He licks his lips and tugs at the collar of his shirt. “I don't know but me being here probably doesn't help.”
I take a bite of my food, moaning around the spoon. Fuck, that's delicious and better than everything else I've had the last few days. The food I was looking forward to the most, I didn't even get to have thanks to some assholes who were trying to kill me. This will have to do in its place. Swallowing, I hold the spoon still. “But here you are anyway.”
He laughs nervously, shifting in the chair. “Yeah. I should go.”
“Probably.” I shove another spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth, and it's warm and soothing on my throat. The oxygen they had me on at the hospital made it so dry and I'm still not used to talking so much. All the recent conversations I've had were exhausting and wearing on my body.
His hands tighten around the chair's arms and he doesn't move. “Yeah.” He swallows hard and his blue eyes captivate me. The space between us grows tense and insufferable. Sliding my chair back, I stand up and slowly walk his way. He leans back into the chair stiffly, his gaze following my every move. “I need to go.”
“You do,” I say and climb into his lap. Straddling his hips, I brush my lips over his ear. “Do it already. No one's stopping you.”
His breath shakes and he buries his nose in my hair, nodding. He stands up, holding me in his arms, balancing me on his hips, and I wrap my legs around him as he carries me to the bed. Once he puts me down, I crawl backward, staring up at him.
His eyes grow dark and he pulls off his jacket and then his shirt before stripping out of his pants. I follow his actions, taking off my own clothes until I'm only in my black boxer briefs.
“One more time,” he says. “I just need to feel it. Feel you.”
I lie down on my side and he climbs in beside me, pressing his body to mine. His arms wrap around me and I tangle our legs together, our hearts beating in sync.
Thump, thump, thump.
I close my eyes and it's all I hear—him and me coming together again as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
Even with shields up, my heart can't help but thaw a little. Our breaths mingle, softening at the same time, his fingers tracing my spine. To ignore how good they feel, I think of the men who took me and how their fingers burned my skin.
It only works for so long and before I know it I'm drifting off, doing the one thing I haven't been able to do in two days—sleep.
Fifteen
Everett
I wake up to a warm body pressed to mine. My eyes open and I'm not in my brother's guest room. The loud floral curtains are unrecognizable and so are the beige walls. The only thing familiar is the person wiggling in my arms. Iggy.
The heat moving between us is hard to break away from. His face is nudged between my pecs, and he has me locked in place between his legs. We only used our bodies to keep warm last night and the blanket is still under us, tucked into the mattress, the pillows all tossed to the floor. We must have gotten rid of them in our sleep. I don't even remember closing my eyes.
The last memory I recall is Ignacio's heartbeat pounding against mine. It was beautiful and everything. I got lost in the rhythm and him. He's alive. I wished there was a way to be reminded all day long. As weird as it sounds, if I could somehow attach him to me permanently, I would. Then I'd never have to worry where he was or if he was okay.
It's crazy and fucking insane.
I scoot backward in the bed and he moves with me, lightly whimpering and tightening his hold. I chuckle, attempting to pry him off me so I can relieve my bladder. Normally, I'm not a fan of having anything on me but it's different with him.
Only Ignacio is a relief to my skin. Everything else is either something I tolerate or is completely unwanted. Sheets and clothes are itchy and uncomfortable. Shoes hurt my feet and jackets are heavier than I remember. I don't like hats anymore and everything is either too soft or hot.
Then he touches me, forcing himself into my arms, enveloping me in his long limbs and suddenly I become fucking Goldilocks, finally understanding what it means for something to be just right.
“Iggy,” I whisper softly. “You have to let me go or I'm going to release my bladder all over you.”
“Mmm kinky,” he responds, rubbing his face into my chest.
Sighing, I grab his shoulders and push back as gently as I can. He eventually lets go, taking his legs off me. I swear he was a wrestler in his past life. He's definitely way stronger than he looks. Then again, when it comes to Ignacio, judging a book by its cover is definitely a mistake you'll regret making.
I get off the bed and he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. “What time is it?”
“I don't know,” I say, picking my clothes up from the floor. “I can barely keep up with the days.”
“What does your phone say?” He rests his hands on his stomach, appearing so at peace—a completely different person from yesterday. It's a wonder what sleep can do for someone.
“I'm not sure. I left it in my car. It's hard to rest when people keep blowing up your phone to check on you.”