TARA

The grey light of dawn, filtering in through the grimy window of Tommy's bedroom wakes me. We've moved apart during the night, and he's sleeping beside me now, laying on his back. I'm still wearing all my clothes, but my shoes came off while I slept. One of them is poking me in the thigh, the other is who knows where.

Tommy undressed at some point during the night, since he's lying next to me in just his boxers, the covers tangled up in his legs, his torso bare, the muscles all hard despite his relaxed position. His stomach is ripped, more of an eight pack really, rippling like calm ocean waves with his even breaths.

His chest is covered with tattoos, some of which I can make out right away, but others would require a closer examination. There's the cross tattoo, hanging on a drawing of a silver chain. The real cross slid off his chest while he slept and is lying on the pillow by his neck. A pair of hands drawn together in prayer adorn his left side.

The sight of his naked body is making my stomach clench, but not in a bad way, not at all. A seething warmth resides in my belly, anticipation and desire prominent among the many different emotions and sensations coursing through me. I've never touched a man because I wanted to. But I want to touch Tommy. I want to touch his warm skin, feel his strength beneath my fingers.

I reach out and stroke his abs, my fingertips barely touching his skin, yet the jolt of electricity that courses through me is almost strong enough to make me yank my hand back. Almost. Because the initial burn subsides, turns into a pleasant warmth that slowly filters through my entire body. It makes me bolder, so I touch him again, caress his chest, his bulging arms, trace the outline of his snake tattoo. Snakes don't frighten me. In fact, I think they're beautiful.

A sprinkling of dark hair forms a line from his bellybutton down into his boxers. The happy trail, and it's the only soft part on his entire body. He's so strong. Nothing and no one could stand in his way. He sighs, shifts a little, and I jerk my hand back from touching his stomach.

"No, don't stop," he mutters, his voice muffled with sleep, his eyes barely open. But he's grinning at me, and my cheeks burn. Air is catching in my throat, and I suddenly don't know if I'm breathing right or I forgot how to. It's just a panic attack, I know them well, and I don't want it now. I want to keep touching him, feel this warmth spreading through my body, maybe even follow the happy trail down to where it ends. But the more I fight it, the harder my heart beats, the worse the whooshing in my ears becomes, and less and less air gets into my lungs.

He sits up and takes hold of my arms gently. I can see him looking at me, but his face is blurry like I'm looking at him through a rain soaked window. He kisses me, slowly, gently, and the desire to flee is suddenly the farthest thing from my thoughts. The darkness in my mind is receding, my heart no longer banging in my ears, my blood no longer whooshing like it wants to all flow out of me at once.

I open my lips a little more, so he can kiss me deeper. His hand is caressing my side, the other still holding onto my arm. His lips leave mine, travel down my cheek, making me gasp, forget to breathe all over again as they find my neck, barely touching my skin there, yet igniting such sparks I'm sure I'll burst into flames. I don't feel used as he kisses me, don't want to run and hide, don't want to pretend it's happening to someone else. For the first time in my life, I want a man to keep kissing me.

His hand gets bolder, passes over my breasts, right before he begins undoing the buttons of my shirt. They cause him no problem, and before I realize it, cool air is hitting my naked chest. His hands move behind me, the clasp holding my bra popping open with a barely perceptible sound.

His lips trace a path down my neck until he's kissing the soft flesh of my breast as his fingers play with my nipple. Desire is warring with fear in my mind now, curdled memories rising to the surface, twisted like dry rosebush branches covered in thorns coiling around this sweet kernel of pleasure in its purest form, which is exactly what it always should've been all there was. But it wasn't. It never was. And the darkness is winning.

My fingers dig into his arms, my hands aching from the effort of squeezing so tight. I feel so naked, so afraid of the terror, of the darkness those memories are conjuring up.

He stops kissing me and looks at me, runs his hands up and down my arms. "Had enough?"

Everything in his face is telling me he wants more, that he's not ready to stop. His eyes are calm and inviting, assuring me no bad thing will happen here, not while I'm with him. But the memories are stronger, they're too dark.

I just shrug, my mouth refusing to form the word yes. Because I'd love more. My broken mind just can't handle it.

He lays back down and pulls me along. I squeeze into his side, lay my arm across his strong body, press as close to him as I can. Because that's the only thing that'll chase away those memories. I know it will. I just have to breathe and hold onto him, and it'll all be alright.

* * *

TOMMY

It's such a huge thing I promised her. It sounded like a naïve line in my head, but became such a serious thing, so possible when I spoke the words. And the way she latched onto it… She grabbed it about as hard as she's holding onto me now, her whole body pressed so close to me it's not just hot, it burns.

I'm sure at least half of the women I've slept with until now had abusive upbringings. Maybe even more than that. But I've never met anyone this messed up by it. The way she told me about it, her voice so cold and collected, like a stone statue speaking, like it's a done deal that she'll never be loved by anyone, like she's not the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and deserves love. It just tore right through me, left me speechless.

What I promised her wasn't just some line. All I want to do is erase those bad memories from her mind, give her so many good ones, she'll forget all of the old. It'd help if she didn't keep pushing me away. Maybe I should Google this stuff. But no, I've never needed a manual for how to be with a woman and I don't now. Not with her.

It seems like all my past experience with women has led me to this moment, prepared me for helping Tara. Because underneath her cold assessment of her problem, was this sad little cry for help. So, I'll just have to step up.

I have a shit load of things to do today, like going to see Jerry and making sure everything is up and running. Now that Shade is gunning for me, I need that insurance more than ever. Then I should go see Ian and tell him what I know. Sara will bitch and moan about it, probably won't speak to me for awhile, but I made promises to Ian, and I intend to keep them. Then I have to go see Shade and make sure the fight last night doesn’t escalate any further. But I'll leave that for last.

That is, if I'll even get out of bed today. Because all I really want to do is lie here with Tara in my arms. All else will keep. This is my most important errand.