. I felt the burn of his chest through the material of his shirt as he pressed against me. He whispered urgent words in my ear while he drove me higher and higher.

It was primal, edgy and volatile, and while I think Nix was trying to prove it was just "sex", he ended up showing me that fast, hard, down and dirty can have a wealth of intimacy involved. In fact, there was more emotion pouring off of Nix than I had ever seen before.

The mere fact that Nix felt he had to prove something to me, although he failed dismally, tells me that he must be doubting his own expectations and needs.

My fingers are moving in lazy circles over his smooth skin and I notice that Nix’s heart rate has picked up a bit under my cheek. My hand moves down to his stomach, making soft glides across the hard ridges of his muscles. I'm pretty sure he's awake and my touching him has brought that about. I glance down and see he's impressively tenting the sheet.

Yup, I’m pretty sure he's awake.

I shift my head so I can look up at him and he's staring down at me with that sizzling look that makes my breathing erratic and floods me with warmth and wetness. I think he's getting ready to pounce again, but instead he leans down slightly and runs his lips over my forehead.

"Good morning," he says. His voice is heavy with sleep still.

"Morning." I resume tracing my patterns on his stomach, inching a little further down with each pass.

He makes a moan of appreciation. "That feels good."

"I'm glad," I tell him.

I lift up off his chest and scoot my body down a bit, otherwise, my hand will not reach down to my intended destination. When I do, my eyes catch the wicked skull tattoo and I get sidetracked. Moving my fingers up, I gently run my fingers over it, looking at the design for the first time close up.

Nix is very quiet but doesn't stop me from my perusal. I run my fingers over the words, "See No Evil", and then slowly trace the outline of the tattoo. As my fingers run over the skull's temple where the shading is slightly dark, I feel a patch of rough skin. I bend down even closer to look at it and realize it's scar tissue.

"I've never let a woman touch me there," he says and my eyes snap to his.

"Do you want me to stop?" I ask quietly.

He hesitates only a moment before he says, "No. It’s okay.”

I'm nosy, I know it. I can't help but ask, "Why can I touch you there when you've never let another woman do it?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem...solicitous to me."

For all of Nix’s brave words, he's watching me warily. My fingers are still lying over the scar when I ask, "What happened?"

"I was shot during my last tour in Afghanistan."

I gasp but really, why am I surprised? I see it all the time on the news, the heavy casualties that our soldiers take.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"You can," he says simply, without malice or effect. "But I won't tell you."

"Fair enough," I assure him. "Can I at least see the rest of your tattoo?"

He nods at me and sits up in the bed, while I get up on my knees. The sheet falls to my waist and Nix pulls it back up to tuck under my armpits, covering me from the chest down. He smiles at me. "I won't be able to concentrate with you examining my body while you're naked and flaunting yourself."

I roll my eyes at him. "I don't flaunt."

He snorts at my response but moves himself to sit in the middle of the bed so I can see the whole tattoo.

I only got a brief glimpse of the scroll that contained the many lines of small writing. I start at the edge of the skull where the writing starts and read the first few lines out loud.

"Do not dwell of the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment." The word Buddha is written after the line.

I look up at Nix and he's gazing at me impassively. "What can I say? Buddha's the man."

I run my fingers over the next lines as I read them, again out loud. "The sun will shine in my back door one day..."

"Jerry Garcia," Nix supplies for me even as I read that name at the end of the quote.

I read a few more to myself and then look up at him. "I don't know what concerns me more...that you have song lines on here from The Butthole Surfers or Josh Groban."

Nix laughs out loud. "I certainly have some eclectic mix of words on my tatt."

Concentrating on reading every single word, I follow the curve of the tattoo as it slides down his ribs and curls around his back. I crawl behind him to continue reading, skimming my fingers over each line as I absorb.

He has bible verses, philosophical quotes, song lyrics...even just people's names. Some I recognize and some I don't.

"Who is Nick Vujicic?"

"Just a guy. An Australian, born without arms and legs. He can pretty much do anything you or I can."

Names I recognize pop out at me. John Lennon, Helen Keller, Tupak Shakur. Others I have no clue who they are. Ray Lamontagne, Nando Parrado, Ben Underwood.

The tattoo wraps all the way around his back to the edge of his left ribs and then stops. The end of the scroll is open, clearly meant to add more lines in the future.

"What does all of this mean?" I ask him.

I'm betting he won't tell me, and as usual, I won't push. But I will ask.

He surprises me when he scoots back up to lean against the headboard. He pulls me into his arms and I settle back against his chest.

"I won't tell you exactly what happened when I was in Afghanistan, but when I was shot, I had a few other injuries."

I'm silent. I don't want to interrupt and cease the flow of his confession to me. This is, without a doubt, the most that Nix has ever willingly given up to me and I've only had the first few words out of his mouth.

