“I’d remember.”
She supposed she would too. Sometimes she pictured the two and only times they’d had sex, the grasping, the feel of his skin as it slid over hers, the hot press of his flesh as he’d entered her body. She closed her eyes, and she saw him come over her, again and again, to shut out the other visions that threatened. And she was grateful she had those memories. She clutched them the way she’d clutched him all those months ago. They felt like a weapon, a torch among shadows.
“Let’s do it differently this time,” he said. “We’ll go slow. As slow as you need. There’s no rush. No time frame. Okay?” It was as if he’d read her mind. Yes, she had those old memories, but these ones would be sharper, brighter.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, okay.”
He brought a finger to her chin, tipping her face and leaning in. He was sweet. He really was. She’d been so wrong about him for so long. It’d only taken a month and a cage and a fiery escape to bind her to her mortal enemy. A small laugh escaped her lips, and he pulled back for a second, a smile floating over his lips as well. He didn’t ask what was funny.
Her eyes fluttered closed just as his lips touched hers. She knew his taste. Maybe that was because she knew the scent of his breath. Despite the newness of this, their first kiss, in some ways, it felt like coming home. A home where a hundred ghosts dwelled, maybe there to live in peace, but maybe there to rattle their chains deep in the dead of night. He dragged his tongue slowly along the seam of her lips, and she opened, pressing closer.
His arms came around her, and he wove the fingers of his scarred hand through her hair, cradling the base of her skull. That felt good. She’d never been touched that way. She sighed into his mouth and met his tongue with her own.
Before that second-floor room, she’d only kissed three other boys. She barely remembered any of them except that they hadn’t been very good at it. Evan was good. He was very good.
Their kiss was slow. Deep. Divinely passionate. She could do this. He was going to give her all the time in the world, all night if that’s what it took. She was certain of that. And because of it, her confidence grew, and so did her enjoyment.
She melted. Her arms encircled him, and she pressed even closer, running her palms up his biceps to his shoulders and moving her fingers so that his pulse beat beneath them. She felt the bulge in his pants and the heat of his skin. He was turned on, but he did not make a sound. He was attempting to hold back his excitement so that he didn’t rush too far ahead of her.
Their lips broke, and he stepped back, his cheeks flushed and his lips wet from her mouth. He was so beautiful, not just because of his features or his hair but because of the intense concentration on his face as he stared at her and made her heart nearly stop. He gripped the hem of his T-shirt and brought it over his head. He’d obviously been working out. He was strong and sleek. She allowed herself a moment to drink him in before she, too, pulled her shirt over her head.
This was different too. New memories to replace the others. Ones where they weren’t haggard versions of themselves—exhausted, hungry, thirsty, fearful, desperate.
They both undressed, gazes heated as each piece of clothing was removed. She felt the first buzz of anxiety when his erection sprang free, but she breathed through it, toeing her clothes aside and sitting down on the edge of the bed. She lay back, and instead of coming over her, he lay next to her, turning toward her. Evan reached out, moving a piece of hair off her cheek. She felt shy, but excited, intensely present in a way she hadn’t felt in any other part of her life recently. She had the fleeting thought that this was what it would have been like if Evan had taken her virginity rather than the disgusting old man wearing a strange, silver, expressionless mask who’d had onion on his breath and grunted as he’d raped her.
As if sensing her sudden mental distress, Evan pulled her to himself, running his fingers gently over her spine. “It’s hard for me, too, sometimes,” he said at her ear. “To think about touching anyone else. I think about you, Noelle. I can’t help wonder . . .”
She brought her lips back to his, quieting him. She didn’t want him to speak of anything other than now. No promises. No plans. She knew at least part of him still carried misplaced guilt for what had been done to her, and it wasn’t necessary. It had been done to him too. If this helped alleviate that false concept, then she was glad because this wasn’t only for her. But it shouldn’t be more.
She turned toward him as they kissed, sliding her leg over his hip and bringing their cores together. His breath hitched, and he pulled back slightly, looking in her eyes, reading her. His left hand splayed on her skin, over her heart.
She moved her arms, cupping his hand between hers and bringing it to her lips. He sighed as she kissed his fingertips, slowly, one by one. “How is it?” she whispered. “Really?”
“Stiff. Sore. But it works,” he said on a small breath-filled laugh. “Physical therapy helps. The doctors think that in time, it will be mostly normal.”
“Sort of like the rest of us?” she asked on a smile. She’d said it jokingly. But really, it was true. Or so she hoped.
“Exactly,” he said, a smile flitting over his lips. “Mostly normal. In time. It’s a pretty good prognosis, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. Talking to him like this, so close, their skin bare, was causing her blood to move faster in her veins. She felt warm, hopeful. “As far as prognoses go, yes. It could be worse.”
He laughed softly, and it fell over her like a piece of velvet caressing her skin. She shivered slightly, nipples growing hard. She could feel undone with a throaty laugh. What a nice thing to know.
He leaned in and kissed her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His thumb moved in lazy circles over her nipple. “Good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, good.”
She kept her eyes open. She wanted to feel him, but even more so, she wanted the sight of him emblazoned in her mind, available to retrieve at a moment’s notice. Was it sickness that ensured she’d have the memory of Evan to pull forth whenever she was intimate with another man? Perhaps. Perhaps it was terribly unfair to that unknown future partner. But the alternate visions were far worse. The alternate visions would make any future intimacy an impossibility.
Eventually, you’ll hang on to the feeling of Evan, but his face will blur. Someday. And then she’d be truly free.
She wanted that for him, too, if he needed it. And maybe he didn’t. But she was fairly certain that giving her pleasure was healing him in some small way.
“It definitely works,” she murmured as his hand did magical things to her breast, and his lips curved in a smile.
His hand skimmed her stomach, and tentatively, he used his fingers to part her thighs. She stilled, her instincts telling her to pull away. To run.
“Breathe,” he said, redirecting her thoughts. “And look at me.”
Her breath gusted out, eyes locked with his. They were so blue. As clear as the still morning sky after a long night of rain. He smiled, and it was kind of silly and unexpected, and so she smiled, too, just as his fingers dipped inside her. “Oh,” she whispered. And then she was sensation, anchored to his stroking hand, yet floating into that clear, blue sky, letting herself drift away. God, it was nice to drift. A drug. A beautiful escape. Evan dipped his head, taking a nipple in his mouth, and she cried out, threading her fingers through his soft hair. She could feel him against her leg, hot and hard, but she knew he would spend as long as it took, until she told him she was ready.