13. Raven #2
When I search his eyes, they’re sincere, and I decide not to give him a hard time about his blunder.
There are several layers of fabric between his hand and my flesh, yet it feels like he’s branding himself on my skin.
Beads of sweat form at the base of my neck.
I’m acutely aware of every beat of my heart as it taps an erratic rhythm against his palm.
There’s a tiny twinge of something stirring between my thighs, and I clench them together in an effort to stop it from intensifying.
“You can let go of my breast now.” My voice is so low and breathy, I almost don’t recognize it.
“Shit. Sorry.” He carefully peels his hand off my shirt. While several of the physical sensations cease, the emotions swirling through me only intensify.
I want him to take a step back but also crowd me against the door at the same time.
My eyes fixate on one of his shirt buttons.
I cannot look at him right now. I’m not sure I could hide my reaction.
The fabric on his chest bunches, straining against the button with each labored inhale he takes.
He’s not wearing an undershirt, and a few silver chest hairs poke out of the opening, and I’m struck with the urge to run my fingers through them.
What the fuck is happening to me?
“You feel it too,” he muses.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You better not be talking about ghosts again. I swear to…” My words trail off when his warm palm cups my face, tilting it up.
When my eyes blink open, his brilliant blues meet mine.
I’m vaguely aware of the paint he’s smearing on my cheek, but for once I don’t care.
The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming.
Penetrating. It’s exactly how I’ve described it in my books. I want to look away, but I can’t.
He leans in slightly, and my head involuntarily tilts up as if he’s the sun and I’m a thirsty plant starved for vitamin D. My eyes dip to his lips, and his tongue darts out, wetting them. I’m vaguely aware of the buzzing, but it sounds muted as my pulse pounds loudly in my ears.
“I’m talking about this energy between us.” He shifts closer, his warm breaths tickling my skin. I don’t realize that he’s pinned me against the door until my back hits the wood and his hips press against mine, holding me in place.
I want him to kiss me, to put his hands on more than just my face. The urge is foreign and new.
The instant his hips shift against me, I have to swallow the moan fighting to escape. He steps back, dropping his hand as he removes his phone with his clean hand, answering it without dropping eye contact. “This is Sawyer.”
An irritated female voice chirps from the speaker, but it’s muffled as he presses it tighter against his ear.
“I lost track of time. I’ll be there in fifteen to pick them up.” He hangs up and backs away.
“Where are you going?” I internally chastise myself for how needy I sound.
“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I glare at him, frozen in place as he collects the paintbrushes and does a quick cleanup of the space.
When he approaches me again, I awkwardly shuffle to the side so he can get by.
He points to his cheek. “You’ve got a little…
paint.” He smirks as he exits, leaving me still trying to wrap my head around what just happened as I struggle to catch my breath.
Once I hear the front door click, I walk over to the bathroom and scrub the paint off my face. I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Summer.
I need your help.
What’s wrong?
Fuck, this is hard. It feels like I’m being dramatic.
I think through how I want to communicate this to Summer without causing unnecessary panic.
Normally, I’m the calm, rational one in our dynamic, and Summer is the one who excels in expressing emotions.
I don’t know how to do this. Several texts come through in rapid fire.
Raven?
What’s going on?
Are you okay?
Answer me.
I’m okay.
I’m just feeling things I normally don’t.
And I don’t know how to process it.
Or explain it.
I need more than that.
My heart is fluttering.
Like palpitations?
Do I need to call 911?
No.
Jesus.
Okay. Phew. What’s going on?
I can’t believe I’m admitting this.
You cannot tell anyone else.
Especially not Bella.
I’ll never hear the end of it.
Okay…
A hot firefighter touched my boob.
And I think I liked it.
That is amazing!
This is the best news I’ve heard all day.
ALL YEAR!
Was it the chief?
Did the chief touch your boob?
I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.
I’m deleting this thread.
Please don’t!
I’m so proud of you. I know you’re not a fan of physical touch, so I get how huge this must feel.
She’s right. Touch isn’t my thing, just like Jonah.
For him, it started with fabrics on certain areas of his body.
Taking baths over showers because he didn’t like the feeling of water on his head.
Going out with him in the rain without an umbrella is a nightmare.
Always having to wear socks because something touching between his toes was catastrophic.
Eventually it got to a point that simple tasks like trimming his toenails became a battle that usually resulted in me getting kicked.
When he was finally diagnosed with ASD, it was like someone lifted a veil from my eyes and suddenly so many things made sense. I always thought I was just brand loyal, but I realized I wear the same things because I’d found a texture that didn’t bother me.
Sometimes touch can be painful, like I have too many nerve endings and they’re all being stimulated at the same time, and my body doesn’t know what to process first, so it screams, “danger!” Even gentle touches can be overstimulating.
But then other times deep pressure can be soothing, like using a weighted blanket.
Oddly enough, it’s also why I’ve curated a specific toy collection after having spent hours testing which products don’t trigger a negative tactile response.
And? How did it go? More importantly, how do you feel? And how did this happen? I need more information.
We were painting and heard a weird noise. I thought it was electrical, so I turned off the light, and his hand slipped in the paint. He fumbled over to me and his hand landed on my breast. The whole thing was ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m repeating this.
Oh my gosh! That’s so romantic. And then what happened?
It wasn’t romantic. It made me feel different. And then he was standing close to me. Too close. I think I wanted him to kiss me? Then his phone rang, and he left to go get his kids.
So there was no kissing?
No.
But you wanted there to be?
Maybe?
AHHHHHHHHH!
This is a bad idea. He’s helping with the renovation. This could get messy, and I don’t do messy. Plus, he’s a moron.
Yeah, but so is your brother and you love him.
Whoa. I don’t love Sawyer.
Yet.
I’m mildly indifferent to the man, leaning towards cordial. I probably wouldn’t have pushed him away if he kissed me, but I certainly don’t love the man. I barely like him.
Whatever you say…