"After I was shot, a grenade exploded near me. It threw me several feet and I suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury."

I can't help myself. "What does that mean?" I'm fearful and my heart is starting to stammer around in my chest.

"It's not as bad as it sounds. At least mine wasn't...although sometimes it can be very bad. Basically, my brain was sloshed around on the inside of my skull pretty good when I made impact with the ground. It caused some physical problems for a while."

"Like what?"

"Headaches, dizziness, memory loss, mood swings. Stuff like that. But that stuff has mostly resolved." Nix picks up one of my hands and laces his fingers through it. He rubs his thumb over mine as he continues. "I was also diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when I returned to the States. It's why I have Harley. He's a psychiatric service dog."

“What does that mean?”

“They can be used for lots of things. Right after my injury, I was pretty messed up. I’d have uncontrollable anger. I’d panic if people walked up behind me. Loud noises freaked me out. Harley was trained to basically orient me to the ‘here and now’ when I feel rage or panic. His touch calms me as a simple explanation. He was actually trained to walk behind me a bit to make me comfortable that no one would approach me from behind. But honestly, most of those problems are under control now and he’s more pet than anything. I’ve learned to control most of that stuff with some intensive therapy after I returned.”

Nix doesn't say anything more for a few seconds and I'm silent. I don't know what to say to this news, because frankly, I don't understand it. I only know that my heart is hurting immensely for this man who has apparently suffered so much.

"I can understand if that freaks you out and you want to break things off," Nix says hesitantly.

I’m shocked. I didn't think this man had a vulnerable cell in his body but he just exposed it to me, clear as day.

I spin around in Nix’s arms, bringing my hands to his face. "Never," I say vehemently. "I'm just not sure what to say to you. You don't answer a lot of questions so I'm not sure what is open territory for me."

Nix kisses me softly and says, "The only other people that know what I've told you are my dad and my brother."

I go ahead and sit back, now facing Nix so I can look at him. I pick up his hand and hold it between the two of mine.

"And the writing on your tattoo?" I ask, bringing us back around to my original question.

"Let's just say I had a hard time coping when I first got back from Afghanistan. I was...rageful...couldn't control my anger. The slightest thing provoked me to near violence. Harley and a lot of therapy got me through the worst of it. Like I said, I learned to use him to calm my negative emotions."

As if on cue, Harley jumps into the bed with us and snuggles up to Nix’s side. He's probably not even aware but his hand immediately goes to Harley's fur, gently stroking the dog.

"Does this conversation upset you?" I ask, noticing how Harley pins himself to Nix.

"A little. I'm telling you more than anyone other than my family knows."

"So the tattoo..."

"That's my own sort of therapy. I got the skull after my first tour in Afghanistan. It was appropriate given what I'd seen over there. Part of my therapy after the PTSD is focusing on the positive. Which, by the way, I think is bullshit half the time."

I cock my eyebrow at him and he laughs.

"What can I say...the glass is half empty where I'm standing most of the time. Anyway...anytime I read or see something positive or inspirational, I memorialize it. So I can keep it with me always."

This is interesting.

"How do you choose what goes on your tattoo?"

He gives me a slight grin, filled with mischief. "That's easy. If I read something and immediately scoff at it, then I know it's probably an important message. I have too many negative emotions running through me. I figure the more antithetical a message is to my sensibility, the more I probably need that message."

I shake my head back and forth with a bemused tilt to my lips.

"Are you laughing at me, Burnham?"

Normally, he calls me by my last name to distance himself from me, but this time he says it with a light teasing that makes my insides quiver.

"Not laughing. Just amazed. You have more layers than all the onions in the world combined, Caldwell."

Nix lunges across the bed at me, sending Harley scurrying from the bed. He drags me onto his lap, pulling the sheet down at the same time. "Here's one layer I'd like to discover what's underneath..."

I giggle but that is soon turned into a gasp of pleasure as he palms my breast and brings his lips to my neck.

"Nix?" I murmur, on the verge of a full out moan.

"Hmmmmm?" he responds, blazing a trail of fire up to my jaw.

"You know this conversation knocks us out of the realm of having just a sex-only relationship, don't you?"

His mouth stills against my skin and I feel him tense up. Then he sighs against me before resuming his gentle kisses.

"Yeah," he murmurs against my neck. "I know."

He sounds resigned yet anticipatory, sad yet happy, angry yet calm. How can he be all of those things? And then I realize that Nix probably always has a million emotions swirling around inside of him. It's probably why he takes great pains to avoid interacting with people.

And yet, he's let me inside just a little bit more. I find that to be terribly brave. And for the first time, I realize it's not only my body that he commands. My heart is now involved as well.