I close the small distance between us and take her in my arms. She melts against me, so perfectly fitted, as if she were made for me. Will it feel this way when we make love? Will I enter her and feel as though she were molded specifically for me?
Already I know the answer is yes.
She will.
She already is.
So I can wait.
I can wait until she’s ready. And if she’s never ready?
This will be enough.
Katelyn, in my arms, her sweet fragrance tingling in my nose, will be enough.
I kiss the top of her head, inhale the minty scent of her shampoo. Or is it even her shampoo? Perhaps she just smells that sweet. Minty and fragrant. Supple and divine.
She pulls away then, and I have to hold back a whimper at the loss of her body against mine. She sits on my bed and pats the spot next to her.
She’s not asking for sex. I only wish she were, but in my heart of hearts, I know I’m no more ready than she is for that step.
I can wait.
Forever if I must.
That’s how important this woman has become to me in the last few days.
I feel something different than I’ve ever felt.
Is it love?
I’ve been quick to fall in love before, but I know now that I was never in love. I was in love with controlling women. Making them slaves to my desires and needs.
I won’t do that to Katelyn.
She’s been a slave long enough.
Never again will she be bound to serve another man. I’ll make sure of it.
She leans against me and then slowly falls backward and scoots sideways until she’s lying down, her head on one of my pillows. I crawl next to her and wrap her into my arms.
I lie with her, body to body, separated only by our garments.
I breathe in her fragrance, her very essence.
And I know.
I’ll do anything for her.
Fucking anything.
29
Katelyn
He doesn’t try anything.
And I find that I’m…
Disappointed.
I want him. I want him so badly, and I never imagined wanting a man again, not after what I’ve been through at men’s hands.
He holds me tight against him, and he’s not unaffected. I feel his hardness pressing against me—that part of his body common to all other men, including those who violated me relentlessly for so long.
All except for Ice Man. He never went there, but he was still my worst nightmare on that island.
“What if we went away?” Luke whispers. “I can get a few days off. We can escape somewhere. Somewhere tropical.”
I go rigid.
Tropical is the last place I want.
He jerks away slightly. “God, Katelyn. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I wasn’t thinking. Tropical won’t work at all. What about upstate? To the mountains? Or Lake Placid? We could take a few days and—”
I stop him with two fingers against his full lips. “This is all I need, Luke. To be right here, in your arms.”
He pulls me back toward him. “That I can definitely do.”
Kiss me.
Kiss me.
Kiss me.
I want to say the words so badly. It’s not like we’ve never kissed before. But kissing leads to…other things. Things I want desperately but know I can’t have. Not yet.
I never even imagined I’d want them again.
We’ve kissed before, but it was in the alley behind The Glass House. It couldn’t go any farther back there.
Here, though? It could go all the way, and as much as the idea appeals to me, I can’t.
He pulls back a little then and plays with a strand of my hair. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you,” I say on a sigh.
He smiles. “No one’s ever called me beautiful before.”
“You are, though. Your hair. It’s so black. Like night.”
He tenses slightly. Did I say something wrong?
“Would you take off your shirt?” I ask.
“What for?”
“I want to see the rest of your tattoo.”
Tension rises in him again. I can almost see it floating off him in dark waves. “That tattoo no longer has any meaning for me.”
“I understand. I still want to see it. Tattoos are so sexy on men.”
Funny that I still feel that way, but the men on the island rarely had tattoos, and if they did, they were small and insignificant. Treasure Island catered to the rich and famous—the people who had to look good for the cameras and be professional and respectful in their actual lives. They came to the island to act out their darkest fantasies and fetishes.
They could be their true selves there.
And their true selves were vicious and psychotic.
“I wear long sleeves for a reason, Katelyn.”
“I know.”
“So you understand, then, why I don’t want to show you the tattoo.”
“I suppose.” I trail a finger over his stubbled cheek. “Please?”
It’s a dirty trick. He likes me, and I think maybe I can get away with it. He sighs and sits up. Then he begins to unbutton his shirt.