I’m not doing anything with him tonight. I want more time. Plus, the bruises on my stomach and the way it aches, I just would rather he saw me the way I usually am. I realize what I’m thinking and feel the heat burn across my cheeks.
Trystan pulls open the bathroom door. He’s bare -chested, wearing the new jeans around his hips, with no shoes. His hair is so dark and still dripping. There’s a towel in his hand. Trystan wraps it around his shoulders. He notices my blush and says, “I love it when you do that.” He smiles at me, winks, and then runs the towel over his head.
“I hate it when I do that, which seems to be all the time. It’s not becoming at all.” I realize I sound like my mother and flinch.
But Trystan doesn’t care. He steps toward me with that sexy smile he always wears. “It’s sexy as hell.” He tugs at the towel and adds, “I can’t say the same for this, and unless I wear a towel all night, you’re going to see bruises. The thing is…” he looks down for a second. When his blue eyes lift, he meets my gaze. “I don’t want you to fuss about it all night. The past is the past. I can’t fix it. I would, if I could.” Trystan’s breathing hard, his chest is rising and falling too quickly. It pains me to see him like this.
“You can leave the towel on, if you want. Or…” I smile. I have an idea. I jump off my bed and cross the room. My dresser drawer has exactly what I need. Without thinking twice about it, I grab a pair of scissors and slice through the bottom of my sweatshirt. Trystan looks at me like I’m crazy. He flinches, his hands lifting until he realizes what I’m doing. I cut off the front bottom half of the shirt. It reveals my rainbow bruises as if they were framed. The scrap of fabric falls to the floor. I put the sheers down and turn back to him. “Better?”
Trystan grins. It makes those beautiful eyes sparkle like the sea in the afternoon sun. “Is there any other circumstance where you’d cut your clothes off like that? No? Are you sure.” He looks at the floor and then back up at my face. He finally answers, “Yes, it’s better.”
I nod toward his towel. “Good, then drop it.”
Trystan glances at me from the corner of his eye. He pulls the towel away. The angry marks around his neck look worse than last night. I try not to react. I lift my eyes to his. I step across the room and slip my arms around his waist. Trystan’s eyes lock on mine, but there’s something there, like he has to protect himself from me.
My fingers trace the warm, smooth skin at his waist. I say softly, “We’re the same . You know that, right?”
Trystan’s gaze remains locked with mine. He inhales sharply as my fingers move around to his back. There’s a small space between us, both physical and mental. “Mari, don’t...” It’s all he can manage. His jaw is tight, locked shut. The muscles in his neck are corded like he can barely swallow.
I want him to relax, to feel safe for once. My godforsaken parents won’t show up until dawn. There’s no one to hurt him here. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. Maybe he thinks that I’ll hurt him. My eyes lower. My gaze traces the curves of the muscles on his chest, but I’m not brave enough to lift my hand. My heart beats harder. I want him to understand. I feel the pull to him, like we’re two sides of the same coin. The fact that I’m shiny and he’s not doesn’t matter. We’re connected. We’re the same.
I don’t look into his eyes again. I know what I want to do. Tugging his arm, I pull him toward my bed. I flick out the lights as I pass them. We’re encased in darkness. Trystan doesn’t move easily. It’s like he’s holding back. I finally say, “I just want to hold you. I want to sleep with your arms around me. No sex.”
Trystan’s voice catches when he speaks, “Mari, I don’t know. I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret—”
“I won’t regret this. I’ll never regret this.” I
Trystan pulls open the bathroom door. He’s bare -chested, wearing the new jeans around his hips, with no shoes. His hair is so dark and still dripping. There’s a towel in his hand. Trystan wraps it around his shoulders. He notices my blush and says, “I love it when you do that.” He smiles at me, winks, and then runs the towel over his head.
“I hate it when I do that, which seems to be all the time. It’s not becoming at all.” I realize I sound like my mother and flinch.
But Trystan doesn’t care. He steps toward me with that sexy smile he always wears. “It’s sexy as hell.” He tugs at the towel and adds, “I can’t say the same for this, and unless I wear a towel all night, you’re going to see bruises. The thing is…” he looks down for a second. When his blue eyes lift, he meets my gaze. “I don’t want you to fuss about it all night. The past is the past. I can’t fix it. I would, if I could.” Trystan’s breathing hard, his chest is rising and falling too quickly. It pains me to see him like this.
“You can leave the towel on, if you want. Or…” I smile. I have an idea. I jump off my bed and cross the room. My dresser drawer has exactly what I need. Without thinking twice about it, I grab a pair of scissors and slice through the bottom of my sweatshirt. Trystan looks at me like I’m crazy. He flinches, his hands lifting until he realizes what I’m doing. I cut off the front bottom half of the shirt. It reveals my rainbow bruises as if they were framed. The scrap of fabric falls to the floor. I put the sheers down and turn back to him. “Better?”
Trystan grins. It makes those beautiful eyes sparkle like the sea in the afternoon sun. “Is there any other circumstance where you’d cut your clothes off like that? No? Are you sure.” He looks at the floor and then back up at my face. He finally answers, “Yes, it’s better.”
I nod toward his towel. “Good, then drop it.”
Trystan glances at me from the corner of his eye. He pulls the towel away. The angry marks around his neck look worse than last night. I try not to react. I lift my eyes to his. I step across the room and slip my arms around his waist. Trystan’s eyes lock on mine, but there’s something there, like he has to protect himself from me.
My fingers trace the warm, smooth skin at his waist. I say softly, “We’re the same . You know that, right?”
Trystan’s gaze remains locked with mine. He inhales sharply as my fingers move around to his back. There’s a small space between us, both physical and mental. “Mari, don’t...” It’s all he can manage. His jaw is tight, locked shut. The muscles in his neck are corded like he can barely swallow.
I want him to relax, to feel safe for once. My godforsaken parents won’t show up until dawn. There’s no one to hurt him here. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. Maybe he thinks that I’ll hurt him. My eyes lower. My gaze traces the curves of the muscles on his chest, but I’m not brave enough to lift my hand. My heart beats harder. I want him to understand. I feel the pull to him, like we’re two sides of the same coin. The fact that I’m shiny and he’s not doesn’t matter. We’re connected. We’re the same.
I don’t look into his eyes again. I know what I want to do. Tugging his arm, I pull him toward my bed. I flick out the lights as I pass them. We’re encased in darkness. Trystan doesn’t move easily. It’s like he’s holding back. I finally say, “I just want to hold you. I want to sleep with your arms around me. No sex.”
Trystan’s voice catches when he speaks, “Mari, I don’t know. I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret—”
“I won’t regret this. I’ll never regret this.” I
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