Page 123 of Hurt

Bright amber eyes glared up at her with a mixture of lust and something very, very close to possession.

“This is mine,” he growled so low that Willow felt the rumble in her legs.

Then dropped his head between her thighs, and Willow had to bite down on her tongue to keep from crying out.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but it didn’t matter because it wasRoland.Her Roland.

He licked and sucked until Willow couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Kiss me, please, kiss me now. I want you to—”

Roland covered her lips in kisses. She could taste herself in the kiss, but any thoughts she had about that died the moment Roland licked into her mouth, and his strong hands slipped down into her slick sex. Even his clumsy movements felt good. Fingers curling in the right spots, taunting and teasing until her legs were shaking. The push and pull of his rings and callouses mixed with the wet kiss sent Willow careening.

She cried out as she climaxed, mouth parted against Roland, and thighs clamped around him to hold him close. Her entire body shuddered, and Roland held her through it before kissing the post-orgasm whines from her lips.

Her stomach was a sticky mess, smearing between their bodies in an unpleasantly wet way.

Roland had come with her, one hand on her and one on himself.

Willow was boneless. Limp on the table with her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of Roland and the undeniable smell of sex that hovered around them. She was trembling with the explosion of emotions and her release. She couldn’t form words even if she wanted to.

Roland’s face materialized in front of her, and then he was wiping tears from her cheeks.

“You’re crying,” he said with his delicate eyebrows pulled together in worry.

Willow couldn’t speak, but she nodded. She was crying. Big fat tears were being wrenched from the innermost part of her body. They blurred her vision and dripped down to the table. A sob wracked out of her, and she reached for Roland. Without having to ask, she was bundled into those strong arms and picked up. She found the crook of Roland’s neck and cried into it.

She didn’t realize when Roland put her in bed or finished undressing him. She didn’t even notice when a wet rag wiped her down.

There was a painful feeling in her chest. The kind of pain that comes with healing. Like when a crooked bone has to be broken so it can heal. Years of loneliness were being stripped from her body, and a newfound joy was being written in. Stitched into the very fabric of her soul.

Kurt was on his way to being okay. Noah was safe and could come back to them.

And Roland wanted her.

Willow reached out and felt that strong chest that she so loved.

The hole in her heart was gone. She wasn’t lonely anymore.

Grant toweled his hair dry. His vision was filled with terry cloth as he walked across the loft. His feet hardly made a sound against the solid floor.

He let the damp towel fall around his shoulders as he rested his elbows against the wooden railing. This was his favorite spot in the house. Until recently, the view never changed. The old, crocheted blanket moved around the leather couch, and sometimes there were dishes in the sink, but the landscape didn’t change. His furniture wasn’t alive. They took up space, but they didn’t fill the space. Not the way Kurt did.

“Mother fucking son of a bitch ass fuck,” Kurt swore.

Some days he filled up the space more than others.

Grant grinned as he watched the purple-haired man struggle with his bandages. He was standing in the living room looking at the full-length mirror hung on the bathroom door. His shirt was off, and the stark white bandages wrapped around his ribs were taped on the back. Kurt was trying to reach it, but his fractured ribs were keeping him from reaching behind him. His face was twisted in pain, and Grant could see beads of sweat beginning to pepper his forehead with the effort.

Stubbornly, Kurt continued to reach for it. Hissing when he pushed too far, and the pain became unmanageable.

“You could ask for help,” Grant called out from his perch.

Kurt shifted in the mirror so he could glare at Grant.

There it was. That look. Kurt wore a lot of different masks to hide his true face, but Grant had learned that this one was real. The one where his lips were pressed into a thin line, the left side quirked up ever so slightly in a scowl. His eyes radiated a deep kind of irritation from behind a half-lidded stare. It was an ‘I hate you and everyone in this fucking room’ kind of look, and Grant loved it.

He loved it for its honesty. He loved it because it was unique.