Every inch of my body aches. I lack the energy to say a word as Zeke pulls me up from the hood of the beautiful car he just fucked me on. If what we just did can even be called fucking. It felt like nothing else I’ve ever experienced in my life. Like so much more than anything I’ve ever done before.
His strong hands glide over my arms almost reverently, completely at odds with the man who rutted me like a lust-blinded animal a few moments ago. He unfastens the handcuffs, and I sag against his broad chest.
He gently circles my wrists with the pads of his thumbs and forefingers, soothing the chafed skin. “I got you, buttercup,” he murmurs against my hair. “You did so good.”
I mumble incoherently, so tired I could sleep for a week.
He hoists me into his arms and cradles me close to his chest. “Let’s get you upstairs” are the last words I hear him say.
When my eyelids flutter open again, I’m in Zeke’s bed, and he’s wiping me down with a warm cloth. I look down to see the small knife wound just above my ribs, and the memory of him cutting me sends a fresh jolt of electricity between my thighs. What the hell is wrong with me?
“It stopped bleeding, but I’m going to glue it, okay? It won’t scar.”
“It won’t?” I ask, surprised at the disappointment that washes over me.
“No, buttercup. Did you want it to?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, still woozy from whatever the hell happened in the basement. “Kind of. Is that weird?” I graze my fingertip over the wound. “I kinda like having a permanent reminder of you.”
He sucks in air through his teeth. “Jesus fuck, Lily.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What? Is that crazy?”
He dusts his lips over the cut and looks up at me with fire burning in his dark eyes. “No, baby doll. It’s hot as fuck.”
“Oh.”
He trails featherlight kisses down my body as he wipes the blood and cum from my skin. His lips feel so good on me. His hands work quickly and tenderly, and something profound and carnal and long forgotten makes tears well in my eyes. “I love you, Zeke.” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them. Holding my breath, I brace myself for his reaction.
“I know you do, buttercup. I love you too.”
My heart swells with relief and joy. Of course he loves me. I feel it every day. With an unabashedly wide smile on my face, I let my head sink back into the pillow and enjoy the way he caresses and massages my limbs until all the aches from earlier have all but disappeared. All too soon, his heat disappears.
“I’m going to get the glue so I can seal that wound. I’ll be right back.”
I whimper anyway but keep my eyes closed and wait patiently. True to his word, he’s back a moment later. “This won’t hurt.”
“Well, it seems I’m quite partial to a little pain anyway.”
“You took it all like a fucking warrior. Your first time too. I thought for sure you were going to use your safe word.”
I open my eyes to find him staring at me, his beautiful dark eyes peering into my soul. “Maybe, you’re my safe word, Zeke.”
He frowns. “That’s not—”
“I mean, I feel safe with you. Always, no matter what. Even when you had the knife, I knew you’d never cause me real harm.” I shake my head and throw my arm over my face, aware that I’m babbling. “It sounds crazy, and I can’t explain it, but it’s the truth.”
He tugs my hand and uncovers my face. “It doesn’t sound crazy, buttercup.” The deep rolling timbre of his voice soothes me. “And that fact that you feel safe with me means more to me than you can ever know.”
He rolls onto his back, pulling me with him. “Don’t you need to glue my wound?”
“It’s all done.” I glance down and see the cut has been sealed, expertly by the looks of it. Just how much practice has he had doing this? He wraps one arm around my back and shuffles me so that I’m lying on top of him like he’s my human pillow. I have nowhere to lay my head except for his chest.
“Um, Zeke.” I wriggle in his grip.
He takes hold of my right hand and places it over his heart, then puts his on top of it. “It’s okay, baby doll.”
I swallow the sob that wells in my throat and lay my head on his broad chest. We lie together without speaking for a long time, his heart thumping against my palm and his fingertips trailing gently up and down my spine.
“Who hurt you, buttercup?” he asks, cutting through the silence like his blade sliced through my skin.
A lone tear rolls down my cheek. “Someone who should have protected me.”
His arms band tighter around me. “Did what we just did help?”
“It did, yeah. Kind of cathartic. Is that strange?”
“Not at all. But where is he now? The man who hurt you?”
I almost tell him the truth. It wants to pour out of me like syrup from a jug, slow and deliberate. But I can’t. “He no longer exists in the life I’ve built for myself.” Before he can question me further on my vague answer, I add, “Who hurt you, Zeke?”
“Someone who should have known better.” He lets out a deep sigh, and I think that’s going to be the end of the conversation, but he keeps talking. “He was my foster brother and the first guy I ever loved. At least I thought I loved him, but I had no idea what that really meant back then. He was nineteen, and I thought the sun rose and set with him.” He gives a self-deprecating laugh.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
My heart breaks for a young adolescent Zeke. “What happened?”
“Turns out he was just experimenting.” He snorts. “With his sexuality. With his fetish for cutting things open. People get kind of freaked out when their kids start slicing open their family pets, not so much when it’s just the new foster kid.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Don’t be, buttercup. I moved to a new foster home and met West and Fitch, and I made a promise that no one would ever fucking touch me or hurt me again unless I wanted them to.”
I flex my fingertips, feeling the ridges of scars hidden under his beautiful tattoos. I hate that someone hurt him that way. “Thank you for letting me touch you.”
He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger and angles my head so he can look at my face. “It takes a whole lot of trust to allow someone to slice you open with a knife. Thank you for giving me that.”
I love him so much. “It was beautiful. Thank you.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he stares at me intently, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t. Or won’t.
My stomach growls, and I wrinkle my nose. “You mind if we grab a bite to eat?”
He drops a tender kiss on my forehead. “Whatever my girl needs.”
