“Can you get the clasp of my bra?
It’s hard to get with this stupid gimp arm of mine. I’ll be happy when it’s healed. I hate needing help to get dressed and undressed.”
I want to offer her encouragement, but the thought of pulling off her bra causes my throat to feel dry.
I remind myself that we have had sex since she’s been back, and that a gentleman should not take advantage of the fact she’s been drinking. Even though the devil on my shoulder wants me to fuck being a gentleman, I’m really trying to ignore it. I reach behind her back, unhook her bra and slowly pull the straps off her shoulders, trailing my fingers down her arms as I slide it completely off. Her skin feels amazing. She bites her lip in response, and that’s all it takes. I can’t help but lean forward and take her mouth. God help me, but I am no saint.
I put my hands on both sides of her face and tease the seam of her lips with my tongue.
When she opens for me and her tongue meets mine, I shudder in response. Her lips are soft, yet insistent against mine as she picks up the pace and kisses me like she can’t get enough. She pulls on my shirt and pulls me closer and the sexiest sounds start coming from her mouth. Kissing this girl is something I could do for hours. I am unbelievably addicted to her – she’s a drug I can’t get enough of and I would do anything to feel the high her kisses bring me again and again.
Before I realize it, one of my hands is in her hair, and the other is touching her bare breasts.
She’s moaning into my mouth and I feel goose bumps break out on her skin. I tease her nipples, gently, but firmly, squeezing them as I sweep my tongue into her mouth over and over, holding her as tight as she’s holding me.
I reluctantly pull away from her and place my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath.
She’s breathing just as hard but whispers, “I love you, Luke.”
“I love you too, angel.
So much.” Pulling away from her, I untangle my hand from her hair. “Here, let me get you settled into bed.”
“Wait.
I’m not completely naked yet.”
I try, really try, not to look down.
“I really think we should keep those on.”
She makes a pouty face, “Party pooper.”
“No, not a party pooper, I’m trying to be a good guy here.”
“Who says I want Luke the good guy?
Maybe I want Luke the bad boy.”
I groan, she’s killing me.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, I’m tempting you alright.”
“Well, let me at least get you a glass of water and some Motrin first, so maybe we can get a head start on that headache you’re likely to feel in the morning.”
“Oh, alright.”
She sighs and it makes me smile. She’s cute when she pouts.
I ease her back on her pillows and pull a blanket over the top of her, covering her up, but not before placing some pillows under her leg, elevating it.
“I’ll be back,” I head to her bathroom and as I go I adjust my raging hard-on that is begging for attention.
“When you come back, I’m going to make it my mission to get you to remove that last annoying piece of clothing.” Olivia calls out to me.
I laugh shakily.
In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and sit on the toilet for a few moments to try to catch my breath. I put my head in my hands and run my fingers through my hair. I need to try and have some self-control here, but she’s not making it easy.
My pajama pants are hanging on the back door, so I grab them and change into them, throwing my clothes into the hamper.
Part of me wants to walk out there bare ass naked, but that really wouldn’t help matters.
I take a deep breath and walk back into the bedroom.
I stop dead in my tracks as I look at the bed and laugh. In the short time I stepped away, she has fallen asleep. Her head is lying back on the pillow, her mouth is wide open and she’s snoring. She looks so cute, even if she does sound like a lawn mower.
After turning the light off, I climb into bed and lay as close as I can to my girl without bumping her leg.
I wrap my arm around her and she sighs sweetly in her sleep. I fall asleep with a smile on my face and the memory of her laugh tonight resonating in my ears.
15.
WHAT CAN WASH AWAY THIS SHAME?
Olivia
I
wake up
from a dead sleep without opening my eyes, when I feel his fingers making their way up my leg. The tips of his fingers are soft, and they tickle me just a little, while at the same time instilling heat throughout my body as they move up inch by inch. Those fingers tease me over the front of my panties, making my breath catch in my throat and my stomach clench. His fingers become a flat palm as it moves to my tummy, and rubs in a circle.
Those sinful fingers then swirl around my belly button, and I wait in anticipation for them to tease my breasts next.
They slide up the center of them and then instead of landing where I anticipated they would go – and silently want them, they proceed down my arms on one side and then up the other. I shiver at his touch, it feels remarkable, but I want them back at my breasts.
As if he hears my internal thoughts, his fingers trail back up my arm and finally touch one breast.
Fingers circle around my nipple, and then I feel a slight pinch, before he moves to the other breast, repeating his actions. My breath picks up as his hand makes its way back down to the front of my panties. I feel wetness between my legs in response to his teasing, and I lie still and quiet, eyes closed, excited for the moment when they touch me right where I want them to.
His fingers brush over and circle my clit through my panties for a moment, before sliding down the line of my entrance.
I want him to move my panties aside and plunge his fingers into me, bringing me to a hard orgasm. Instead, he keeps up the teasing.
I can’t keep still any longer and turn to my side, reaching out so I can touch him too.
