“Everything,” I say hoarsely. My throat is horribly tight and I must force the words through.
“Explain it, Ashley,” he growls, his anger reigning forefront.
I struggle to find the right words. “I feel so much, and yet not enough. I need to see the evidence of those emotions.”
“Strip,” he commands in a dark voice again.
I’m filled with dread. My arms. My thighs. He’ll see.
“Now.”
The struggle to comply is shattering my mind. His hand remains in my hair, so the yank and sharp intake of his breath are expected when I drop my tattered shirt on the floor.
“Fuck!” He curses, but I can’t tell if it’s in anger or disgust. Perhaps a mix of both.
Gazing into his eyes, tears continue to pool in my own as I tell him, “It hurts.”
Confusion crosses his face as he asks, “What hurts?”
“The itch.”
Understanding seems to dawn on him, and he knows I’m fighting my own battle not to run away and drive a blade as deeply into my skin as possible.
“Show me,” he requests, and I’m stunned. Shock doesn’t cover what he’s asking me to do. Walking on trembling legs to the bathroom, I look back to see his penetrating gaze on me. Nothing but confidence radiates off of him. He knows what he’s asking me for, and it could very well be freeing.
Reaching into the back of the toilet, I grab the bag with the few razors I have. Turning, I find him standing there, strong arms braced on the door frame. At some point, he removed his shirt, and I’m nearly drooling and side-tracked from what he’s asked of me. His muscles are chiseled from the most beautiful granite. A sprinkling of hair covers him from colla
rbone to hip and everywhere in between. Both of his nipples are pierced and adorned with barbells.
I can see his heartbeat fluttering behind his powerful chest, his pulse beating a staccato in his neck. His jaw holds firm with anger, and arms flex, readying himself for a battle I’m afraid he’s going to win.
“Show me,” he snaps again when I remain rooted to my spot.
My hands shake as I open the zipped bag and retrieve the razor I had used and washed last night. My grip is slick as I bring it to my stomach, locating a clean piece of skin. I can hear the bag crinkle as my grip tightens further, and my arms shake.
I close my eyes just before putting the blade to my skin, so I don’t have to see the repulsion in his cold, hard gaze. Just before the razor pierces my skin, his hand shoots out to grab mine in a constricting clutch. His grasp is so fierce I’m forced to drop the blade. He follows the decent until it clatters to the ground.
Returning his eyes to mine, he ensnares me with their powerful hold. I’m nearly hypnotized by the turbulent emotions swirling in their deep pools of emerald. “If you feel this need,” he looks to my arms, “to cut yourself, to purge your emotions,” my breath stalls, “you fucking come to me. If you absolutely must do this to yourself, I will do it.” My heart lightens at his demand. “Never again will you put a blade to this skin.”
I’m breathless as I sigh. “Okay.”
“This body is mine; I own everything it fucking feels.”
I nod, relief rendering me mute.
“But first,” my eyes close on their own volition. “We’ll purge my way.”
At first, I’m confused by what he could mean until he drags me to his chest, and his mouth captures mine. I’m immediately lost to the carnal pleasure I know he’s about to unleash on my body.
Declan
My chest is tight, my mind is confused, and my body is on fire. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine Ashley cutting to relieve her pent-up emotions. To need the release that the flow of blood would give her. Sadly, it’s not the first time I’ve seen it. I should have recognized it given the way she refused to wear anything but long sleeves…when she got twitchy. I’m pissed that I didn’t and wonder just how many cuts I could have saved her from if I had.
Seeing her pain as she allows me access to her innermost confidences is nearly my undoing, though I’m sure she doesn’t see it that way. Having her in my arms, I realize what a precious gift she is. For the last twenty years of my forty on this earth, I’ve been searching for this sensation. Completeness. To have something I can truly call my own. She’s it, no questions asked.
When I told her that she had to come to me if she felt the need to cut, that I would do it, I don’t know if I can. Marring her beautiful, creamy skin isn’t what I’d like to do to her. Rather, I’ll set out to make her crave a new kind of liberation…my kind.
Devouring her mouth, her moans, her essence, makes my dick stand at attention. I want this woman with a driving force I’ve never experienced before. She’s the air I breathe, the beat of my heart. She’s everything.