She’s practically stuttering in her unease, and I understand exactly how she feels. I lean gently to her mouth and kiss her warm lips, unsure if she’ll accept my mouth. But she doesn’t stop me, and as her lips part in acceptance of me I slip my tongue just slightly past her lips, tasting her mouth cautiously before withdrawing. The paleness of her skin shows her blushing cheeks all the more noticeably. I sit back, watching her, unsure how she’s feeling. Her eyes are wide, and I can’t get a grasp on what she’s feeling. She seems stunned, nervous even.
When she speaks again, she surprises me once more. “Do you regret me?”
I stare back shocked at her question while she waits as patiently as she can. It’s obvious by the look on her face my answer is a hinge in her mind that can tip her heart one direction or another. She has worried about the answer to this question for a long time, and she isn’t going to let the answer slip by her. Her vulnerability in this moment is painful to see, and I can make or break her with this one answer.
But this is easy. I tell her the truth. “Never.”
“Not even having sex with me? I know you didn’t want to…”
I smile gently at her. She’s so anxious, paranoid even, that I’m going to say something that will leave her heart wounded. I do my best to put her at ease, but I can see by the look in her eyes she’s wary. She has every right to be. “From nearly the first night you stayed with me, I wanted to … very much … constantly. But I also wanted to do what was right for you. I promise making love to you is not something I could ever regret. On the contrary, it was … amazing—more than amazing.”
I lean to her lips again, taking her cheeks gently in my hands. This time, I push my tongue further into her warm silken mouth. I kiss her long, but soft. I let her explore my mouth with her tongue, and the relief she feels floods back to me. My own relief is quite obvious; in my over-passionate and desperate response I’m practically attacking her lips, trying to go slow, trying not to be rough, but I’m failing in my want to be close to her.
I finally pull away, needing the separation to keep myself from consuming her. “Did I hurt you … when we made love? You left before we even had a chance to talk about this.”
I’ve been obsessing about what her first time was like for her since the moment I withdrew from her body. I know I left her body hurting, but not being able to talk to her, see her, touch her, has left this lingering concern in my mind. Of course she’s okay. It’s not as if I thought taking her virginity wouldn’t come with pain, but I’ve missed this—talking to her, hearing her reassurance, just seeing that she’s okay. I’ve needed this. And I don’t want to stop now that I have her. I want to talk. I want her to share every detail with me. If it makes her uncomfortable, to hell with it.
This conversation is so long overdue, and before she even has a chance to answer my question I move on to the next. “What was it like for you … making love for the first time?”
She looks to me in embarrassment, but curiosity at the same time. She finally answers. “It hurt.” She looks to me with shyness. “A lot. But … it was also incredible. Better than incredible. I can’t describe it.” Hesitation still laces through her words. “It just filled this void that was missing in me for a really long time with you.”
Her vulnerability terrifies her as much as I may love it. And her gaze flits away from me at her sudden exposure. She’s stuck lying on her back, fairly immobile, and while she takes her time avoiding my eyes, I let my gaze graze over her. I want to touch her hair… what’s left of it, at any rate. Who knew she could be so beautiful with a pixie. She’s like a brunette version of some pixie-sporting Hollywood actress, only completely and perfectly Rowan—petite, alabaster skin, big round eyes, slight but oh-so-feminine curves, and that incredibly tight pussy. She’s made for me.
And as she finally allows her shy eyes to drift back to mine, she catches the sly, and somewhat hungry, look in my eyes. But her gaze is uncertain, and I’m left reassuring her. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of taking advantage of you in your current state. I think your doctor might kill me if I did.”
“Yes, she would. She likes me, after all.”
“Who wouldn’t?” And at that, I give her a wry smile and a wink. I’m glad, at least, that this conversation is looking up, so I decide to test it once again. “You’re not … um … pregnant are you?” I ask with a raised eyebrow and a grimace. The question has popped into my mind on more than one occasion over the last month. And now seems as good a time as any to get it out—not that Rowan carrying my child isn’t a complete rush, but it’s just a rush better saved for later in her life.
“No! No! I’m not. Not! Not at all, not.”
Well, just in case that wasn’t clear enough, I decide clarification is in order. “You’re sure? It’s just, I didn’t use any protection and…”
“I promise. I started my period the day after you left and again when I was in the hospital. I’m definitely not. Not. Not. Not.”
And relief floods over me. “I mean, talk about screwing up your scholarship. I’m sorry. It was so reckless of me. I just couldn’t stop—couldn’t think at all really.” I have a slight smile on my face at the memory. And the smile reaches her face, too.
“Speaking of your scholarship, though, what has the doctor said about this fall?”
“She’s giving me a good prognosis. She thinks with enough physical therapy, strength training, and easing back into my routine, I can be ready to go by this fall.” But her expression shifts as the idea processes in her mind. “I’m worried about it, though. What if I can’t keep up or get back to the place I was before this happened? I mean, I can barely move, I hurt all the time. It’s hard to imagine doing the things I did before this happened. I’m just not sure I can be ready by fall.” She worries out loud, and I reach for the soft skin of her cheek, hoping to make her feel better. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears, and I can tell just how worried she is about this.
“Row, you’re going to be fine. I know you. And I know you can do this. It’s going to be hard work, but you do hard work better than anyone I know.” She doesn’t look convinced, so I lay down next to her with my head propped up on my elbow and my other arm draped low on her stomach where I think it’s safe to touch her. “I know you hurt right now, but you have to give yourself time. You will feel better. It might be slow, but it will happen. So I’m sure it feels bad right now, but you can’t apply the way you feel right now to the next two months or your life.” She nods slowly. Maybe I’m getting through to her. And as her eyes linger on mine, I slowly reach for the top button of the pajama shirt that she’s wearing. She watches me but doesn’t stop me. And as I slowly undo the buttons, the first signs of her bruised flesh show in the parting fabric. When all of the buttons of her shirt are undone, I pull open the top and take in the mess her father has left—beautiful but painful to see. I’m once again fighting back the tears that are suddenly threatening to spill.
Her skin is smattered with bruises from her stomach up to her chest, and the angry and pinched skin of her incisions is knotted and red under the staples. Her neck is still bruised in that horrific pattern that shows exactly where his hand choked her. Her breasts were spared from most of the kicks, and they are as beautiful and pale as ever, save for the small pink nipples that are taught and hard as her body responds to my intrusive gaze. Her lower abdomen was saved as well from most of the abuse and is trim and flat down to the pajama pants that she wears.
I want to touch her so desperately, and if the look on her face is any indication, she wants me to touch her, too, but there is no way for me to do this and not hurt her. I reach out to the soft skin of her belly and caress it for a moment before buttoning her shirt back up. She lets out a long and somewhat defeated sigh as I work my way up her buttons. I know exactly what frustration she feels. She would probably accept my touch right now in her aroused state, painful as it might be, but I can’t stand to do that to her. So we’re back to abstinence once again. I lay my head next to hers as she drifts off to sleep, and I listen to her deep relaxed breathing, letting my own body relax for the first time in a very, very long time.