Page 80 of Trust

“So don’t,” he says like it’s the simplest truth. “Tonight, I just want to feel her breathe. Keep her warm. Even if it wrecks my back.”

The room goes still as the night settles in.

She sleeps between us, safe for the moment.

Moments don’t last, though, and neither do secrets. Soon we’ll have to tell her the truth about her mother. I’ve already run through it in my head, the dozen ways that conversation could end. None of them clean.

NOT THERE YET

Sara

Ablanket covers me. A body is close to mine. Embers are gleaming behind my lids, dying firelight painting the dark.

At first, I think I’m dreaming. I come to with heat wrapped around me, holding me in place.

Then I shift and wince, pain blooming at the side of my neck. A gnawing ache breaking the illusion.

“You all right?” Cash’s words are thick with sleep, scratchy against my ear.

I touch the back of my neck, fingers locating the knot that’s formed there. “My neck’s a little stiff.”

“Sit up,” he murmurs, already sliding the blanket down. Blinking against the dim light, the pull of sleep heavy in my limbs, I sit, and just like before, he eases the hoodie over my head.

There’s simplicity in the way he does it. His movements are unhurried, free of teasing. Again, I let it happen. I don’t brace for the fall. I just... let go.

His hands lift my hair, gathering it gently and sweeping it over one side.

His fingers slide under the thin straps of my tank top. He draws them aside carefully, far enough to bare the slope of my shoulders, far enough to steal the air from my lungs. A tremor moves through me, nerves lighting up like sparks under my skin, and he hasn’t even touched me yet. But I want him to. I’m not sure if I’m too drowsy to think straight, or too touch-starved to care. My body remembers the first time his hands were on me, and I’m not strong enough to deny it.

“Okay?” he asks, the word brushing the back of my neck.

I nod because words are impossible. Then his hands knead my muscles devastatingly slow. I shouldn't enjoy this as much as I do, but God, I do.

His thumbs find the tautest spot instantly. They press, circle, release. I unravel, bit by bit, giving in to the rhythm.

What is happening to me?

I close my eyes. Everything about this is wrong and right at the same time. The glow of fire. His hands. The scent of him all around me. I shouldn’t feel this safe, this wanted, this good.

I sink further into the haze of it. The push of his thumbs at the base of my skull is addictive. I could stay here forever. In this warmth, this strange cocoon ignoring logic and the real world.

Although I want to appear brave, my voice catches slightly when I speak. “Can I try this on you?”

His hands still.

When I turn toward him, surprise flashes across his face, followed by a crooked smile.

“Sure.”

He turns, and I kneel behind him. My palms touch his shoulders. The coiled strength there is immediate, solid under my fingers. But his shirt is in the way. I hesitate, then whisper, “Would it be okay if you... took this off?” I can’t believe what I’m saying. Who am I?

His mouth twitches as though he wants to tease, but he doesn't and I’m too caught up in the moment to care either way. In one fluid motion he pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside.

Everything in me stills.

Ink traces across the smooth skin of his back, the designs wrapping seamlessly over muscle and flesh, connecting to the patterns on his chest and upper arms. No clear beginning or end, just one continuous story etched into him.

Fingers trembling, I press down to steady them, hoping he doesn’t notice.