Page 22 of The Intimacy of Skin

I was stuck in shock. I didn’t know what to do except hold onto Crew’s hand as tightly as possible.

I couldn’t let go. Not for lack of strength on his behalf, but mine.

I knew he’d been lying about the real reasoning behind his sex work.

I had an inkling but hearing him say it was still a jolt to my system.

Had he been forced into it? He could’ve meant that differently, and I doubted he’d divulge further.

Still, I had to ask. “You didn’t have a choice?” I repeated, hoping he would elaborate.

He looked shocked, as if he hadn’t meant to say it. It was too late, though. I could see his Adam’s apple bob as his breath hitched, his mouth opening before he was ready to speak. “What else was I gonna do?”

Something about the way his voice wavered got to me. Pressure built in my chest, squeezing around my heart as I looked at the tired man before me.

We’d somehow inched closer to each other during our conversation.

I was a selfish man for wanting to get even closer.

Especially now, with the sadness that loomed just beyond his irises.

I wasn’t sure if he knew how easy it was to read him through his eyes.

They were screaming at me, begging for something.

I didn’t know what, but the man behind the cage Crew kept locked up was on his knees, reaching out to me.

Was I also selfish for wanting the Crew before me to do the same?

“Did someone make you start, Crew?” I kept my voice as close to a whisper as possible.

Any register above that felt disrespectful.

I looked down at our hands, committing the sight to memory while Crew seemed to gather words.

My palm was bigger than his, my fingers longer and smoother.

His were littered with small, white scars that seamlessly blended into his skin.

Almost.

I could see them. I could feel them against my own.

When I noticed his hand start to tremble, I looked up. All the air escaped my lungs when I met Crew’s gaze. The gorgeous blue I had daydreamed about was clouded with storms. Tears filled them, so many they began to pour in steady streams down his face.

I said the wrong thing. Pushed too hard. Crew was sobbing now. Though it was silent, it was no less violent as shakes wracked his frame, making my arm move with him where we were still connected.

I pushed away the last stretch of distance between us, moving forward and pulling him against me at the same time.

Our position was awkward and would usually be uncomfortable. I didn’t care, though. When I settled Crew against me, his face on my shoulder, he let out his first whimpering cry.

It broke my heart. Tears of my own welled up in my eyes. His body trembled beneath my arms as I rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back. I didn’t press further. He was so tense, so ready to defend himself. I felt his body gearing up for a fight, and I refused to make him.

After a few moments, Crew lifted his head, looking at me with something so raw, so painful, so utterly fucking heartbreaking I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.

“I-I’ve never told anyone that before.”

I nodded, not sure what to say.

Crew drew in a shaky breath, letting his eyes close for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, please don’t apologize.” I sighed.

He turned his head, avoiding looking at me directly. “I haven’t let another man touch me like this in years.”

“Like how?”

“Like…” Crew’s voice muffled against my shoulder, his forehead digging into my bone. “Like I’m more than an object. Like I’m human. Like I’m precious, almost. Only Willow and Mom ever held me like this.”

There was so much heartbreak as he said it, coming out in wavering bursts, ending on a barely audible cry. His hurt became mine, melding into one huge glob of ache neither of us could escape. I wanted to take it all.

My hands trembled as I pulled Crew from my shoulder. I held his cheeks in my palms and examined the pain, tracing it from one point to the other, mapping it out like constellations in the sky.

I avoided the sore spots on his face. I refused to hurt him, intentionally or not. Crew was precious. He was more than an object, and he sure as fuck was human. He was human, with emotions and complexities I hoped to understand one day. I wanted to know the meaning behind the ice in his eyes.

Selfishly—seeing as I was always selfish when it came to Crew—I wanted to see more in them when he looked at me. I wanted his attention and his lust. This man had stolen everything I considered sensible about myself and had thrown it to the wind.

His cheeks were rosy and tearstained. They glistened under the living room’s lighting.

He wasn’t moving—wasn’t resisting in my hold, so I took advantage of that.

I noted the imperfections and divots that dotted his face: remnants of teenage acne, a few that looked like chickenpox scars, and a couple of scars I was sure came from clients or a rough childhood game of football or whatever it was kids played in the country.

