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“I’m paying it forward,” he explains quietly. He shifts, and the door slowly swings closed. The faint click of it latching barely registers as he steps into my space.

“W-what’s that mean?” I whisper helplessly. That simple, soft touch has broken me open in too many ways to count.

“It means you gave me back some of myself. I want other people to have that. Those of us who need it. I’m part of a global group. Survivors of Tragedy. I made the site in our private group to inspire people that there’s another way to see yourself. I thought if I was brave enough to do it instead of talking about it, someone else might get the courage to step up.”

“What?” My voice is faint as a punch of sorrow strikes me. A survivor’s group. I’ve never heard of anything like it. I don’t have any doubts from the scars I’ve seen today. Grace’s story is going to stay with me for a long time.

“I put your name out there to see if anyone local wanted to take the plunge. You made me feel comfortable with it. No questions or judgment. No disgust. I told them you’re safe, which makes you an honorary member, by the way. There’s only one rule to follow, but I don’t think you’ll have a problem with it.”

“A rule?” I let out a weak laugh. Rules and I don’t have the best track record.

“Don’t talk about it,” his brows furrow with discomfort. “A lot of us have scars we can hide and don’t want our stories out there for reporters to mull over. The website is for the group only. No sharing or posting it to the public. All of this isn’t happening, ok?”

That is one rule I can follow without question. All I have to do is think about Asher and how much his skin disgusts him. He hates people touching him and all the questions. It’s nobody’s business unless he wants to talk about it.

I also understand because of my own issues.

“I won’t tell a soul. I need to warn Damon too,” my brows furrow.

“I thought I’d have time to come tell you about it,” he muses with a crooked smile. “I didn’t expect them to step up this fast. I’ve never seen Grace smile before.”

“She’s so brave,” I nod, trying not to tear up. “All of you are.”

My eyes move up to see his face, and I freeze. His tongue is licking along his lip. His attention is on his finger, dragging across my lower lip in the same motion. My breath catches at the naked want in the look.

“When can I get another one?”

My brain must be leaking out of my ears because I don’t have an answer.

“Addie,” he whispers roughly and leans closer. Our lips almost touch while I stand dazed by his charm. “When will you touch me again?”

Our mouths awkwardly meet as I go to my toes to make up the difference in height on impulse. His fingers are trapped between us. I meant it to be a quick kiss. Closed mouth. He changes it without hesitation.

He follows me down as I drop to my heels, a finger pulling my lower lip so his tongue can barely trace along the inside. I gasp in a surprised breath, and he takes advantage. His hand withdraws as his head tilts to get a better angle, and his tongue slips inside. The languid pace of his kiss sweeps me under faster than a rip tide. It’s hard to catch my breath, and he’s barely started.

My fingers dig into his hair to keep him close as he savors each kiss like he’s memorizing the feel of me. My butt bumps into the table, and I’m suddenly lifted up to sit on it. My knees part to welcome him before I can think better of it. I can’t let go of him. The slower he kisses me, the more desperate I get for him to hurry. Like this moment is stolen and we need to rush before it passes us by.

He’s The One. My One.

The thought comes at me, hitting me like a freight train. A life-altering event that shifts me all around inside until I don’t know up from down.

I pull my head away, trying to catch my breath. His eyes open slowly, like he’s been drugged. They meet mine with the laziness of a satisfied cat, and his lips turn up in a smile.

“You look scared.”

“I am,” I barely manage to get out. I don’t know what else to say. I’m terrified of what this means.

What if I’m wrong? What if I’m bad for him?

“I have to go,” I panic and look around me as if I’m lost. All I want right now is to call my Maman and beg her to tell me I’m right, that I’m okay, and everything will be fine. We’re all safe, and I’m not making a mistake.

I’m messed up in the head. If he doesn’t see that now, then he will soon enough.

“I have to go,” I repeat, my voice a tad firmer, but not enough.

“You’re right where you need to be, siren.” His raspy assurance melts me into a puddle, especially when his lips brush over mine in a tease.

“Stop saying perfect things,” I hiss angrily, trying to regain my thought process. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I haven’t taken my hands away from the back of his head and neck.