And then he’s pushing off me, and his hand moves to the back of his shirt. He tugs it off quickly in one swift movement, tossing it to the ground.
And I see it, his arms riddled with marks, lines slashing across his skin. The entire fucking thing.
My eyes flick up from the scars to his eyes, and he meets my gaze as he unbuttons his pants and shoves them down his legs.
Marks are there, too, on his thighs and hips, white lines in the fabric of his pale skin.
“It makes so much more sense now,” I mutter, reaching out to trace the scars on his thighs and then moving up to the ones on his hips and then finally his arms.
And he lets me, his body trembling as I run my fingers across the history etched into him.
“You don’t show this to anyone, do you?” I ask softly, tracing my hands back down his soft skin.
“No.”
I meet his gaze and then take his arm in my hand and press a kiss to a long, jagged line on his forearm.
He trembles at the touch, and I do the same to the other side.
“I don’t disgust you now?” he asks, his voice shaking.
“No. You’re perfect.”
“Are you sure?” he whispers.
I huff, “Apparently, I have no shame. Just look between my legs.”
Whit glances down and sees my tented pants and lets out a choked laugh.
“Caleb,” he says, trying to sound stern, but I’m too busy pressing a kiss to his hips. To those bright white scars.
“I’m seeing you for naked the first time. Sue me,” I mutter, nuzzling his growing cock through his boxer briefs.
God, he smells good.
“Caleb,” Whit says as I run my good hand over his thigh and clutch his ass. “You can’t have sex.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t make me stop. Don’t wanna.”
Whit shakes his head quickly, and then he’s stepping back, his chest heaving, his eyes glassy with need.
“Where you going?” I ask gruffly.
“The doctor said you need to wait. I won’t be responsible for you relapsing.”
“You make it sound like I’m a drug addict.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
I press the heel of my hand into my erection and arch an eyebrow at him.
“This is torture. You aretorturingme, Whit.”
“You need to rest,” he says, grabbing his jeans, tugging them on, and then pulling on his shirt.
I sink back into the couch with a groan and stare at the ceiling.
He moves back to the kitchen, and I hear scrubbing.