Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Morgan
I can't believe I'm going to let this happen.
It was hard enough to believe Noah wanted to see me naked, that he wouldn't be turned off at the sight of me—of all the ugly, wrinkled, sagging, stretched-out parts of me.
It was even harder to let him touch me. Kissing, yes please. I'll take all the kissing. His big strong hands on my breasts? They may be small, but he seems plenty enamored by them, which does feel nice, both physically and mentally and emotionally.
But touching me there? All of the most awful things Kevin said to me were about my privates.
How it was blown out by the birth.
You should have had a C-section.
It looks like roast beef.
Do you even wash yourself down there?
Can't you do some Kegels or something? You used to be so tight.
Like, there were so many times that I was left literally speechless by what he’d said. My brain couldn't fathom that he'd actually spoken such a thing out loud to me.
I chalked it up to the injury, or tried to for as long as I could.
But the psyche doesn't care about such things.
Pain is pain, and that shit hurt. Left deep, ragged wounds that are still raw, mainly because they never healed.
How could they? Therapy helped a little, but couldn't ever erase the trauma caused by his unfiltered cruelty.
And so here I am, with a man who cares about me, who is attracted to me, who desires me, who sees my body and likes what he sees. But I'm trapped in my head. Locked in a prison of cruel words and casual, verbal brutality.
He wants to make me feel good. Give me pleasure. He doesn't expect anything of me in return. My hope—my one, desperate hope—is that he'll find a way to soothe my terror and insecurity, dissolve my inhibitions again, and help me unlock the prison I've been in for nearly two decades.
I know it seems crazy; it is crazy that it's been that long.
But it was just easier to pretend that part of me didn't exist, except alone, in bed, at night, under the covers, still mostly clothed.
It was easy enough to conjure a simple, clearly impossible fantasy, slip my hands into my panties, and relieve the ache.
"Morgan?" Noah's voice recalls me to the present, to the here and now, and I realize I've been maundering.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the leak of tears. "I'm sorry, Noah. I just…I'm so fucking trapped in my head about this." I look down at him through tears. "I want to let you. I really, truly, desperately do."
He rises to his feet, cradles my face in his hands.
"We can go two different directions here, honey.
One way, we set the whole thing aside, have a drink, watch a movie, and just enjoy each other's company.
And Morgan, please understand how truthful I'm being when I say that I'm one hundred percent good with that. "
I swallow hard. "Or?"
"Or, if you feel brave, and if you can find your way to trusting me, I'll see what I can do to help you get out of your head and into your body."
"How?" I ask. "How would you—how would you do that?"
He grins. "Bit by bit."
My heart hammers and my gut does a triple toe loop. "I don't want to be held hostage by the past anymore, Noah. I trust you. I know you only want to make me feel good."
"Where would you feel most comfortable?"
I consider this for a moment. "Honestly? Your house. But I know for you, that may be—"
"Don't waste a single second worrying about me, Morgan. This is about you and only you."
"But you have feelings about being with me there. I know you do because we talked about it."
"And I'm working through that. Being with you there…
it helped." He tips his head to one side.
"Taylor, when we first found out the diagnosis and how long she had, she made me promise that I'd move on.
She made me promise that I would let someone else in, someday.
There's still a part of me that feels like I'm betraying her, betraying our vows and all that. But I know I’m not.
I know that by being with you, I'm actually honoring my promise.
It's just…" he snorts—it's not amusement or levity, exactly.
"Even that feels a bit like an excuse, y'know? "
I nod. "I can see that."
He brushes a thumb over my lip. "I don't want to pressure you or push you if you're not ready.
But if it's something you'll never really be ready for, maybe I can help.
Maybe I can…this feels a bit arrogant, but I'd like to think I can silence that voice of insecurity.
That I can give you my voice instead, telling you how sexy you are.
How beautiful you are. That you're perfect exactly as you are.
I want to kiss and touch every inch of your incredible body.
I want to get you out of your mind and make you just feel.
And I believe I can, Morgan. It'll require some courage and a lot of trust on your part, but I promise, you'll be in charge the whole time.
