Not until he put me down on shaky legs, my calves pressing into the side of the bed.
He stopped touching me.
Moved away from me so his back was to my dresser.
“Heath,” I whispered. “What—”
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.
I froze.
Well, I didn’t truly freeze, since my heart was in my throat and my breathing was rapidly trying to find room around it.
Fear was a living thing running over my skin.
But my thoughts froze as the words echoed from the past into the future. The words spoken in a different apartment, when Heath had been pressed against an entirely less cluttered dresser, I’d been pressed against a bed with military corners, and I’d been a different Polly entirely.
But he was giving me something with that command.
The past.
He was showing me how much had changed.
But also, how much hadn’t.
His eyes were still bursting with fierce desire. His fists were clenched at his sides communicating the force of his restraint.
He still wanted me now like he did then.
Even though my body had been defiled, my soul ransacked. He still wanted me, exactly how he’d wanted me when no one had ever touched me.
“Take off your clothes, Sunshine,” he murmured, voice gentler.
I didn’t hesitate this time, though my hands were shaking when they grasped the bottom of my tee.
The air whistled through the open wounds that were hidden by my skin when the tee fluttered to the floor. I ached to cover myself, my wounds, the dirtiness on my skin.
But Heath’s gaze stopped me.
His harsh intake of breath stopped me.
I’d been very careful to change in the bathroom. To wear his tees to bed, and leggings underneath them, since I always sprawled my body all over his. I didn’t want to risk bare and broken skin being exposed for him to see.
Because I was scared of his reaction.
No, I was terrified of his lack of reaction. Of him seeing that filth etched into my skin, of it disgusting him. Of not seeing the want, the need for me that he used to have.
But I saw it.
I saw more of it than I’d ever seen.
So I kept going.
I peeled my cropped sports bra off, exposing my aching nipples to that same air. The air Heath owned.
“Fuck,” he hissed when my breasts were exposed fully to him.
He was shaking with the force he was keeping himself in place.
I was shaking with my need for him. For him to touch me. Worship me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Polly,” he murmured.
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. Instead, I hooked my fingers around the fabric of my leggings, pulled them down and stepped out of them.
Again, I ached to cover my body, only standing in front of Heath in my panties and my pain.
But I didn’t need to cover myself. To protect myself.
Heath’s stare did that.
So I went to do it. The big and terrifying thing. Step out of my panties.
“No,” Heath hissed, crossing the distance between us, his hands on top of mine at my hips.
“Your memory fails you,” he murmured, inches away from my mouth. ”That’s my job.”
My stomach clenched with the sex in his voice. The promise of what was to come.
“Lie down,” he ordered.
I did so immediately, the comforter rubbing against my bare skin.
Heath knelt at the edge of the bed. Lifting my leg up.
Then he focused on my foot. The one I’d forgotten about. The one with torn skin and open blisters.
He froze.
Ah, great way to ruin the moment, Polly.
“Baby,” he demanded, voice full of concern.
“They’re fine,” I said.
“They don’t look fuckin’ fine,” he hissed. “You need me to take care of them.”
He started to stand.
“No!” I cried.
He froze with the desperation in my voice.
“I need you to take care of me first,” I said. “Please.”
His jaw was hard as he cradled my feet gently. I knew it was cruel of me to ask. Knew all of the protective and alpha cells in Heath’s body were crying out for him to try and heal the things he could.
“That can wait,” I pushed. “This can’t.” I moved my hand down the center of my chest to trail the tops of my panties.
Heath let out a low hiss. “Fuck,” he rasped circling my ankle and yanking me forward so he came face to face with my aching core.
He breathed me in then focused on me. “You’re gonna be the end of me,” he hissed.
“You’re the beginning of me,” I replied.
He paused at my words. Then he moved.
Then he ripped my panties right off.
I flinched from both pleasure and pain at being exposed to him, so exposed. All of my scars, all of my damage. I struggled with that. The panic rising in my throat, with the brutal way he’d ripped off my panties.
He wasn’t to know that’s what…he did.
My stomach roiled.
But I forced myself to look at Heath. To remember that he wasn’t the first one to do that. It was Heath, the night he gave me my first time. The first night he gave me his heart. And no way could Craig take that.