Feeling more in control of himself again, he brushed a strand of her hair from her cheek. She flinched away when he traced over her scar. “Don’t pull away from me,” he said and rested his hand against her cheek. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid of being hurt,” she retorted. “The scar reminds me to never be weak again, and I don’t like anyone touching it.”
“What happened to you doesn’t mean you were weak.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No.”
For a second, she turned into his palm before looking away once more. “Then what does it mean?”
“That sometimes shit happens, and there is nothing you can do about it. That doesn’t mean you’re weak. It simply means you’re alive.”
She placed the loaf of bread on the ground and pulled at the edges of her sleeves, though they already covered her scars. Moving away from the wall, she turned to face him as she knelt before him. He watched in fascination as she took hold of his hand before she slowly worked the sleeve of his shirt up.
Normally, he pulled away from people, ashamed for them to see the burns and bite marks encircling his wrists and rising up his forearms, but he allowed her to explore them. She also tried to keep most of her scars hidden, but she had to bare the one on her face for the world to see, and he wanted to give this baring of himself to her.
He welcomed her delicate, chilled fingers running over his skin. He saw only understanding in her eyes as she uncovered more of his scars. She knew how he’d acquired every one of those marks and the degradation that had come with each one of them.
She drew her bottom lip into her mouth as she continued to stroke him with fascination. It had been years since he’d allowed anyone to look at him so openly, to touch him in such a way. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed and craved it until her skin warmed his.
His gaze fell to her tempting mouth. He’d give anything to be able to taste her. Her hands stilled on him and he lifted his eyes to hers.
“Did your captor do other things to you?” she asked. “Besides the feeding and the torture?”
He knew she spoke of the sexual abuse, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. “Yes.”
Her head bowed, her black hair falling forward to shield her face. Tears brimmed in her eyes and one slid down her cheek. “Mine too,” she whispered.
He smothered the burning rage that burst through his chest. “Is he still alive?” Max grated through his teeth. Because if he was, Max was going to make it a point to remedy that.
“No. He was killed during the war. What of yours?”
“She’s also dead.”
“Good.”
Leaning forward, he encircled his hand around the back of her head and drew her toward him. She flinched then melted against him when he placed the lightest of kisses to her lips before sitting back. She sighed when he pulled her against him and settled her within his lap. Like a kitten, she nestled against his chest.
He’d never felt needed before, but he felt it now. She needed him, and he needed her. She understood what few in this world could, understood him and what he lived with every day, just as he understood her. Turning his head into her hair, he inhaled the scent of the rain clinging to her skin.
“No one will ever hurt you again,” he murmured.
She tipped her head back, her cerulean eyes searching his before she leaned up and tentatively kissed his lips again. Forcing himself to go slowly, he threaded his fingers through her damp hair, holding her against him as he brushed his tongue over her lips. She stiffened for a second before relaxing in his hold and opening her mouth to his.
Her fingers clenched in his shirt while he tasted her. His heart raced in his chest as his hands gripped her tighter. She was so small and she was his; in that instant, he knew it was true. He would do everything he could to keep her safe because she belonged with him.
She broke the kiss off, her breath coming in small pants as she rested her forehead against the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t… I don’t… I’m broken.”
“No,” he said and kissed her forehead. “You’re not broken.”
“How can you know that?” she whispered.
“Because I have felt broken before too, but not now.”
“And how do you feel now?”
He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Whole.”
Her gaze traveled over his face before falling to his mouth again. “Whole,” she murmured and lifted her fingers to run them over his lips. “What if I can never feel that way again?”
“You can.”
She pulled her fingers away from his lips and rested them against her own. Max could still feel the heat of her against his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to replace her fingers with his lips, but he didn’t make a move toward her again. She’d let him know when she was ready for that.
“Whole,” she said again and nestled against his chest once more. “Have you ever told anyone about what you went through in there?”
“No, have you?”