A Mess of Reason (12 page)

I do, though, manage to shoot him an evil
look. A sneer. He shoots me one back. Then we have a stare down. A
pissing war of sorts. It’s not an eye-fuck per se, more of a
down-and-dirty glare against glare. It’s a
How dare you lie to
me?
look that he gives me, while mine is more of a
Fuck you,
you have no idea what I’ve gone through so don’t judge me
look.
He squats down in front of me, pour two shots of tequila, hands one
to me. Then he raises his glass to me.

“Fuck you for not trusting me, Tess.”

“Yeah, fuck you too. It’s wasn’t your
business.”

Then we clink glasses and drink. Scout
stands up, never for a second taking his eyes off of me. His glare
is unflinching, though not unreadable. I’d call the look Chernobyl
Pissed. He peels his T-shirt off his thickly muscled shoulders,
then whips it into the corner. He’s ripped…beautifully belted with
muscles. His skin is a warm honey color that looks good all the
time, unlike most guys who look pasty in the winter months. His
arms are…well, his arms are the stuff dreams are made of. Nature
blessed him with arms that look stolen from the gods. I’ll be
honest: I’ve gotten off to the vision of his arms more times than I
should be sharing. He carries himself with the confidence of an
alpha lion.

My thoughts are all self-indulgent as the
show continues. He unbuckles his belt, unzips, and drops ’em, yup.
My mind is right there with yours. Jeans at his ankles, boots
kicked off, standing in front of me with just black briefs. It’s a
pretty sweet distraction even in the oddball moment I’m having. I
can’t not look. So I do. I look at all of him, and he still has his
eyes on my face. He hooks his fingers in the top band of his
briefs, and just like that, they’re down, whipped in the corner
with the rest of his shit and all I’m thinking is
holy mother of
cock
. It’s beautiful. As in,
bring it over here and I will
suck it right this minute
beautiful. He’s no shrinking violet,
this one, nor is his tool.

“Get a good look—it’s time for you and me to
get transparent, sweetheart,” he says in a deadly sexy, low tone.
Maybe not intentionally, but he’s naked and his manhood is eye
level and seconds from my lips. And no, he’s not smiling or
flirting—he’s demanding. This is definitely not how I pictured this
night going down.

Naked looks good him. My heartbeat is flying
as fast as the snowflakes zipping past the window. Neither of us
speaks as he x-rays me with his eyes. He simply stands there and I
take all of him in. From his eyes to his arms to that dark little
trail of hair that traces deliciously right down to his
award-worthy cock.

“Now start talking,” he says crisply as he
sits, scooting himself right next to me with an arm around my
shoulder, giving me a little squeeze. His face is to me, his lips
not four inches from mine, and his gorgeous cock is two inches from
my hands. I’m not sure if this is a bare-our-souls moment or a
tempt-the-fuck-out-of-me moment. It’s a test of some kind. He
smells of tequila and sweat and his barely there cologne. He’s by
far my favorite smell in the world, as well as a damn good
distraction.

I throw on a mask of a smile and have at
it.

“I was five. Playing with Timmy Jackson in
his garage. We had matches. The red gasoline tank was up on the
shelf, so I just climbed right up there like a little monkey and
got it. Most of it tipped onto my sleeveless shirt, soaking me all
the way through to my skin, front and back. We went out side to
light up our campfire, poured gasoline all over just like I always
saw my dad do. Then Timmy and I both lit matches.”

My hands are having their own earthquake, so
I pin them between my thighs. The rumble, though, goes straight
through me, having a life of its own.

“I was in the ICU for two weeks. Then I
spent a month in a burn center. I don’t remember any of it for the
most part. Well, just little bits. My folks filled in lots of it
over the years.”

Scout grabs my cheeks in his hands. Big
tears river down his face as he peppers my lips with kisses, slowly
mapping them out all over my face, from my eyelids to my forehead
to my nose. Sweet, tender, adoring kisses. Each one filled with a
promise I wish to hell I could unwrap and live inside of.

“I love you…you know that,” he says with his
lips pressed against my ear. And I know with all my heart he does.
But even with all that love he has for me, it’s still not enough
that I’ll be able to give him more than just a story.

