Chapter 20 #3
I’m sweaty, hot, and covered in his cum, but when he turns his head up to look at me, I find I don’t care much about anything else.
“Okay?” I ask, reaching up to smooth sweaty curls off his forehead as he lifts his hips up. My softening cock slips out of him, and he grumbles softly before settling back down onto my body like I’m his mattress.
“Yeah,” he says in return, closing his eyes. He huffs a soft sound that could be a laugh. “You’re just taking all of my firsts.”
Shock rattles through me. “Your first? That was?” He nods, offering a small smile.
The gravity of this admission strikes me, and I’m rattled where I sit.
If I’d known, I would have been… careful.
Much more than I was, though I’m unsure Shiloh would have let me be.
I’m not confident he would have wanted it softer, or gentler.
The thought that I could have made it better for him in some way rumbles through my head, but in thinking that, I can’t name the exact way, because I don’t think it was terrible for either of us.
Instead of saying any of these thoughts out loud, I settle for something simple yet honest. “I wish you’d told me. ”
He moves again like he means to shrug, his fingers moving to trace through the divots his nails carved in my skin when I was inside him.
We’re silent for a moment, my hands skating up and down his bare back.
I should make him move so I can clean us both up, but I make no move to force him to get off me.
Instead, I settle for running my hand down his back, then up again to grip the nape of his neck loosely.
I tangle my fingers in his hair, playing with the curls as he breathes into my skin, his body a blanket on mine.
The sweat is rapidly cooling on my skin, though, drawing goosebumps to the surface of my arms, and I can tell Shiloh’s chilly as well now, his body quivering on top of mine.
Gently, I nudge him off me, and he rolls onto his back on the mattress, watching as I slip the condom off my dick and tie it off.
I wink at him over my shoulder as I head to the bathroom to ditch it in the trash can and grab a warm cloth to clean us off his skin.
We can shower later, but right now I’m exhausted, and the way his eyes keep closing, I can assume he’s also ready for some sleep.
I make quick work of tidying myself up first, then grab a brand new cloth for his body. When I return, his eyes are closed and I think he’s fallen asleep, but the first gentle touch of the cloth on his skin makes his eyes fly open and his hand lashes out to grab mine.
“Sorry,” I offer, giving him a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just got a cloth.”
He glances down at the white fabric in my hand, then lets go of my arm to sink back down into the bed.
I start the task of cleaning us off his skin, trailing the warm cloth up and down as much of his body as I can reach.
I’m caught again by the butterfly tattoo, my eyes drifting toward it time and time again as I wipe the sweat and cum remnants from his body.
There is definitely something off about the skin beneath the tattoo.
The blacks and reds are thick and layered to create the shapes of the wings, but beneath it, the skin looks almost rough, like a scar that’s healed over and become raised and angry over time.
I reach out with the cloth and swipe over the wings of the butterfly before realizing that I can’t feel anything through the fabric.
Shiloh’s eyes are closed and his breathing is leveled out as I place the cloth on his stomach and reach out with shaky fingers to trace the wings of the butterfly on his skin.
Rough edges meet my fingertips, a handful of raised lines marring the skin beneath the reds and blacks of the tattoo.
I trace them as best I can, getting lost as the skin dips into valleys and peaks into ridges.
A scar, confirmed.
But perhaps more than one?
Definitely more than one. The damage that was done had to have been huge, and given the condition of the scars, I don’t quite think it was medical, unless he was slashed up by some careless surgeon with a penchant for blood and wreckage.
I frown as I trace the raised lines again, feeling the rough patches against my palms that Shiloh has tried to hide with beautiful ink. I hate that they’re there, but I hate even more knowing that if I were to ask about them, he wouldn’t tell me anything.
He snuffles softly in his sleep, and I pull my hand away for fear of being caught looking at something he clearly wants to keep hidden from everyone who might look.
Grabbing the cloth, I move on to cleaning between his legs and thighs, wicking away remnants of sweat and lube until I’m satisfied that he’s clean enough that a shower won’t be necessary until the morning comes.
As I pitch the cloth toward my laundry hamper and settle down into bed beside him, though, I can’t help but wonder about the deep marks littering his torso and where they may have come from.