Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(86)

“No. That’s not . . .” That’s the thing: I don’t want to stop. I’m ready for this with Jesse. What I’m not ready for are any demons that may choose tonight to resurface.

“What do you want? Right now, from me,” he whispers against my mouth.

My breath catches. Has he asked me that before?

Or have I only wished that he has?

I swallow against my ball of nerves. “I don’t want to be afraid.”

Understanding flickers in his eyes.

He kisses me again.

And again.

And again.

Mercilessly, until my lips are sore and my tongue feels tangled and I’ve memorized the taste of his mouth. And then he whispers, “Afraid?”

A breathless “no” escapes me.

His free hand slowly slides under my shirt, unclasping my bra, to smooth over my br**sts, the touch gentle and caring. Almost reverent. Cool air springs goose bumps as he lifts the material up and over my head. Just like he kissed the scar across my face, he now leans down and skates his lips across the unsightly five-inch scar on my stomach where Meredith had to remove my spleen.

“Afraid?”

I curl my arms around his head as his lips drift up, leaving a wet trail over my skin on their way back to my mouth. “No.”

When his fingers snap open my jeans button, stealing a few of my heartbeats, he pauses to watch my face, a silent question in his eyes. He unfastens the zipper and slips his callused hand down, his thumb rubbing absently across the exact place where my tattoo sits, his hand resting on my pelvis. Where my hand has rested so many times, thinking about the fragile life that resided in there for such a short time.

My body responds to the feel of his hands, welcoming it.

“Afraid?”

I shake my head and tug at his shirt. Reaching back, he yanks it over his head and tosses it aside, giving me a chance to take in his olive skin and lean muscles. I focus on tracing their lines as he slips the rest of his clothes off. And helps me with mine.

I can see how much Jesse wants me—scars and damaged past and all—and it ignites my blood, hot enough to chase all fears and demons away.

There is no pain, tonight, as Jesse pushes into me.

There are no horrid flashes, no menacing whispers.

No demons.

Only a strange, euphoric sense.

As if I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

TWENTY-NINE

Jesse

then

I know something’s wrong the second I step into the apartment and Licks swaggers to the door. For the past five days, the bulldog’s been too attached to Alex’s leg to greet anyone.

The sinking feeling has already settled in my stomach by the time I walk the seven steps to the kitchen, to find a still-warm casserole sitting on the stove. I know before I reach my room that Alex is gone, leaving nothing but a note in her curvy handwriting:

Jesse, I’ve gone home. I need some time and space to think. —A.

“Fuck!” I throw my keys at the wall. This morning, when I kissed her goodbye before leaving for work, I saw the fear in her eyes. I should have expected this.

“It’s probably for the best, man.” Boone leans against my door-frame. Normally we drive in together, but I left in my own car this morning, not waiting for him. I haven’t said two words to the guy, still too pissed.

“The hell it is,” I mutter, scooping up my keys and heading for the door.

My thumb sits on the buzzer for a good twenty seconds before the gate crawls open.

She’s waiting for me at the front door, her arms hugging her chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You just took off.”

“Viktor comes back tomorrow. I have a lot to do.” Her wide eyes scan the driveway, the road, the trees, as if someone may be watching. She was never worried about that before, spending hours in the garage with me. “Grocery shopping, laundry, I have to get his dry cleaning . . .” Her voice trails off as I close the distance, stepping well within her personal space; so close, she’s forced to tip her head back to meet my gaze.

“You just took off,” I repeat.

Tears spring to her eyes and she blinks them away. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“You mean just for now, right?” When she doesn’t answer, my gut clenches. “Have you forgotten what he did to you?”

She shakes her head, taking a step back. “That’s the thing—I haven’t forgotten anything that he’s done to me. I wish I could. I wish I could forget every lie, every slap, every insult. I wish I could forget how stupid I was to marry him.”

“You can’t stay with him, Alex. It’s too dangerous!”

“No, Jesse. This”—her hand flies back and forth between us—“this is too dangerous! You even being here right now is too dangerous.” Her bright eyes flare with anger, such a rare sight. “What if someone drives by and sees your car? There’s no good reason for you to be here. You said we aren’t being stupid, but this is us being stupid!”

I trap her against the door with my arms on either side of her, afraid she’s going to run inside. “You’re my reason for being here.”

“And that reason is what’s going to get us both hurt. Or worse,” she whispers. Her hands push against my chest.

Pushing me away.