“Front and back?” He’s nodding as he asks.
Thankfully he did not see my front. No man will see my front. Ever.
Unless he’s a plastic surgeon, and even that’s hard for me. His
fingers hold my chin as he lifts my face, forcing me to look him in
the eyes.

“Yeah. Front and back.”

“Does Creed know?”

“God, no. Never will,” I say, nervously
chewing my bottom lip.

“He’s never seen your breasts? Never seen
you fully naked, Tess?”

“No. Never will.”

He drags both hands down his face, then
pulls me into a hug. A devoted, loving, all-encompassing hug that
makes my heart sing and crumble. He’s not cringing or walking out
or telling me I’m ugly or that I’m a monster or any of the horrid
things that kids told me when I was a little tormented child. Those
awful things that convinced me when I turned eight to start wearing
the burn vests 24/7 and close up shop.

By the time we moved to Echo Mountain when I
was ten I had a great shtick that no one questioned. I was able to
start over as a “normal” kid. No one stared, made fun, or said
anything other than how pretty I was, what a smart girl I was, what
a fantastic athlete I was, what cool style I had. I made sure I was
the best at absolutely everything I did. I mean the very fucking
best. It was all they saw—the teachers, the coaches, the boys, the
girls, the parents, the babysitters. That was my superpower, my
hero cape. As long as I kept myself undercover I was safe—and
normal.

That is, until now. Now I’m naked in front
of him, but what’s really amazing about Scout is that he’s naked in
front of me, too. It’s a powerfully emotional moment for both of
us, not the first but for sure the most intense.

“Let me see you. Take off your shirt. I want
to see your beautiful body, Tess—all of you.”

And that makes me cry. Because I wish to
hell I could. I wish I could show him my body the way he’s showing
me his. But with my cape gone, I have nothing to hide behind. I
can’t let him see me like that. It’s too raw, too ugly, and if for
one second I saw his lips twist or eyes cringe I would fall
straight to hell and die, because I know all that would be going
through his mind was how very repulsive I look.

“Scout.” A rage of colorful emotions and
seemingly irrational thoughts blind me. He knows I can’t…he won’t
make me. He loves me too much to make me hurt in that way.

“You’re beautiful, Tess. There’s nothing
about you I don’t love. You can show me and I will still love you.
Nothing will change. Do you understand? Nothing, sweetheart.” I
feel a quick, sharp sweat break out over my body with the delivery
of his words.

“It already has. It’s already changed. You
already feel bad for me—you are already pitying me—and that’s why
no will ever see me, including you. Because I want to be me for me,
not me because of the accident. Not me because I’m some weirdo for
people to point at when they see me in a bikini at the beach. The
next time I’m sitting in your lap or you’re lying next to me with
your clothes on, you’re going be thinking about my skin. I promise
you. You’re going be thinking all kinds of things about it instead
of what I’d want you to be thinking.”

I hear the sourness in my voice as I
admonish him for thoughts I know he’ll have in the future.

“What would you want me to be thinking?” he
asks as he grabs my hands, taking my fingers to his mouth. He
kisses each one tenderly. My eyes are barely holding tears back,
and when I look into his I feel like I’m underwater.

I know it’s a risk, and part of me thinks
the path of this conversation is veering toward the cliff’s edge,
but I wander deeper…closer, with all reason gone.

“I’d want you to be thinking about how
turned on you are unbuttoning my shirt, how you can’t wait to take
off my pretty bra and toss it aside to touch my naked skin. How
badly you want your lips on my neck, following a trail down to my
breasts. How you’d want me lying underneath you, naked, while you
look down at me to see how beautiful my body is against yours.” My
desperate prayer comes out as a sober reflection of my heart.

“But that will never happen because you will
never see me like that, because my body is melted and torched and
my breasts are not normal and yes…my skin…it looks like melted ice
cream.” Then I’m sobbing in angry waves that are trying to snake up
from my throat. I bite my lips shut to keep the noises and pain at
bay.

“Goddammit, Tess.” He pulls me onto his lap,
straddling him. He holds me, rocks me, sings to me as he always
does. Then after a while he pulls the tequila bottle over to us and
pours us each a shot.

“Fuck you… Trust me, please.”

“Fuck you… I can’t, not with this.”

And then we both sink the shots back. So he
pours each of us another one.

