Pretty Little Dreams by Jennifer Miller Page B

nothing but skin; I’m completely exposed. Not only physically, but emotionally. All of me laid bare for him to see.
    I feel tainted on the inside. No matter how much I tell myself that this isn’t my fault and that feeling this way only gives Deacon power, I can’t brush the thoughts from my mind as easily as I’d like. Can he tell that Deacon touched me? Does he know that I’m sure I was taken advantage of in my drug-induced state? Do I look different to him? Used somehow?
    His eyes meet mine and I give him a timid smile, but I don’t move. I’m terrified of his gaze. I’m afraid of what I’m unknowingly revealing to him. I feel cold heat in my chest and it bursts from me like a water balloon and runs down to my belly, covering me in fear. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? I couldn’t bear it. I hate that I need his help with bathing and letting him see me in this vulnerable position, but I trust him more than anyone. Before I can even second guess seeking his help, he pulls me up and presses my naked body against his fully clothed one. He holds me close, kisses the top of my head over and over while swaying us back and forth. Right then I realize he’s blaming himself for every single mark on my body, as if he’s personally responsible.
    I grasp handfuls of his shirt at his back, reveling in the comfort he’s offering. My arm hurts a little where my stitches are located, but his embrace and the soothing support it offers my spirit and mind, makes it not only manageable, but nearly imperceptible. I nuzzle my face into his chest and squeeze him to me. His scent – a combination of coffee, mint and a brisk, fall morning - make me feel whole. For a few moments, while swaying back and forth, I take deep gulps, letting the essence of him fill my soul. It nurtures me in so many ways. Eventually, I pull back and look him in the eyes. I want him to see their sincerity and pleading for agreement, when he takes in my words, “I’m fine. None of this is your fault.”
    “I should have been there,” he whispers so softly, as if we are in a room full of people and he doesn’t want to be overheard.
    “No, you shouldn’t have. Being in a relationship doesn’t mean we stop living our lives. You have responsibilities, and so do I. You did nothing wrong, Luke. Nothing. It was just a day…up until then…a day like many others, and hopefully many more to come. Listen, if we are going to move on from this, you must stop blaming yourself.”
    He doesn’t argue with me, but I know he doesn’t agree. I feel his arms tighten around me a little more, and suddenly I feel a shift in my awareness. Out of nowhere, I’m extremely aware of how erotic it feels to be naked against him, even though he is fully dressed. Each breath he takes presses his chest against my breasts; the sway of our bodies creating a sweet friction. His tendency to shift his weight and leverage his one leg slightly between mine in a gesture of offering me increased support and steadiness, awakens me. A feeling I haven’t felt for weeks runs through me like a waterfall, and pools in my lower belly. I want him to help take the memories of Deacon away. My hands start moving like they have a mind of their own, and start running over his chest, feeling the hard muscles underneath his soft shirt. I lift my head and look at Luke’s lips. They are full and inviting, and I don’t think twice before I move my mouth towards his. I gently take his lower lip between both of my own and nibble.
    A soft groan of contentment comes out of Luke’s mouth, and now I couldn’t stop myself, even if I tried. His encouragement prompts me to capture his mouth with my own. I take control of our kiss by wrapping my arms around his neck, running my fingers from one hand up the back of his head, gripping his head with my good hand, and pressing him closer to me. I let my tongue and lips speak for me in their actions--not words--making sure he knows exactly what I’m thinking.