“I don’t want to look at myself,” I said, angling the chair away so I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror.
As if from a great distance, I heard the buzzing of a shaver, and felt her gentle strokes, as she passed it over my head. I watched, apathetic, as clumps of hair fell to the floor.
When she stopped, her voice was hoarse.
“All done.”
Was she sad? Sad for me?
“It’ll be okay,” she said, quietly.
If anyone can make it right, you can, Caroline.
I looked up, her eyes meeting mine. “Will it?”
“Yes. When you leave home. You won’t have to see him again—either of them.”
I nodded slowly. It didn’t seem possible.
“Would you like me to get the ice?” she said, quietly.
I shook my head.
“Let me look.”
Gently, she lifted my chin.
It felt so good to have her touch my face, I couldn’t help myself. I laid my hand over hers, feeling the shock of her skin beneath mine, the sensation as strong as if powered by an electric charge.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice pleading with me.
But I couldn’t stop. I had to speak to her; I had to make her understand how I felt about her. The way she’d looked after me—it made me feel so much. She had to know; I had to tell her. I knew it wouldn’t make any difference, that there was no way on earth she could want a fuck-up like me, but I had to say the words.
I stood up, still holding her hand.
“I love you, Caroline.”
She gasped, and I closed my eyes, waiting for her rejection.
But it didn’t come.
Amazed, surprised, dumbfounded, I felt her hand on my cheek, then brushing over the fine bristles of my hair and around to the back of my neck, pulling my head towards her.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. She wanted me? Me?
It was the moment that I’d been dreaming about since she came back. I kissed her, thrilled and disbelieving that she was responding to me.
I felt her tongue on my lip and I opened my mouth gratefully, feeling an intense wave of pleasure as her tongue stroked mine.
I couldn’t believe this beautiful, amazing, wonderful, kind woman was kissing me, responding to me, telling me that she felt the same. That she wanted me, despite everything.
My soul soared, and happiness like I’d never known pulsed through me.
She gripped my neck with one hand, and slid her fingers down my throat, to my chest.
Oh, God, how good that felt. I wanted her: I really fucking wanted her.
My hands hovered over her waist, and when she didn’t stop me, I locked them around her, pulling her small body in tight against mine.
Feeling her soft and warm against me nearly sent me over the edge. I groaned into her mouth and couldn’t help pushing my hips against her.
Suddenly she stepped away, and my arms fell to my sides. Shit, no! I didn’t understand: had I got it wrong?
But then I realized she was tugging on the hem of my sweatshirt. She pulled it over my head and my body felt like it was on fire. I was desperate to touch her, to feel her soft skin against mine, but I could sense she was conflicted.
I begged her silently: love me, Caro. Love me, please.
She ran her fingers underneath my t-shirt, and I shivered at her touch. Then she ripped it off and brushed her hands over my chest. If I’d died then, I’d have thought all my dreams had come true.
When I felt her fingers on the zipper of my jeans, stroking my hard cock, I nearly came in my pants. I gasped, and my eyes flew open.
She pulled me towards her and continued stroking me. I moaned loudly, and she sighed into my chest.
I didn’t even know my hands were moving, until they were resting on her waist again. But when she kissed me, I didn’t hold back. This was my one chance, my only chance.
I tightened my grip around her, and moaned loudly when she slid her hand into the front of my jeans.
Holy shit! That felt good—her hand around me.
“Undo my zipper,” she said.
It took a moment for me to understand what she was telling me; my brain had left the building. She turned around and I pulled down the zipper of her dress, my hands shaking, this time from desire, from pure, physical need. I needed her. I fucking needed her. I wanted her—I wanted it all.
The dress fluttered to the floor and she turned around to look at me. My eyes slid from her face, to her breasts, and suddenly I was finding it hard to breathe.
I stepped towards her again, my hands moving from her hips to her waist; I really wanted to run my hands over her whole body, to touch her breasts, taste her soft, beautiful skin.
“Yes. Touch me,” she whispered, as if she could read my mind.
I swallowed as heat coursed through me, then, slowly, carefully, she lifted my right hand to her breast, moving my fingers in a slow circle. She shivered beneath my touch, and the sensation of flesh on flesh scorched me.