His hand slides up my bare side as I settle in closer, pushing my front against him, and his lips press against my forehead.
“So you can feel that?” I ask him, kissing the scar again.
“I can feel everything you do.”
“And you can feel other things too?”
“It comes and goes, but yeah. I can feel a fucking breeze most days,” he says with a boyish grin that turns me into mush.
He strokes my cheek with his thumb, a simple show of affection that conflicts with his usual, aggressive style.
“How good are you feeling?” he asks me.
“Good enough that I can take care of myself now. Not good enough to take advantage of the naked boy on my bed.”
“Man,” he states randomly, causing my eyebrows to knit together. “Naked man on your bed. I haven’t been a boy since I hit puberty.”
He flexes as though I need a demonstration or proof, and I roll my eyes while smiling.
“So… About that second chance,” he drawls, smirking at me. “Have I earned one?”
I absently stroke my finger all over his chest. Now that I know he’s struggled to feel touch most of his life, it’s like I can’t stop touching him.
“On one condition,” I say around a sigh, watching as his cockiness falls and seriousness takes over.
“What’s that?”
I try to think of the best way to word it.
“Actually two conditions,” I amend, kissing the side of his chest again. “I get that you’ve only had one real relationship and it ended with her playing you. I’ve had a lot of relationships end that way. But we can’t punish each other for their mistakes,” I explain, dropping my eyes from his to stare at where my fingers are on the center of his chest.
“We have to trust each other until we give each other a reason not to trust,” I add.
His hand runs down my back, tugging me closer. “Yeah. I’ve learned my lesson. Sorry I lost it a little.”
In a way, it’s good that he did lose it, because it lets me know he cares about me for more than just sex. However, I don’t want to deal with a crazy, jealous guy who drops me for nothing.
“What’s that second condition?” he asks as his hand settles on my hip, pulling my leg across his waist.
I look up again. “Communication.”
To this, he looks confused.
“Misunderstandings are for high school,” I go on. “Misunderstandings can be easily resolved with communication. All healthy relationships have open communication. When something is bothering you, you have to tell me. And the other way around.”
A small smile tilts at his lips as he pulls an arm behind his head.
“That sounds very mature of you,” he taunts, causing me to shove ineffectively at his wall he calls a chest.
He grunts out a laugh, then a playful smile tugs at his lips.
“I have conditions too,” he says.
“And what would those be?” I muse.
“Compromise.”