Holding Her Hand (Reed Brothers Book 15)(34)

I put my hands on her shoulders and step close behind her, my dick already reaching for her heat. But then I feel it. She’s trembling. She looked so composed and so happy and she was so soft in my arms a minute ago. But now she’s stiff as a board and she’s shaking.

“You’re not okay, are you?” I ask next to her ear.

She leans her elbows on the shower wall and presses her forehead against the tiles. Then she shakes her head.

I gently take her shoulders and turn her to face me. I can’t talk to her with her facing away. She leans heavily against the wall. “Did you come in here because you needed a minute away from me?”

She nods and looks everywhere but at me.

Okay. I’ll give her that. I have no idea what’s going through her head, but I know it’s my fault. I know she needed a break from me and she still needs a break from me. Or from what she’s feeling. I don’t know which. Maybe both.

I want to draw her into me and cuddle her, but I don’t think that’s what she needs.

I want to give her every single thing she needs.

I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my hips. The mirror mocks me, telling me I’m a stupid bastard who went too far.

I crack the door of the shower and she looks at me. I can’t tell if she has water in her eyes or if they’re swimming in tears. “We went too fast, didn’t we?” I ask.

She nods, holding my gaze with hers. It’s almost as though she stabs me in the chest with a knife when she jerks her eyes from mine and dips her face into the spray.

I walk out of the bathroom, not knowing what the hell I’m supposed to do now.





Lark

I sink down to the shower floor and sit on the cool tiles, tipping my head so that the spray of the water hits the crown of my head. I stay that way until the shaking subsides. Then I wash my hair with his shampoo, wash with his soap, and turn off the water. I’ll smell like a man, but I don’t care.

I look around the room. Pieces of him are everywhere. There are notes stuck to the mirror and pictures he drew. He likes to draw cats and turn them into cartoons with silly sayings on them. I laugh out loud, and then I cover my mouth, because I don’t want him to think I’m laughing it up in here. Then I remember that he couldn’t hear my chuckle, and my shoulders ease.

I stare into the mirror and wipe away the smudged mascara that’s still under my eyes.

I hate that I cried. But it was so perfect. It was him and me, and we made something so beautiful. I’ve had orgasms before—self-manipulated—but I’ve never had anyone studying my movements to find out what feels good to me, and I know that’s what he’d been doing. He analyzed me and adjusted, making it as good for me as possible. And it was amazing. But there was something missing. If I just knew what it was.

The only people I have ever allowed into my life are my sisters and Marta and Emilio. Everyone else is a casual acquaintance. I don’t get close to anyone, because I have always worried that if I do, I’ll lose them. I’ll do something stupid and they’ll be gone. So the fact that I’m feeling so deeply for Ryan after such a short time is scaring the hell out of me. I don’t want to mess it up.

I wrap a towel around myself and open the door. The bedroom door is open and he’s gone, so I step into the room. I open his drawer and see a neatly folded pile of t-shirts. I pull one out and pull it down over my head. It hangs down almost to my knees. Then I go to find Ryan.

I find him in the middle of the living room. The lights are dim and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. I cover my mouth with my hand because he’s lighting candles. That’s just about the sweetest thing I ever saw.

He looks up and his face softens when he sees me. “I thought maybe we could talk,” he says.

“Ok.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

He bustles around lighting more candles. “Do you want to take a hot bath? I heard it helps with…” He motions below his waist, his cheeks reddening. “…that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He really looks worried, and I feel bad that I caused him to feel like this.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He sits down on the couch and pats the spot beside him. I sit down and he lifts my feet, pulling my shins across his lap. He uses one hand to massage my legs while he talks with the other. “When I was twelve, I decided that I wanted a cochlear implant,” he suddenly says.

“You did? Really?”

He nods. “A few of the kids at school had gotten them, and I wanted one too.”

“You didn’t get it, did you?” I look at his ears.

He shakes his head. “No. My parents wouldn’t allow it. They told me I could do whatever I want when I turned eighteen and could pay for it myself.”

“Why didn’t they want you to have one?” I lean back against the arm of the couch and get comfortable.

“Both my parents are deaf. My grandparents are deaf. It’s part of who we are. It would be like changing the color of my skin or the color of my eyes, to them. I wouldn’t be who I am anymore.”

“Did you agree with them?”

“Not immediately. But with time, I grew more comfortable.”

“Do you think about getting one now?”