15. Kassie #3
She stood, and I was pleased to see she didn’t grimace.
I followed her down the hall, noting her steady gait and sure footsteps.
I went to the kitchen and got her more water for later.
In her room, I waited until she came out from the bathroom, the hoodie gone and a long, faded, and extremely thin T-shirt replacing it.
Despite the ragged condition, I recognized it right away.
It was an old one of mine with a band logo on it. I had left it behind for her.
Twelve years ago.
And she was still wearing it.
Our eyes met and locked, the air around us warming. “Nice shirt.”
“It’s comfortable to sleep in.”
“I see.”
“You want it back?”
I laughed. “No, it looks way better on you than it ever did on me. Then again, all my clothing looked good on you.”
“It helped me through some hard nights.”
I pressed a kiss to her head. “Good.”
I lifted the blanket, beckoning. “In you go.”
She slid in, and I pulled the blanket up around her.
“Did you take more meds?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need anything?”
She paused, her fingers worrying the edge of the blanket.
I crouched down, meeting her eyes. “Tell me what you need.”
“I’m always a little tense when I think about what happened.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Sometimes I can’t sleep.”
“What can I do?”
“Would you stay? Just for a little while?”
I bent forward and kissed her forehead, my lips lingering. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”
Kassie
After his caress, Oliver stood and rounded the bed, crawling in beside me.
The mattress dipped under his weight, and I felt him stretch out behind me, his arm going around my waist and gently tugging me back to his chest. The moment I felt his hard torso pressed against me, I relaxed.
My entire body became fluid, loose. The memories and the din in my head silenced.
He tucked his chin onto my shoulder, his warm breath blowing over my skin.
“I’ve got you, lovely. I’m here.”
The tears came, silent, hard, and fast. They poured down my cheeks, and my shoulders shook in tandem with my sobs.
His arms tightened, and he whispered soothing words.
Rocked us in the bed. Pressed kisses to my head.
Stroked his hand up and down my arm. Crooned quiet reassurances.
Slowly, my outburst ended, and I stopped crying.
He reached over me, tucking some tissues into my hand.
I blew my nose, trying to be delicate and failing.
I felt his chest shake with laughter. “You were never quiet. I could hear you in the house with the windows shut. You always sounded like an angry Canadian goose when you blew your nose.”
That made me giggle. He always teased me about that.
I sighed, snuggling back into him, not sure why I needed him there. Or so close. But I did. For a few moments, we were quiet, the peace soothing and needed.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said, his voice low in the room.
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have. I made so many mistakes. I should have trusted my instincts, and I should have come back. I should have protected you from assholes like him.”
I rolled over, meeting his anguished gaze.
“And I should have gone to the police that night. Called the partners, the paper. A help phone. Someone. Instead, I gave him time to concoct his story. We all make mistakes, Oliver. We can’t go back.
” I cupped his face. “All we can do is go forward.” I stroked his lips.
“I don’t blame you. I have never blamed you. ”
“I blame myself.”
“Stop. Stop living in the past. Be here with me.” I swallowed. “Now. Be with me now, Oliver. I need you.”
Our eyes met. Locked. The air around us changed from comforting to something else. Warmth became heat. Understanding became want. Tenderness became desire.
He lowered his head as I raised mine, our mouths touching.
Shaping. Relearning. He kissed me with an exquisite rawness, our tongues stroking and dancing.
He explored me, holding me close, his hard chest molding to my softer curves.
My nipples peaked and stiffened, desperate to be touched. I whimpered low in my throat.
He pulled back, burying his face into my neck. “You’re hurt. We can’t—”
“The pain is gone,” I pleaded. “I want you, Oliver. Please.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. Go slow. You used to like slow and easy. Remember?”
“I liked everything with you.” He slowly lifted my leg over his hip, grinding into me. The sensation was incredible, making my breathing faster. I was desperate for him. I wanted to feel him everywhere. For him to anchor me. Touch me. Make me feel the way he used to.
“I don’t have—”
“I’m covered,” I assured him. “And safe.”
“So am I.” He furrowed his brow. “You trust me?”
I never thought I’d trust Oliver Hart again, but I did.
“Yes,” I replied simply.
“Thank you.”
He searched my eyes for doubt. He found none. “Slow,” he whispered. “You hurt—you tell me.”