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“Umm, yes,” he said, sighing again. His voice slurred as she worked to ease the pain with the pressure of her hand against his warm velvet skin.
“Grace,” he whispered, groaning softly. The sound of it loosened everything inside her. “That feels so good.”
Her throat tight, her body now throbbing with so much pent-up need for him, she whispered back, “You feel so good.” She breathed deep again for more of that heated scent swirling through her, making her ache with want, getting hot and wet between her legs where he was hard against her. The thought of him naked, open and trusting hovering over her with that scent touching her body like his hands, warm and tangible, caressing her nipples, her skin, her scars as if that scent could fuck her until she cried out with the pleasure of it.
She shuddered with the ache, the need, the want. “You smell so good. Elemental. I didn’t realize how much I missed that scent when I was embedded over there.”
He dropped his head back against her shoulder and looked up at her. She trembled with that black fire lit from deep within him. His pupils were blown, and he was open and vulnerable. She was so aware of every inch of him, even the parts of him not against her, aware that she held him in the palm of her hand, and she only wanted to be careful not to crush him.
Oh, God. What was this swirling inside her…this overwhelming feeling that felt both intense and so freaking right. Was it love? Was she falling for this exotically beautiful, damaged man who looked at her like she was already part of him?
His tender gaze dragged her deeper. “I'm so tired, Grace,” he whispered.
“Let me have you,” she murmured. “Thistime Igotyou.” She moved from behind him, pressed him onto his back, preparing to work the shoulder from the front, but then she stilled, her hand at his waist. She looked down, her breath catching. Her hands went to the top of his jeans, and Nash just followed the line of her gaze.
He lay there unmoving as she unbuckled and unzipped just low enough to tug down the denim and briefs. She swallowed hard, following the black line of hair that bisected his abdomen, swirled around his navel, and arrowed down to his groin. Somehow, despite the thick hard-on bulging against the fabric wasn’t what interested her, her gaze riveted to the scar.
“I can’t remember how I got it,” he whispered.
She lifted her gaze back to his face just in time to see the moisture gathering in his eyes, his emotions unguarded and raw, a permanent reminder of what he lost, but not how. That wound might have healed, but the memories were blank, and she ached for him. “Nash,” she breathed, “Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” she murmured. She leaned in. “Your scars are a badge of courage and evidence of your shield. You’re even more amazing to me with them.” She reached out, hesitated. “May I?” she asked, and this time she waited.
His face contorted and he nodded. “Ya Allah, Grace…” His breath shuddered out. Slowly, she reached out and glided the pad of her finger along the beginning of the scar, totally shredded inside. Her breath coming in ragged in-takes, his agony becoming hers.
She was already moving, pressing her mouth to his scar, tracing it with her lips as if she could heal him deep within. He let out a sound, low, hoarse, broken, like it had been clawing at his throat forever and finally tore free. It rent the air between them, rough with grief and rage and something older than both. It hit Grace like a punch to her heart. It wasn’t just pain. It wasmemory.It wasloss.It wasneedstripped to the bone.
Her mouth might be on his flesh, but it wasn’t a physical need that had made him cry out. His reaction was raw, pulled so tightly into him, it had taken her mouth, her compassion, her own need to give him something more of herself, and she was the permission he needed to find that voice.
His hand shook when he slid her sleeve up away from her forearm, bunching it tightly in the crook of her elbow. Running his warm palm over her scars. “You don’t have to hide these from me.” His gaze raked over her arm. “Or anyone,” he said fiercely. “They’re each a badge of courage…alive, messages, like a language written in pain, loss and healing.” He dragged her against him, his mouth on her forearm, pressing soft kisses everywhere, and Grace cried out, too.
Then he spoke again, quietly, deliberately, voice rough as gravel and just as aching.
“Inti roohi.”
She didn’t breathe for a second. Didn’t blink.
You are my soul.
Her breath caught. It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them, like they cost him. Like giving them voice was both surrender and defiance. Like they were the only truth he still trusted.
Grace swallowed hard, the ache rising behind her ribs too fierce to hide. She pressed her hand gently to his chest, grounding herself in the warm, battered strength of him.
Then, low and shaking, she whispered back, “Wallah, ma fi mithlik.”
By God, there’s no one like you.
The way she had coped, survived, had been necessary at the time. She’d been injured, devastated, her power stripped from her in ways that weren’t just personal, but professional, systemic. She’d been told, in cold, unfeeling terms, that she hadn’t been enough. People had died, and the only thing that stood between her and collapse had been that barrier, rigid, airtight, absolute.
But then there wasthatcollision.Thatmoment.Thatman.
Nash had never asked for access. He hadn’t knocked. He had simplyappeared, too intense to ignore, too real to override, and somewhere between impact and aftermath, that barrier she’d lived behind for so long had crumbled before her eyes.
Now, instead of a wall that kept her out of everything, she had made space inside it. Without even trying, he had filled it with silence and strength, with steadiness and presence, and maybe, impossibly, with something like hope.
For the first time, she wasn’t alone inside.
What had once been a shell to survive had become a shared interior, something neither of them had expected but both of them had stepped into, breath by breath, touch by touch. It wasn’t just a wall between them and the world anymore. It was a space they were building together, vulnerable, exposed,human, and it would require more courage than anything she’d faced before.
The silence between them pulsed with breath and blood and everything they hadn’t said, everything they couldn’t say without setting the world on fire.