Page 56 of The Fates We Tame

“I trust you,” Sophia says.

I know she’s my fake wife, but I feel like she might take my heart anyway.

My fingers are clumsy as fuck when I grip her hips and pull her back between my legs.

I’ve stitched a man, threaded a needle, and I can’t figure out how to do this simple task. Now is not the time to overthink it, but I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do any of that again.

My fingers struggle to pinch and grip the zipper, but we don’t rush. I take in the way the ends of her hair flutter slightly. How smooth her skin feels beneath my knuckle as I drag the zipper down her back.

I’ve got no idea how long it’s been since I fucked a woman, but my guess is it’s been even longer since I made love to one. Just sitting here with Sophia in front of me feels more special than that.

When her zipper is lowered, I turn her around and look up at her. Her pretty eye is on me. She releases her hair, and it falls in a dark waterfall.

I slide my fingertips along the smooth skin of her collarbones, but as I’m just about to push the straps off her shoulders, she stops me.

“It’s not pretty…you know. The scars and things. I don’t want you to…don’t look too closely.”

I don’t know how to express to her just how much it doesn’t matter to me in words I think she’ll believe. I have to believe she won’t think less of me if the movement on my left side never returns to normal.

“We’re both a bit broken, Soph. Let me see the broken parts of you, and I’ll share the broken bits of me with you too. Maybe our broken pieces will fit.”

“Jesus, Theo,” she says, swiping beneath her eyes with her fingertips. “Stop. Unless you want me a bawling mess.”

“I’ll settle for crying out my name.”

She hiccups and laughs. “Kiss me, already,” she says.

I settle my palms either side of her neck, my thumbs brushing her jawline, and do as she instructs.

I could happily waste a lifetime or two kissing Sophia Viscuso. She’s a fast study for someone who confessed they don’t really remember kissing. And I need to remember that I’m effectively holding a virgin in my arms. She doesn’t remember what this feels like, how much it is possible to share with another person. She can’t remember the first lick, suck, or slide. Or the feel of skin against skin.

Her tongue is gentle against mine, a tentative exploration, and for a moment I let her lead.

But there is a moment when her tits press against my chest.

When my cock is trapped between the two of us.

That instinct takes over.

I ache for her.

This time, she doesn’t object when I slip the straps off her shoulders. We wiggle the dress to the ground, but I keep my eyes on her face. Not because I don’t want to look at her body.

I do.

But because I acknowledge that she’s insecure about the way she looks right now. My hope is that, over time, I can convince her to see herself the way I do.

With confident fingers that belie their physical limitations, I pop the clasp on her bra and let it drop to the floor.

I brush over the rippled skin and the smooth scars. The ridges affect me but not in the way Sophia worries. They tell me what a warrior she is. Worry floods me. We need to understand the truth of what happened to her that day. We need to know the long-term implications for her health. We need to know how to work within her limitations to continue to build her strength.

Thewein all that doesn’t scare me.

I press my lips to the side of her neck, taking in the scent of her. Sophia tips her head, and I trace the line to her ear, where I gently bite her lobe.

She shivers against me, and I grin. “Like it?” I ask.

“Love it,” she replies.