An Ounce of Hope(58)

Grace could understand his point about trying to get away from the past, however. The scars on the skin of her ribs and hip were an ugly reminder of what she'd never allow herself to go through again. Wanting to share, she shifted from her place on the bed's edge, turned, and slowly lifted her T-shirt.

For a moment, Max appeared puzzled, before his stare landed on the pale scars running in zigzags from underneath her right breast to her hip. Max inhaled deeply, his jaw twitching.




 

 

"What did this?" he asked, repeating her question, even though the tone of his voice suggested he knew.

"A size-eleven foot and a kitchen knife."

The deep rumble that emitted from Max's throat sounded like a growl. "Motherfucker." He exhaled and reached out his hand. "Can I?"

Grace blinked in reply. His large fingers whispered across her scars as if she were made of glass.

"They're ugly, huh?" She tried to smile around the words, closing her eyes to the sensation of his touch, the tenderness that he drew on her skin with his fingertips.

"No," Max retorted firmly. "They're not."

"You don't have to lie. It's okay."

Max sighed, dropping his hand from her. "When my dad first got cancer, he had tons of surgeries. He had scars everywhere from the top of his head to his belly. I asked him once if they embarrassed him, if he hated them. He laughed and said, 'How can I hate them? They show everyone what I've survived.' "

He pressed his palm to her side again, its heat soaked deep into Grace's bones. His dark stare pinned her in place. "These scars show everyone what you survived, Grace. Don't you dare be ashamed of them."

Tears pricked Grace's eyes and her breath shuddered out, his words fracturing years of self-conscious anxiety and indignity in mere seconds. He moved his hand, cupping her side, moving down toward her hip. The span of his hand was mammoth against her small waist. He licked his lips, his tongue a gorgeous pink. "You're so soft."

He shifted closer, their knees touched, and his fingers skimmed the underneath of her bra, sending Grace's lungs into a frenzy. "I love your hands on me," she breathed, because it was the truth, because she needed him to know, because she'd die if he took them away.

"Show me more," he murmured, looking at her through his long black lashes. "It's just us. Be brave with me. Let me see you."

Without a moment's hesitation, Grace lifted the hem of her top up and over her head, leaving her in a hot pink bra and yoga pants. Max hummed a deep, sensual sound that curled Grace's toes and reached his hands to her collarbone. She didn't even flinch.

"That's it," he sighed. "Look at you."

His touch was fire and safety and awoke a dormant part of Grace that had her reaching to unfasten the hooks at her back.

Max noticed her movement and huffed out a breath. "Only if you're comfortable."

"I want to let go. I want you to see. I want to be brave," she whispered and unhooked, pulling the cups away from her chest and the straps from her shoulders, so they were both naked from the waist up. 

"Sweet Jesus," Max uttered. "You're . . ." His fingers slid across her collarbone and down. His gaze flickered to hers the closer he got to her breasts, caution in their depths. "All right?"

"Yes."

And she was. Oh, God, she was. She felt alive in his hands, and when he finally touched her nipples and cupped her in his palms, she moaned a sound she didn't know she was capable of. It was relief, gratitude, and yearning for more. He groaned, too, as he squeezed her gently, tweaking her nipples between his thumb and forefingers, moving closer.

His tongue poked out between his open lips. "You have such great tits." His thumb circled her. "Perfect. Look how they fit my hands." He watched, his gaze hot and enraptured as her breasts moved and rippled under his ministrations. "Fuck, Grace, I want- Will you let me, can I suck them?"

His words were so unintentionally erotic, Grace could do nothing but nod.

He leaned closer. "I've got you. You're safe," he murmured. "And so fucking sexy."

And then his mouth was on her.

His burning tongue wound around her nipple, flicking, teasing, and sending electricity coursing through her veins. It was wet, sloppy, and made Grace call out and sag against him. He hummed into her skin, sucking harder, grabbing tighter, breathing harder. Grace's body twitched and grew wet, desperate for friction, but fearful of having his body over hers, holding her down. She pushed her hands into his hair, sighing at its thickness between her fingers, wanting nothing more than to bury her nose into it and breathe him in. She held him close.

She was safe, she reminded herself. He wasn't going to hurt her.