Sweet Fall (Sweet Home #2)(64)
“I—”
Before I could finish what I wanted to say, Austin leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of my nose, shocking me into stillness. His lips continued to pepper along my cheek until they reached my ear, where he whispered, “They’re beautiful. I love seeing you without the war paint. I love seeing the real you underneath the armor.”
Forget poetry. Forget mushy sentiments, hearts and flowers, and men who know how to play a girl with words. Just hearing that Austin liked me, the real me, the broken anorexic girl underneath the layer of makeup, brought a lightness to my heart that I had never felt before.
“Austin…” I whispered back, and he reached out to take my hand with one of his, leaning forward, chest against chest, and closed the door behind him with his other hand.
It was like he could sense my apprehension at his closeness, and with a squeeze of his hand, he whispered, “Come on. We need to get dried off.”
Austin gently tugged on my hand, and I fell into step beside him. We were heading to the large open fire at the end of the summerhouse, our own little place of peace as we were closed in from the drawn curtains and locked door. As we passed the sofa, Austin let go of my hand and grabbed the throw pillows and red blanket, placing them on top of the sheepskin rug on the hard wooden floor.
Austin turned to me and cupped my cheeks. “Sit down, Pix. I’ll get the fire going.”
Swallowing back my nerves, I lowered myself to the floor, taking a seat on a red pillow as Austin moved to the wood bucket and began stacking the fire one log at a time. Taking a match from the side of the fire, Austin struck it against the stone of the fireplace and ignited the piled-high logs.
Twisting to kneel before me, Austin met my eyes and asked, “You thirsty? Hungry? I think there’s water in the fridge.”
My heart flipped at the mention of water. He remembered I only drank water. Not soda. He was still trying to make me feel comfortable. He was always trying to make me feel comfortable.
Reaching up, I laid my shaking hand on his rough and stubbled cheek. “I’m good, Austin. Just… just sit with me…”
This time I caught him swallow, and warmth settled in my heart when I realized he was nervous too. Austin lowered himself to the rug beside me, raising his knees and wrapping his arms around them.
Casting his gaze forward, he stared at the rising flames of the fire, lost in his thoughts. The logs crackled and that gorgeous campfire smell that only emits from burning wood filled the entire room.
“I should never have taken you there tonight, Pix. And for that I’m so f*ckin’ sorry,” Austin eventually said. I could tell by the deep timbre of his voice that he meant it.
His apologetic sentence startled me. Austin seemed so torn up, so embarrassed by the events of tonight, so lifting my hand, I ran it through his messy hair in comfort. Austin’s eyes closed at my touch, looking exhausted, and he slowly began leaning toward me, until he was lying on his back, his head resting on my leg, and from his lips, he released a tired but contented sigh. It reminded me of being back in the hospital garden of remembrance all those weeks ago.
As soon as the back of Austin’s head hit my thigh, I stiffened and the usual panicked thoughts began whirring in my mind. Is my thigh too fat? Is he disgusted by what I feel like beneath the thin dress? Am I repulsive to him? Am I—
Austin was gazing up at me with his almost-blue, pearlescent scarab-esque eyes, just watching me fight through my demons. For some reason, his lack of response to my anxiety helped it fade away. Austin didn’t apologize or pander to my inner panic like he had in the past. He just stayed still and let me ride them out, only patient affection toward me in his open expression.
It was at that moment I realized I had never been so comfortable with someone in my life. It was the closest I had ever felt to normal in years, and my heart filled with a thin veil of hope. Hope that Austin could break through the iron-thick wall around my heart. Hope that this disorder might not deprive me of feeling what it was like to be in love… Hope of being able to be with someone and not cause me to tumble into my thoughts of self-hatred and despair. Hope that opening my heart wouldn’t lead it to break.
Too lost in my head, I hadn’t realized Austin was touching my face until I felt the rough pads of his fingers press gently against my lips.
My eyes slammed to his and his softened with… lust? Excitement? Could this boy actually find me attractive? No… impossible…
“You’re so f*ckin’ beautiful, Pix,” he hushed out, interrupting my musings, and I felt those words resonate down in the deepest, darkest part of my soul… taking memories of the voice’s threatening slurs with them.
As I stared at the tattooed, pierced boy below me, I felt my stomach contract in need. In between my thighs was tingling, my breath was coming fast, and I felt as though something inside me was clawing to break free.
Austin’s finger was running up and down my neck, and I felt my nipples pebble inside my small, damp bra. Austin’s finger paused over the thumping pulse on my neck, and his eyes hooded in response.
“Fuck, Pix,” he murmured and turned his head in my lap until his mouth was against my stomach. I could feel his warm breath flow between my legs, and before I could stop it, a light moan of pleasure escaped my mouth.
My fingers clutched onto Austin’s hair, my iron grip indicating the severity of my want. Pulling him closer, Austin nuzzled my lower stomach, pressing kisses to my navel through the thin black material of my dress. I felt as though I were burning, and I knew it wasn’t from the open fire blazing before me. It was Austin—patient, understanding, and beautifully scarred Austin.