Any time you want to stop, you won't even have to say the word, just push me away and that'll be that.
I won't be upset, or frustrated, or anything. "
"You…so, you wouldn't mind going over there for a little bit and then coming back here?"
"Anything you want, Morgan. Anything you need."
"You're too good to me."
He raspberries. "First of all, no such thing. Second, that's ridiculous. You deserve everything and so much more."
I laugh at this. "What's more than everything, Noah?"
"I dunno." He touches his lips to my ear, whispering. "Maybe we just start with an orgasm or four."
"Four?" I squeak.
"At least."
"I'll settle for one."
"Do you remember the other night, Morgan?"
“Yes," I breathe. "Vividly."
"I swear to you, I can make that seem like nothing."
"We just have to be back here before Mal."
"You have my word."
I step back and put my hand in his. "Okay, then."
The drive to his house is brief and quiet, softened by an old Lady A song from the speakers and the occasional squawk of his radio—both at his shoulder and from the one mounted under his dash.
His boots creak on the wood of the deck as we ascend. The sky is clear and the air bitterly cold, the stars innumerable and brilliant. An owl hoots in the distance. The moon- and starlight glitters and shines silvery-blue on the snow blanketing the world.
His house is dark as we enter, the furniture dim shapes in the gloom. Instead of turning on the lights, he grabs a remote from the mantle and presses a button to turn on the gas fireplace.
I can see his bedroom from my vantage point in the living room—his bed is unmade.
Nerves rattle me. What happens next? Where do we start?
"You want a drink to settle your nerves?" Noah asks.
I shake my head. "No amount of alcohol is going to do a damn thing for these nerves," I say, showing him my trembling hand. "All alcohol will do is numb me and make it harder for me to…feel what I'm supposed to feel."
He follows my gaze to his bedroom, frowns, and leaves me to shut the door. "We're not there, yet, Morgan. I'm not going to just throw you onto the bed and ravage you, alright?"
I sniff a sad laugh. "The funny thing is, that's exactly what I want. Or, rather, what I wish I was ready for. Once upon a time, that's exactly what I'd be begging for."
Noah spreads a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace and scatters throw pillows along the edge farthest from the fire. Takes a seat with his legs spread apart. "C'mere." He pats the space between his legs.
With an odd reluctance, I move toward him. Settle on the floor in front of him, between his legs but not touching him. I jump when his hands rest on my shoulders.
"Hey, whoa. Morgan, breathe for me, sweetheart. We're just sitting in front of the fire. That's it."
"But I thought—"
He starts massaging my shoulders. His hands are so strong yet so gentle, his thumbs inerrantly finding knots and pressing into them, working them loose.
"You're tense, nervous, and wound up, Morgan.
" I open my mouth to reply but he keeps going, and I click my mouth shut.
"And that's totally normal and understandable.
Expected, even. But did you think I was gonna, what?
Just yank your clothes off and go to town? How well d'you think that would work?"
I spurt a sarcastic breath between my lips. "Not well, I guess."
"Exactly. There are no expectations, Morgan. None. We're just…here, together. Enjoy the fire. Relax. Breathe. Nothing is happening other than two people enjoying each other's company."
I had been expecting, perhaps more subconsciously than anything, for him to want to get right down to it. I should have known better.
"Sometimes, Noah, you seem too good to be true."
He nuzzles behind my ear, rumbling a laugh. "Flattery is entirely unnecessary, Morgan. I'm a sure thing."
"No!" I protest, half-laughing. "I mean it."
His right thumb finds a particularly sensitive knot, and he digs in, eliciting a ragged moan from me. I feel myself sagging back against him, feel the tension bleeding out of me.
He tugs my hair away from my neck and over one shoulder, tips my head forward; I let my head hang and he kneads my neck from the base of my skull down to my shoulders, loosening the iron bands of tension there.
"I think you've just had shitty luck with men. I'm not all that great, I promise."
I chuckle. "That's kind of a weird take, Noah." I sigh, then groan when he finds another tight spot and works it loose. "I'm not sure how much of it was luck, though, as much as just shitty decision-making on my part."