“I think I’m better,” he says, moving his hips against me. “I’m pretty sure it’s safe to be inside you now.”
His voice is gravelly—needy—and it would be so easy just to push down his sweatpants and let him fill me. But I would feel terrible if something bad happened because we were too impatient to wait the recommended time. His heart may not be strong enough for that yet.
“How about we compromise?” I whisper. “One more week and then we’ll take it really slow.”
Luke groans against my neck, but pulls back. “One more week,” he agrees. “But then be prepared for multiple times a day. I have a lot of catching up to do.” I laugh as he sidles up to my side, pulling me against him. I’m facing him, my hands on his chest. I trace my fingers around his bandage.
“I wonder what your scar will look like,” I whisper.
His hand meets my hair and he runs his fingers through it, down my back, over my arm. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just hope you kiss it a lot.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, once we’re in the clear, you’re gonna have a hard time keeping my mouth off you. I like your body too much.” I look up at him. “Is that shallow? That I like looking at you with your shirt off?”
He shakes his head with a grin. “Nah. The first thing that attracted me to you was your ass.”
“I thought it was the drool on my chin when you woke me up in class that first day.”
He nods. “Yeah. You’re right. It was definitely the slobber.”
I laugh. I love that he’s able to make me laugh at a time like this. Our lips meet and we kiss for a solid five minutes. Until he starts to press into me again. I feel terrible that he’s being tortured so much, but there’s no way I’m allowing him to go against doctors orders. I need him to be as healthy as he can as soon as he can. I push him away and try to change the subject to something that will help him recover.
“Do you think you’ll get to see your mother soon?” I ask him.
He talks about his mother a lot. I hate that we’re in hiding right now, because that means he can’t see her until the next hearing is over and Asa is hopefully behind bars again.
Of course, there’s a chance he’ll walk free again. But we don’t talk about that possibility.
“We’ll see her when this is all over. She’s going to love you for me.”
I smile, wondering what that’s like to have a mother who loves you. I start to think about my only family-Stephen-and then my smile fades.
Luke notices, because he runs the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “What’s wrong?”
I try to shake away his concern. “Just thinking about Stephen,” I say. “Hoping he’s safe during all this.”
Luke’s hand finds mine and he slides his fingers through it. “He’s safe, Sloan. He has twenty-four hour security. You don’t have to worry about him, I made sure of it.”
I hate that Asa has put us in this situation. A situation where I can’t even see my brother. Luke can’t even see his mother. We can’t leave this apartment. And we have to have security for anyone we love.
It isn’t right.
I hate Asa Jackson. I hate that I ever met him.
“I want Asa to pay, Luke,” I whisper, staring at his chest. I can’t look him in the eyes when I’m full of this much hatred. “I want him to suffer in the worst possible way. And that makes me feel like such a terrible person.”
His lips meet my forehead, soft and gentle. “He deserves to go to prison for the rest of his life, Sloan. You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting that.”
I pull back and make eye contact with him. “No, not that kind of revenge. Prison wouldn’t affect him like it would most people. I want him to really hurt. I want him to see how much I love you. I want him to be forced to realize that I love you and would pick you over him. It would cut him to his core.”
Contemplation flashes in Luke’s eyes as he stares down at me. “If that makes you a bad person, then we’re both evil. Because I would give anything for him to have to suffer like that.”
It’s twisted, but his words make me smile. I guess when you’re pushed far enough, revenge becomes the only thing that could help you move on. That’s not healthy. I know that and I’m sure Luke knows that. But knowing the difference between right and wrong doesn’t change the way you feel. It just makes you feel guiltier that you feel that way.
I tuck myself into him and press my head against his chest. “Sometimes,” I whisper. “I have these terrible thoughts…”