“Maddie,” Flame murmured, his voice graveled with emotion. His hand tightened in mine, so gentle in contrast to his large frame. “I can’t hurt you. Not you.” My eyes fluttered to a close when his other hand passed by my cheek and threaded into my long black hair. “Not you. You’re…” My eyes opened and I watched him search for a word to convey his feelings. To express the emotion he always struggled to comprehend. “I love you. I would die if you died.”
“Flame…”
“You keep the flames away. The devil doesn’t touch me when you’re near.”
Moving my head closer, I pressed my lips to his. It had taken us a long time to arrive at this moment. Both wary of affection and touch because of the monsters in our pasts. But, together, we’d chased the monsters back into their caves. We worked tirelessly every day to keep them at bay. And our kisses… every kiss we shared was our collective battle cry that we would not be taken down so easily again. Together we were stronger. Love helped us keep standing.
Flame moaned against my mouth. I could feel his reluctance to let go. I knew the voice inside his head would be telling him he was hurting me, that I would be harmed—the voice of his father, who had plagued him with self-doubt and hatred. So, I kissed Flame harder, running my hands along his broad shoulders until he had no choice but to respond. He pushed both hands into my hair and kissed me back with abandon. The relief was palpable inside me as his fingers moved through my long strands. “I am not hurt,” I whispered against his mouth. Flame moaned louder, a pained and disbelieving sound. “Your touch will never hurt me.” I kissed Flame between my words, never breaking the contact he so desperately feared. “You are not evil, and you will never be anything to me but my husband, whom I love so, so much.”
“Maddie.” Flame dropped his forehead to mine, just breathing in the air we shared as he held me in his tremulous hands. “I can’t lose you.”
“You will not,” I said and took a step back. With a reassuring smile on my lips, I led him into our bedroom. Flame followed. I knew he would always follow me, just as I would forever follow him. Once inside our bedroom, our place of solace, where so many demons had been silenced by our joinings, I closed the door. I wanted to banish the world for a while. Needed just him and me. Flame needed to be brought back to a place of peace, with me.
I needed him too. He calmed the fire in my own blood.
Flame kept his gaze on me as I gently placed my hands on his chest. His muscles twitched beneath my palms, but my husband stood still and allowed me to caress him. His breathing increased in tempo. It would always be this way, I understood that. Being touched would never come easily to him. But with me, it was something he could stand. With me, it was something he could treasure and enjoy. It was something he had learned to crave. As I did him. After years of rape and sadistic abuse, I felt completely safe with this man whom I loved beyond measure.
With careful hands, I rolled off Flame’s cut, hearing it fall to the floor. Running my hands back down his chest, I reached the hem of his shirt and slowly slid it over his torso, his flame tattoos shining in vibrant reds and oranges as he was bared to my eyes. The tattoos reminded Flame of demons and the sin and hellfire he believed ran through his veins. To me they were a vibrant sunset, the colorful antithesis of darkness offering the promise of a new day.
I pulled the shirt over Flame’s head and it joined the cut on the floor. “You are beautiful,” I whispered and pressed a kiss to his chest, on the spot his fragile heart lay beneath. Flame hissed at my touch and his eyes flickered closed, black lashes kissing smooth olive skin. I traced the orange flames with my finger. I smiled, knowing this really was where I belonged. With whom I belonged. “You could never hurt me, baby. You are my salvation, my remedy, my salve. You were a dream fulfilled and a hope granted.”
“Maddie …” Flame’s voice trailed off into silence as his eyes rolled open. Stepping backward, I unzipped my dress and let the loose material fall to the floor. With Flame’s eyes on me, I unclasped my bra, removed my undergarments, and let them drop to the floor. Flame’s chest rose and fell as he watched me. He made me feel beautiful, always beautiful. He made me feel worthy after years of worthlessness and self-hatred.
For a moment, I wondered if he would see the change in my stomach. But Flame rarely looked at my body. He would not notice if it changed. He always looked deeply into my eyes.
Flame scarcely met people’s eyes—he found the connection too much to bear. That he could focus on me this way showed the trust we had found in each other.
“Touch me,” I commanded quietly, my voice echoing around the room. “Please, baby. I…” My breathing hitched. “I need you too.”
Flame’s many piercings glimmered in the fading light spearing in through the window. I was not sure he would move, let alone follow me to our bed. But with measured steps forward, he ran the backs of his fingers along my cheek. It was a gossamer touch, a feather gently settling on the surface of a still winter’s lake. Yet I felt it as though I were walking on the surface of the sun. Heaven’s gates themselves adorning me with their light and warmth. And I basked in the love that poured from his touch.
His hands traveled south, down my neck and to my chest. Goosebumps accosted my skin when Flame’s fingertips drifted over my breasts. I shuddered, chills skirting down my spine.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Meeting his gaze, I felt full of such peace, the sensation akin to floating.
“Come,” I invited and, entwining his fingers with mine, led him to our bed. I sat on the edge of the mattress. Flame stood before me, his affection for me burning like pyres in his eyes. People did not see what I saw when they looked at him. They believed him to be emotionless and cold. But I saw the secrets he withheld, as though they were written on his skin for only me to see. I saw his hopes and his fears, as if I had been made by God to be the interpreter for this man. The holder of the key that unlocked Flame’s troubled soul. Best of all, I read how much he loved me, even though his body language did not overtly express it. The telling glint that shone in his eyes was for me, only me.
Flame snapped the button on his leather pants and slid them down his legs. I lay back on the bed, and my heart fluttered as Flame delicately crawled above me. I never felt as safe as when he was above me, shielding me from the world, keeping us cocooned. Flame kissed me softly, as if he feared I would break if he pushed too far. “I need you,” I whispered and ran my hand through his black hair.
Flame took a deep breath and placed himself between my legs. He locked his eyes with mine as he pushed all the way inside. I gasped at the feeling, the one I could never describe as anything but perfection. Healing perfection. Loving perfection. Convalescing souls colliding into an impossible bliss. It healed us both from the ghosts of our tormentors, ridding them of any power remaining over us. It was a communion in its purest form. Flame and me and love.
Our personal holy trinity.
Flame’s breathing became labored as he rocked back and forth inside me, out of rhythm at first as he fought the voice in his head. But he triumphed over the degrading words it spoke and gradually found a steady tempo.