Chapter 6 #2
Her smile is soft, understanding. "Then we'll figure it out together." She pauses, her hand on my chest. "Dr. Sage ran a full panel when she examined you. Everything came back clean. She said the same about me earlier this year and I haven’t been with anyone since. I'm on birth control…”
“I trust you."
"I trust you too." She pulls me closer. "So we're good?"
"We're good."
She leads me to the bed, and we sink onto it together. Her hands map my chest, tracing around the bandages with gentle fingers. When she reaches a particularly bad bruise, I wince, and she immediately pulls back.
"Does this hurt?" she asks.
"A little. But don't stop." I capture her hand and bring it back to my skin. "I want to feel this. Feel you."
She leans in and gently plants a kiss on the purple bruise near my ribs, then another, methodically moving across my torso with such delicacy that it tightens my throat. When she returns to my mouth, I roll us over so I can reciprocate.
I take my time exploring her body, charting every rise and hollow with a hunger tempered by reverence. My fingertips drift slowly, lingering on the swell of her breast, the dip of her waist, the smooth inside of her thigh, until she squirms beneath the attention.
The hollow at the base of her throat shudders under my touch, a pulse fluttering wildly as though trying to escape into my palm. Behind her ear I find a place that makes her breath stutter and cling, her lips parting on a whimper that tears through me.
When I lower my mouth to the scatter of freckles on her left shoulder, I taste the faint salt of her skin and she arches, spine taut and bow-strung, offering herself higher.
The sounds she gives me are intoxicating: the sharp intake when my teeth tease her earlobe, the husky plea when my tongue trails across her collarbone, the broken moan that vibrates when my hands cup and knead the soft weight of her breasts.
Her skin is fever-warm, silk stretched over velvet curves, alive beneath my tongue and tasting wholly, intoxicatingly of her.
I lower my mouth to her breasts, circling and suckling each nipple until it hardens against my tongue, drawing from her gasps that leave her trembling.
I trail lower, kisses sliding down her stomach until I reach the soft heat between her thighs.
Spreading her gently, I suck her clit with slow, relentless pressure, my fingers sliding inside her at the same time, filling her as she arches and cries out.
"Gabe," she breathes, her hands running the length of my spine. "Please."
"Tell me what you want," I whisper against her collarbone.
"You." Her fingers tangle in my hair, yanking me up to meet her embrace in a fervent kiss.
I position myself between her thighs, and she hooks her legs around me with a needy strength, dragging me down into her.
The moment I sink into her, we both still, reveling in the connection, the way her body grips and holds me in a slick, scorching embrace.
The heat of her surrounds me, a greedy pull that makes my pulse stutter, every nerve lit with the visceral awareness that I am buried inside her, claimed by the tight, intoxicating clasp of her body.
"Okay?" I ask cautiously, observing the expressions on her face.
"More than okay." She grinds her hips against mine, and I can't help but groan. "More, Gabe. Please."
I begin thrusting at a cautious pace, ever mindful of my injuries but unable to completely restrain myself.
As I pound into her, she matches each of my movements with equal force, her nails digging into my shoulders so deeply they're certain to leave marks behind.
It doesn't bother me; I want to be marked by her, indelibly stamped by this instant in time.
The pleasure we share intensifies, compelling and powerful.
I drag my mouth over her lips, along the line of her jaw, down the column of her throat, tasting the rush of heat rising through her skin.
Each whispered plea, each shuddering moan drags me further in, urgent and irresistible, pulling every last shred of control from my body.
When her breathing alters, growing more urgent, I change the angle of my approach and wrench a raw, unrestrained cry from her throat.
"There," she gasps. "Right there. Don't stop."
I don't. I maintain a steady rhythm, my eyes fixed on her expression as she approaches the brink. When she finally unravels beneath me, her entire body tensing before relinquishing control with a moan that transforms my name into something sacred, I succumb to the pleasure moments later.
After, we lie tangled together in her bed, my head on her chest and her fingers tracing idle patterns on my back. The room is warm despite the cold pressing against the windows. My body aches in new ways—good ways—and I feel more grounded than I have since waking up with no memory.
"That was..." I start, then stop because words feel inadequate.
"Yeah," she agrees quietly.
"Mara?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you." I lift my head to look at her. "For seeing me. For not being afraid of what I might be."
She pushes hair back from my forehead, her touch gentle. "I'm terrified of what you might be. But I'm more terrified of not taking this chance."
"What if my past…"
"Your past is yours to discover and deal with. But right now, in this moment, you're just you. And that's more than enough."
I kiss her again, slower this time. When we finally settle back into comfortable silence, her breathing evens out toward sleep. I make myself a promise: whatever comes next, whatever my past holds, I'll face it in a way that makes me worth the trust she's given me.
Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows. Somewhere out there, people are looking for me. But tonight, in this bed, with Mara's warmth against my side, I let myself believe that some things are worth fighting for.
Her breath evens out completely, and I know she's asleep. I should sleep too, but I can't make myself stop watching her. The way the lamplight catches in her hair. The small scar on her chin. The rise and fall of her breathing.
I don't know who I was before. But I know who I am right now, in this moment. And that's enough.