Tall, Tatted and Tempting(32)

“I want kids someday,” he says. His voice is soft and he’s looking into my eyes. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” The idea of trying to help a kid of my own with homework, and spelling, and school is sometimes overwhelming to me. “I don’t think I’d make a great mother.”

His lips press against my forehead and he lays his hands on my naked hips. I draw in a breath. My hips are bare and his hands cover them completely as he pulls me toward him. The towel that was draped in front of me gets sandwiched between our bodies.

“I’m glad you came to talk to me,” I croak out.

He dips his head, and kisses the side of my jaw. I don’t even think about it; I tilt my head to give him better access. “I am, too,” he says against my skin.

I could say more, but he’s not looking at my face. He’s not looking at anything. His eyes are closed. His hands slide around to my bottom and he lifts me against him. “I have never wanted to have sex with someone I care about,” he says.

He’s hard against my belly, and I can barely think or take in a breath.

I lift up his shirt, and lay my hands on his stomach. The muscles ripple under my fingertips. I want to touch him. I want to touch him so badly. “Pretend I’m someone you don’t care about,” I say impulsively.

He must have seen my lips, because he stills. “You think I can do that?” he asks, his voice incredulous. He lifts a hand and runs it though his hair. “I don’t think you realize how very much I like you.”

He likes me a lot if the rather impressive size of him pressed against my stomach is any indication.

He must read my mind, because he sighs heavily, and says, “I don’t mean like that.” A muscle ticks in his jaw for a moment, and then he steps back from me, lifts the towel and wraps it around my naked body. “I’ve had sex. Lots of sex. But I’ve never had it with anyone who matters to me.”

He’s only known me a few days. “Why do I matter so much? What makes me different?” Now I’m dying to know.

He shakes his head.

“Tell me,” I prompt.

“I’ve been locked in my own world for a really long time,” he says. “I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo.” I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. “And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were each locked in our own little worlds and we could let each other out.”

He’s pouring his heart out here, and I have nothing of encouragement to say. “But there’s nothing wrong with you,” I start. I look up at him, and he looking at me with a warning in his eyes.

“That’s not true.” He shakes his head.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. So, we’re not on equal footing, and we never will be.”

He shakes his head again, like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he wants to say but won’t.

“I can’t read. I can’t get a job. I can’t go to school. I can’t do any of the things my family wanted for me.” Actually, they’d wanted me to get married and have babies, because all I was good for was being a trophy wife. But I refused. That’s why I left. They’d compartmentalized me, deciding I couldn’t play my music because it was “beneath our class” and I couldn’t further my education, because it was too hard for them to watch me struggle. It was all about them. Always about them.

“Don’t underestimate your own value, dummy,” he says.

I stiffen. I hate that word. Absolutely hate it. He stiffens when I do.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ever call me a dummy, Logan,” I say, my teeth grinding together so hard they hurt.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he rushes to say. He takes my face in his hands, holding it tightly as he looks into my eyes. “I didn’t mean it.” He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “It’s a term of endearment in our family. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Really I didn’t. I don’t think you’re stupid. You have a f*cking learning disability. But you’re not stupid. I know that.”

I wish I knew it. He sounds so sure about it. “It’s all right,” I say, but I’m already pushing back from him. Tears are pricking at the backs of my lashes.

“Don’t pull away from me,” he warns.

That makes me laugh. “I’m not the one who’s always pulling away, Logan,” I remind him. I push him back again, but he’s not having any of it. Suddenly, his hands clutch my bottom and he hoists me up onto the bathroom countertop.

“Forgive me,” he says.

I nod, and he kisses the corners of my eyes where tears have formed. That word hurts me. It always has. And it was the final straw that made me leave my parent’s house. That word and others like it. I’ve heard them for too long.

He bends his head and his lips touch mine. He licks into me, his tongue soft but insistent. I lay my palm flat on the side of his face and he keeps kissing me. He’s taking my mind off that word. I already know what he’s doing. I applaud him for it. Because he’s stealing the pain along with my wits.

He jerks the towel from between us, and looks down at my naked body. I’m perched there on the countertop, and he stands between my legs. He licks his lips, and my heart beats double time. God, he’s sexy. I pull his mouth back to mine, and he allows it, but not for more than a moment. Then his head dips, and he takes my nipple into his mouth. He’s not gentle. He’s rough. His five o’clock shadow rubs against the underside of my breast as he suckles my nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth, touching something inside me that I didn’t even know existed.