“You bitch, Tess.”

“Don’t call me a bitch. You know…”

We sink those two shots back as well. Now
we’re both on the other side of tipsy and I’m so grateful and glad
we are. Scout looks into my eyes. Then takes his fingers to my
shirt, he opens three buttons from the top down. My collarbone and
upper chest are barely exposed, nothing else. My heart feels like a
jackhammer but I grip my small tequila buzz with all my might in
hopes that I can keep breathing. He looks at my skin, then my eyes,
and touches my flesh ever so softly, all the while penetrating my
heart with each small stroke.

“Scout…I don’t…oh…”

I barely feel his fingers smoothing over
that small patch of skin; it’s pretty numb there. I do, though,
feel something. I’m not sure if the sensation is all the nerve
endings on my body reacting to him or if it’s really just this tiny
spot feeling something new. I’m swallowing hard, my stomach
flip-flopping and my eyes stinging like the dickens—but I don’t cry
this time.

“Beautiful Tess,” he says, kissing me
tenderly on that very spot. Slowly his lips move up my neck and
onto my mouth. They feel warm and soft, pillows of wet and sweet.
His tongue slides between my lips, moving perfectly over my tongue
in a gentle, slow kiss that’s deep, breathy, and erotic. He pulls
my hips against him and I feel his hard length between my legs. A
faintly amused smile forms on his lips, then a groan rolls up from
deep within him as he thrusts up to the crotch of my panties, which
are soaked all the way through.

“Tess… I love you my girl. Please trust
me…please…”

His hands slowly skate down the front of my
shirt until they’re on my breasts. And even in my terrified state,
I don’t push him away. I’ve never not once let anyone linger on my
chest like this, but I let Scout. I let him touch my breasts as I
catch my breath. It’s my Scout, I can trust him. I need to trust
him. He’s asking me to. He’s only ever wanted to protect me. My
moans and words are suffocated whispers of lust. And even though I
have my bra and shirt on, I can feel him touching me through the
fabric. I glance from his eyes down to his hands as his thumbs
brush over my nipples.

“Oh, Scout, I’ve never…I…” My head falls
back as I arch into his awakening touch. He drives a hungry moan
into my mouth, fraying me at my seams. It’s amazing and sexy,
feeling all of this, though what I can’t believe is that I’m not
freaked out completely. He pulls away from my lips and looks deeply
into my eyes as if to prove a point. I can’t help but wonder how
far he’s willing to go. How far I’m willing to go.

“Okay? You can feel it? Are you okay,
sweetheart?” His velvet-edged voice calms me as he continues to
touch me. My breathing overflows in disturbingly deep draws as my
body floats as if I’m in another universe, as if I’m flying through
an open window. I’m seeing, feeling, and craving new light. He
doesn’t take his hands off my breasts as he’s looking at my eyes,
stirring something exquisite inside of me. My hunger for him alarms
me as his tenderness transports me.

“Scout, I can…it’s…yeah…” My forehead
presses against his; I’m desperate for him. The rousing sear of
heat between my legs is overwhelming. The feeling of him rubbing my
nipples makes my sex throb. I place my hands over his, pushing him
hard against my chest, crushing his hands onto me. I never knew, in
all these years, I could react at all to someone’s touch. I wish
for the life of me I was brave enough to open my shirt to him—but I
can’t. I can’t have him see me, see the damage, see what I’ve
hidden from him all these years. His hands go to my bottom, his
fingers sliding under my panties onto my bare ass. And fuck if it
doesn’t feel like the most incredible thing on earth to be doing
this with him.

“Tess, Tess. So beautiful. My girl…” he
whispers in quiet groans that are rich and all male, his voice
sending a current straight down my spine as he grinds me into his
thick cock. And oh my God, I just want to slide my panties to the
side and let him in. But I don’t…and I know I won’t. I can’t.
Because I know what will go along with it. He’ll want me fully
naked…and I can’t. And as those very thoughts are going through my
mind, I feel him exploring me, pushing hard against my wetness as
one finger penetrates me, wrapped in wet lace. A deep, aching moan
comes from my throat as I move against his hand, riding it, giving
into it, yearning for it. His fingers find the throb of my clit and
he teases me terribly, seducing me while another rush of wet falls
though my body.