Fucking art was what I saw.

A testament to everything Christians declared holy and perfect.

Crew’s lips slackened, his lips opening on a muted breath. When I found his eyes again, everything suddenly washed away. The buzzing that’d consistently rattled my bones the entire night halted. I didn’t need a bottomless bottle or to cook a dozen new meals to keep my hands busy.

With all the conviction I could muster, I spoke directly into what I hoped was Crew’s heart and soul.

“Any time someone touches you, it should be like this. Any hand that has the goddamn privilege to feel your body should be nothing but kind to you. You deserve to be held, protected, and cared for. You are so much more than precious, Crew.” I didn’t mean to tighten my hold on his face, but I couldn’t help it.

“You are fucking priceless. Any human within your general vicinity who doesn’t know that or doesn’t treat you as such is an idiot. A monster. Heartless, even. ”

I watched it all filter through him. I saw the moment he took in a breath and how he hadn’t let it out for several seconds.

Oceans of disbelief pooled in his eyes. Crew looked at me as if I had turned his entire world upside down.

And maybe I had.

Shit, I kind of hoped I had.

Finally, he sighed. It was broken and choppy, a cry more than anything, but his chest heaved, and his shoulders slumped. He raised his hands, moving them slowly.

I didn’t dare move. I was afraid that if I did, the moment would shatter, and the ground would fall out from under me.

Gently, ever so fucking gently, Crew mirrored my hands, placing one on each of my cheeks.

His fingertips were a ghost of a touch as he held me.

Flames traveled up my neck, stopping underneath his palms as a blush forced its way ahead.

But then he pulled. This time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t calculated or hesitant.

Crew drew me forward, not stopping until our lips were connected and nothing yet everything made sense. The fire stopped where our lips met, soothing my scorched skin.

It was all-consuming. The very soil that nurtured the Earth and gave me the tools I needed to cook every day fell from under me just like I feared it would. I wasn’t afraid, though.

His lips were chapped. They felt rough against mine. We created a new version of life with just our mouths. Something I knew no one else had ever experienced before. Neither of us moved our hands as we devoured one another.

The first slide of our tongues together had me groaning for more. We moved in sync, responding to each other like we’d done this a million times.

When Crew started to move his hands down the side of my neck, I pulled away. He was panting as much as me; his cheeks flushed a gorgeous pink. I rested our foreheads together, focusing on the connection as I placed my palm against the back of his neck.

“Fuck me, Prince Charming.”

I moved back just enough to look into his eyes. “I don’t do rough.”

“And I don’t do soft. Looks like we’re a match made in hell. ”

He said it with a smirk, but I didn’t find it amusing. I stayed firm, shaking my head. “I mean it, Crew. I won’t hurt you, and you’re already injured.”

His face slackened. The creases on his forehead appeared as he stared straight into me. Ice-cold hands travelled down my neck, resting on top of my shoulders. “I know.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, still unsure that he did.

“I know, but I can’t hold on anymore, Price.” I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, thick and heavy. “It’s so fucking hard when I’m around you. I’m losing my grip, and I’m just so fucking tired.”

I wished I understood what he was talking about. Whatever he was referring to, it pained him. I could see that much. “What do you need?”

“Break me.” His voice was the strongest I’d heard in the last thirty minutes. “Break me in the gentlest fucking way possible. Please .”

There was so much anguish I could feel it crackling in the air between us, yet he looked almost… relieved as he said it.

This would surely be a stupid thing to agree to.

I knew that. If I gave in and had sex with Crew, it wouldn’t just be sex.

The tightness I felt in my chest made that obvious.

I wanted more—needed more—from him. This would be different from any friends with benefits I’d ever had.

Different from any one-night stand I’d used to drown my demons.

Different from any time I’d paid for someone’s body.

As stupid as I knew it would be, I nodded. Tingling began in my fingertips, making its way to my wrists and up along my arms. I had to feel him.

There was no other option.

“Take me to your room, Pretty Boy.”

I watched as light bloomed in his gaze at my request. Crew nodded, simple and curt, before standing. I followed him down a short hallway with three doors.