“I’ll be back,” he says in the next instance and kisses the back of my neck. I turn to my back and watch him get up and walk toward the bathroom. I get a good look at his scars for the first time. All of them. Every long, jagged, puckered line. I sit up, and tears spring to my eyes when I see they travel from the base of his neck all the way down to the back of his thighs. They remind me of an animal attack, like claws sinking into his skin and ripping it.
I know he thinks he’s a monster, but all I see is beauty.
His body is a work of art, hard lines and perky firm cheeks of his ass flex as he walks. He pauses when he feels my eyes on him, like he might have forgotten about his scars for a moment. He grips the frame of the door, and his shoulder muscles move and dip. His scars come to life and slither across his skin. The light catches the edge of his jaw as he peers over the muscular bulge of his shoulder. His Adam’s apple moves up and down.
“This is me,” he despises. “Frankenstein’s monster. I’m carved up and only put back together for more torture. What do you think of me now?” Eric takes a step into the bathroom and comes out with a towel. He kneels on the bed and crawls forward. He spreads my legs and cleans me up.
I try to close my thighs, to stop him from doing something so personal, but he warns me with a growl and forces my legs apart. “I want to take care of you,” he says, wiping the combination of our love away.
He tosses the towel on the ground and goes to spoon around me, but I lay a hand on his chest and sit up. I slide my hands around his back, and he tenses as I inch around him until I’m face to face with his back. My heart breaks as I take in the massacre in front of me. How could a father do this to their child? I gasp, emotion brimming my eyes.
I cry for him.
I cry for the little boy who had to endure such hate.
I cry for the man who feels like he has to hide himself.
“You are not Frankenstein’s monster. I never want to hear you say that again. You’re the bolt of lightning that brings the dead back to life, just like what you did for me, remember? What you did for us,” I add, reminding him that he didn’t just save me, but the baby.
He spins around and grabs my jaw with his hand, staring at me as if he’s in pain before his lips fall against mine, kissing me like his life depends on it. His tongue is gentle and not as demanding as before. The wide palm of his hand engulfs my neck as he holds on tight to control the kiss.
“I’m going to fall in fucking love with you, Jo. I just thought you should know,” he admits against my mouth.
“I—”
Before I can say anything, his mouth is on me again, and his hands slide down my torso, passing the swell of my tits. He digs his fingers into the meat of my hips until there are bruises, and with desperate grunts, he yanks me onto his lap and the groans in frustration.
“What?” I gasp, wondering why he’s stopping.
He rolls out of bed and runs to the bathroom. I hear the faucet going, and I lay there in the middle of the mattress, wondering what just happened. He comes out of the bathroom and is drying off his cock. “I needed to clean myself before I’m inside you again.”
I giggle, remembering why he had to clean himself.
“Now, where were we?” he asks, pulling me into the exact position I was in before. His cock is still hard, and I reach for him. Wrapping my fingers around the stalk, Eric moans and thrusts his hips forward. I watch the plum-colored crown vanish in my fist before sliding out. Even as I tighten my grasp, my fingers can’t touch around the girth.
He cups the back of my skull with his hand and brings our mouths together once again, and the longer we kiss, the harder I fall in love with him. Eric’s fingers dig into my hips again, bruising me, and I realize it’s these marks that matter most.
They touch me with want, with love, with need, and safe-keeping.
They do not bring pain or blood, but peace and promise.
He picks me up by my ass and slowly lowers me on his girth; inch by wide, intruding inch, he spears me.
“Joanna,” he says my name in broken syllables as his cock impales me fully. He pulls out until only the tip is remaining and thrusts in until I feel his pelvis against my clit. My shoulders bunch as he wraps his hands around me and presses against me harder.
We clasp onto each other as every rock is more intense than the last.
And if the world chooses, when the time comes, the only death I’ll face is a peaceful one, and it will be in his arms.
“Eric, Eric, Eric,” I chant his name into his mouth as I slide against his cock with every tantalizing thrust he gives. “Don’t ever stop.”
“I can never stop when it comes to you.” He supports his head against mine as he grunts. “God, I can never stop. Never get enough of you. Never.”
I realize now my compass isn’t broken, and my sense of direction might have been lost before, but not anymore. I’m right where I need to be.
In the arms of a healer.
A man who’s saved the remaining light of my soul.
Best sleep I’ve ever gotten in my life, and while I know I’m supposed to take the next four days off, I can’t. Not only are my patients important, but they are my friends. I roll over and come face-to-face with Jo. She’s sleeping, eyelashes fluttering over her cheeks. She tries to slide her hands under her cheek, but she whimpers, forgetting about the bandages.
The cuts and stitches.
Everything seems okay right now, but I’m fucking scared.
I’m scared I’m going to love this woman so much, and she still won’t realize her worth, and she’ll start cutting again.
Checking the time, I roll out of bed and see it’s seven in the morning. She groans as she moves to the middle and spread eagles across the entire mattress.
“Bed hog,” I say with a grin, bending down to kiss her forehead. “Hey,” I coax her awake by stroking her cheek. “Jo-love, wake up for a second. I’m going to the clubhouse.” I don’t want to say I’m going to the interrogation of the guy Tongue dragged home.
“No, I want chicken,” she mutters and buries her face in the pillow, eyes still shut.
“What the…?”
“Chicken…” She sighs as she yanks my pillow to her chest and cuddles it.
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say the baby is craving chicken. I press my palm against her belly, and a surge of excitement, nervousness, and fear rolls through me. I want her to have this baby so bad, but it’s selfish of me to ask that of her if she doesn’t want this, especially with how the baby was conceived.
She says she doesn’t know, but instincts don’t lie. When I ask her about it, I see it in her eyes, and when I find the son-of-a-bitch who took her without permission, I’m cutting him open.
From his neck to his stomach, then I’ll flip him over and do the same to his back. I want to hear his screams as he realizes no one is coming to save him, just like no one could save Jo from his hands.
Jo gasps, and it yanks me from my thoughts. I check her over to make sure she’s okay, and she grins as she cuddles into the blanket. “Nuggets,” she whispers and then bites into the air as if she’s eating them in her dreams.
I’m glad she isn’t having nightmares.