I begin mimicking his movements, and run my fingers over his chest, down his abs, brush over the front of his boxers and then his thigh as far as I can reach. I can tease just as well as he can.
I lift my head towards his, seeking his lips with my own.
I kiss him; pushing my tongue into his mouth, I move my lips against his in earnest, trying to communicate my needs and wants.
I pull away, prepared to tell him with words now how much I want him.
I slowly ease open my eyes and look right into Deacon’s face.
A slow smile slides across his mouth, his eyes are hard and unforgiving, and his grip on me tightens, “You feel so good, princess.”
My eyes fly open, then I sit straight up and scream. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. I can still feel his hands on my body. Still feel his lips on mine.
“Olivia?” Luke wakes up and the tone of his voice reveals his fear, “Olivia?
What’s wrong?”
I hear Luke, but I can’t stop screaming long enough to respond.
Was that just a nightmare? Or was it a memory? Oh God, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, please, oh please, let it just be a nightmare. But, how do I know for sure?
I finally stop screaming, and throw the blankets off my lap, inadvertently slapping Luke away in the process.
I need to get out of this bed for a minute, I need to move around. In my frantic attempt to fly out of bed, I forget about my stupid leg, and quickly realize my error when I fall over and onto the floor. “Ouch, fuck!”
“Shit!”
I hear Luke say and his feet pound on the floor as he runs around to my side of the bed, gathering me into his arms. I hurt my wrist trying to catch my fall, and rubbed my chin on the floor. It burns a little. All I can do is hold onto Luke and cry.
Suddenly, my bedroom door flies open and smashes into the wall.
“Olivia? What’s going on? Are you okay? Luke? What happened?”
I look over at Pyper through my tears and wonder what she has in her hands.
Before I can give it much thought, Luke is trying to lift me off the floor.
“Nightmare.”
Luke responds to Pyper. He pulls me tighter to him as he stands, sits on the edge of the bed and rocks me back and forth in his arms. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re okay. I’m here.” He repeats over and over again. I clutch at him the best I can, bury my head into his chest and sob uncontrollably. I just can’t stop.
“Is she okay?”
I feel Luke’s chin lift off the top of my head. He doesn’t answer that question probably because clearly, I am not okay. Instead he asks, “A bat, Pyper? Really?”
“Yep, she sleeps right beside me.”
Luke keeps rocking me, “She?”
“Damn straight.”
“Remind me never to mess with you.”
“That would be smart.”
I’m sure later, I’ll find their words funny, but right now, I wouldn’t be able to find the humor in anything.
I feel unclean.
I feel violated.
Polluted.
I interrupt them, “Shower.
Luke, I need a shower.”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
He picks me up and starts to carry me to the bathroom, Pyper momentarily stopping him, “Do you need anything? Can I do something?”
“Thank you, but I’ve got her.
Go back to bed and try to get some sleep, if anything changes, I will come and get you. I promise.”
“Okay,” she says to him and before she leaves, she places her hand in mine and gives it a squeeze.
I am shaking.
I keep trying to calm myself, but fear and shame have absorbed into my very bones, and it will take more than wishing it would leave to remove it.
Luke takes me to the bathroom, sits me down on the toilet seat, then walks into the shower to start the water.
I am shaking so hard my teeth keep chattering. He grabs a towel off the shelf and wraps it around me while I wait. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, too ashamed to meet his head on. He’s concentrating on the circles he’s rubbing into my back, brow furrowed, with tension lines around his mouth. I put them there. He’s stressed and worried and it’s all my fault.
Leaving me for a moment, Luke grabs the trash bags from unde
r the sink and he wraps my cast in them so it won’t get wet. He’s gentle, but thorough. I don’t think even a drop of water will try to penetrate the barrier he created. After he’s finished, he removes my panties without a word.
“Come on, the water should be warm enough now.”
He eases me off the toilet seat and I limp over to the shower, thankful for the shower seat we purchased.
“You don’t have to come in with me, I can manage,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Not a chance. I’m not leaving you. Unless… unless you don’t want me here.”
I stop.
I take a deep breath and turn around to face him. I look into his eyes and as I do my own fill with tears. I hate it, but I’m powerless to stop them. His own look is pained, and seeing it makes my chest ache in literal pain as though my heart hurts at the sight.
“I always want you here, Luke.
Always. That is never ever a question. Okay?”
He nods his head and reaches out his hand.
I take it and tug him toward the shower with me. I can’t stand for long though, so I take my seat on the bench. I tilt my head back and let the warm water run over my body. Luke uses the shower head on the opposite side of the shower, letting me sit until I desire to do otherwise, not saying a word; silent, but his presence clearly known.
Images from my nightmare keep surfacing.
