She shook her head quickly. She wanted this, him. But that was the problem. She’d wanted him from the start, had opened herself up to him over and over, and what had that gotten her?
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
His face creased with something that looked like pain. “Of me?”
She shook her head again. “No, I’m scared you’ll push me away again when I touch you wrong, scared you’ll leave me again.” Against her will, her eyes watered, and tears spilled over. She turned her face away from him and swiped at her eyes with the back of a sleeve, embarrassed now. Even to her own ears, she sounded pathetic.
He cupped her cheek and gently urged her to look at him. “I won’t,” he said in a rough voice. “At least, I’ll try not to.”
She nodded and attempted to smile in response, but it felt off. “I’ll try not to” didn’t sound very convincing.
He surprised her by gathering her tightly fisted hands together and kissing her knuckles. “You did this yesterday, too.” He eased her stiff fingers open, and when he saw the deep grooves her nails had left in her palms, his eyebrows drew together. “No more of this.”
After a brief hesitation, he sat back on his heels and pulled his shirt off, revealing broad expanses of smooth skin stretched over sculpted muscle.
“The place I’m asking you not to touch is …” He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and said, “My bellybutton.”
She couldn’t help it, a smile spread over her mouth and a laugh threatened to escape. “Your bellybutton?”
“Yes, my bellybutton. I know it sounds funny.”
“A little.” She tried to wipe her smile away, but that only made her grin bigger.
“I mean it,” he said with a level gaze. “I can’t stand being touched there. If you try, I might accidentally hurt you. I can’t control my reactions when it comes to that place. I don’t even like thinking about it.”
“I won’t touch you there. I promise. But …” She edged closer to him. “I can touch everywhere else?”
He nodded once. “Yes, as long as—”
“No light touch, I know.”
She lowered a hand toward his chest, and he held still, not making any move to stop her. Before making contact, she withdrew, paused for the span of heart’s beat, and took her shirt off just like he’d done. Like usual, she wasn’t wearing a bra—she hated them—and he consumed her with his gaze, making her feel like the most desired woman in the world. She brought their bodies together from chest to knees, rested her cheek against his shoulder, and gingerly wrapped her arms around him. Holding her breath, she pressed her palms firmly against the hard planes of his back, even though she knew he couldn’t see.
Her heart pounded so hard she could feel her sternum shaking with each beat. This was the first time she’d dared to hug him since she’d crawled into his bed with that nightmare. If he was going to push her away, now was the time.
He didn’t. He kissed the top of her head and hugged her in return, and moment by moment, Esme relaxed into him as the hurt slowly drained out of her.
Eventually, she dared to let her hands roam. She explored his strong shoulders, the swells of his biceps, and everything from the pads of muscle between his shoulder blades down to the twin grooves in the small of his back, and he let her; he trusted her.
Maybe she kissed his neck. And his jaw. His chin. When he turned toward her, their lips met, and sensation sang through her. The kiss started tender but quickly escalated into something intense as they tried to get closer to each other. She could hardly breathe, and she didn’t care.
She boldly stroked him through his pants, loving the way he groaned and kissed her harder. And then it was happening. Hungry hands undid buttons, lowered zippers, pushed cloth down. She touched him there for the first time, loving how deliciously different he was from herself, and he touched her in return. His fingertips searched through damp curls and wet folds and settled there, there, there. She tore open the box he’d bought with trembling fingers and extracted a foil packet.