I think of how he touched me. Where he touched me and worse, how I liked it. How I wanted more. The rational part of me knows that in my mind I thought it was Luke, but doesn’t that make it worse? Worse because I didn’t know. Why didn’t I know that it wasn’t him? I must stop these thoughts – this is dumb. I can’t control what I dream. Yet, that sneaky, awful feeling that it wasn’t just a dream recurs, and the awareness that I am remembering an event from that horrific situation makes me shiver once again in fear, rage, and shame. I reach back to make the water even hotter. As I feel the temperature change, I urge the heat to burn the images from my mind.
I jump as I feel Luke’s fingers graze my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I take his hand in my own and press my cheek into his palm, anxious to take the comfort he’s offering.
Without another word, he grabs my shampoo and starts washing my hair with one of my favorites. It smells like coconut and delivers a fresh, unspoiled scent. This is becoming a habit with us, and as his fingers massage my scalp, I find that strangely, I am able to relax and enjoy this moment. Perhaps this should be a nightly ritual. I will return the favor when I can stand without fear of losing my balance, I promise myself.
Luke tips my chin back with his fingers and runs his hands through my hair as the water rinses away the shampoo.
When he’s finished, I open my eyes and see my loofah hanging from its hook. “Can you hand me my loofah?”
Luke looks at me perplexed, “What the hell is a loofah?”
I can’t help but smile at his question, even given the circumstances.
“That brown scrub thing hanging on the hook behind you,” I point.
When he turns to grab it, I let my eyes run over his beautiful body.
Out of nowhere, I feel choked up. I love him. I love him so much. Sometimes, the fact that we’re together again hits me right between the eyes. I still can’t get used to it in some ways because I thought I might never see him again. I need to push this shit aside for him. For us.
But first, I need to finish showering.
The need to ensure that I am clean lingers.
Luke hands me the loofah and I grab some body wash off the shelf and squeeze it onto the scrub, then methodically start scrubbing every inch of my skin.
Deacon’s fingers trailing up my leg….
I scrub my leg up the same path his fingers touched in my dream. I go over it again and again, making sure I hit every spot.
“Olivia…”
His palm on my stomach; fingers swirling around my belly button…
I scrub that too.
Hard.
Every.
Single. Inch.
“Olivia… stop…”
I don’t care now if he touched it or not, I want it clean, I need to be clean. I want the thoughts in my mind gone. I need to scrub them out.
He touched and squeezed my breasts… I liked it.
I press the loofah so hard into my skin that I feel pain from rubbing the skin raw. I don’t care. My actions are frenzied now. I rub the same spot over and over again. On some level, I know I’m acting insane, but on the other, I don’t care. I must do this. It hurts, but I don’t care. I deserve it.
“Olivia… please…”
I pause momentarily, hearing his voice in the background – and the pain. But another thought slams into my mind, making me forget my hesitation. I liked it when he touched me - it felt good. This should hurt, this should be painful; I deserve it. I want to be clean, I need to be clean.
“Olivia, no.”
Suddenly, I’m crying and I can’t stop. I’m crying and scrubbing as hard as I can, my fingers digging into the loofah so hard that they too feel raw with my efforts.
Luke’s hands are suddenly on my own firmly holding, interrupting, and inevitably stopping my frantic motions.
“Stop. Stop, Olivia. OLIVIA STOP IT!”
The sound of his voice startles me enough to look at his face.
My thoughts are still trapped inside the dream in my mind and it takes a few moments for Luke to come into focus. I blink my tears away and stare at him. His eyes, oh his eyes are so sad and glassy like he wants to cry. His lips are pursed and he’s breathing heavily, and I realize it’s from his efforts to get me to stop.
“Olivia, you are here with me,” he strokes the side of my face, “You are safe,” he catches a tear trailing down my cheek with his thumb, “I love you.
Please stop. Please stop this. You are hurting yourself.”
I look down at my body; there are a couple of places where I scratched my skin and I’m bleeding a little.
Not dripping or anything, but it’s bad enough.
“I… I didn’t realize,” I look at his beautiful face again.
It’s calming. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I mean, oh God, I’m sorry.” Embarrassment floods through me. What is he thinking? I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted out. “I’m a train wreck.”
“Please don’t apologize to me, you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I look from him to the wall at his words, but he grabs my chin and makes me meet his eyes once more, “Olivia, I love you.
Nothing, absolutely
nothing
can change that. Do you understand? I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. You are not a train wreck, you are the woman I love, and we will get through this. Together. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper as tears leave tracks down my face at his words.
I’m starting to worry that eventually, grooves will appear in my face from all the crying I do on an almost daily basis.
He turns off the water and gets towels for both of us.
Two for me, one for my hair and one for my body. He dries off his chest and puts the towel around his waist and then helps me dry off.
I watch his movements in fascination.
There is tenderness in his eyes and love in his actions. With Luke, he doesn’t just tell me he loves me, he proves it with the things he does. With a flinch I remember how Deacon would tell me he loves me too, but his actions proved the opposite. Affairs, verbal and physical abuse do not mean love. Not in any way, shape, or form.