His voice is barely a whisper. His nerves are palpable, and I know he's desperate to avoid more regret. I never thought he’d blame himself for what happened to me or think he wasn’t worth the danger of what might happen. He’s worth risking everything. He always has been. He saved me more than once, in every way.

His body is perfect in the dim light. The blankets beneath his skin are inky like the ocean. Moonlight spills across his ripped chest and muscular abs, revealing every line.

I place my hand on his neck and trail the pads of my fingers down slowly, tracing the lines of his chest, passing over his taut nipple, and then touching further below. His skin is smooth and warm, his body firm with every muscle corded tight like he’s trying to hold back.

I lean in and press my lips to his ear, whispering, “Relax, Jon.”

His body shivers and tenses before I see him unwind. His fingers uncurl, and he closes his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall for a moment, holding my hand on his flat stomach before sweeping my touch to his side. I trace the lines that disappear beneath his waistband, then pull his shoulder to roll him over. Once he’s face down I look at his back.

I hesitate to touch the scars, but I want to. When I finally reach out, he looks back at me. I stop, frozen, waiting for him to tell me not to do it.

Jon says, “I think I understand.”

I pull my hand back and hold it close to my heart. “Understand what?”

“Why you’re willing to endure the pain to be with me. Why it’s worth it.”

I stare at him, unable to speak, heart pounding in my chest. These aren’t things I talk about—not with anyone.

“Cass, I’m not you, and I’ll never fully know what you’ve been through, but my closest experience would be getting sliced with shrapnel. Given the chance, I’d never exchange that day for anything. I’d do the same thing every time and live with the scars because it was the first day I got close to you. I wanted you to trust me so badly.”

My voice is a whisper, “I know.”

“You wouldn’t even go out with me, not as friends or anything. I realized how much I loved you that day, how I’d do anything for you. I’d dive into that explosion all over again if it made you realize how much I love you. It’s not something you’d ever ask, but all the same, you couldn’t stop me.” He quiets for a moment. Jon’s lying on his side, head propped up slightly with his hand, waiting for me to affirm what he’s said.

I press my lips together and nod, unable to speak. He’s watching me from the covers, sitting lower than me, spread out like a bronzed god on the deck looking up at me with that beautiful face. The corner of his mouth lifts into a slight smile as he reaches out and touches my hand with his finger.

“You’re right,” I say. “It’s not that different. I want my life to be a certain way, despite what’s happened. I won’t stop living because of it. I won’t give up. These scars,” I reach for him, touch my finger to his back, to one of the raised welts, “marred you forever, but to me, they make you more beautiful. I can still see your face in my mind, the way you helped everyone, not caring about yourself. That was the first time I saw the genuine Jonathan Ferro. Every time I see these scars, it reminds me that man is in this body. When it comes down to it, you’ll fight to save the people around you.”

His face lights up with humble satisfaction. I see him, even through all that bravado. The next part is hard to say, but I plow through it. He needs to know.

“Save me, Jon. Figure things out with me. Be an awkward lover with me so we can get to whatever comes after that.” I’m well aware of how hot my face feels, how red I must be. My hands are on his arm, sliding up and down, tracing the muscles corded tight beneath his skin.

This man has no idea his heart is vulnerable, raw. He’s driven to save everyone except himself. That’s the way he’s been since I met him, but I don’t think either of us realized it then. I didn’t see it until the day of Jack Gray’s exhibit at the museum. I was a fool and nearly lost the best man I’ve ever met in my entire life because I assumed I knew everything. I was wrong. I knew nothing about him. But today is different. He’s kind and compassionate, to a fault. He’d give a stranger the shirt off his back and not ask a single question. That smile covers a multitude of scars, and his laugh masks the pain flowing through memories I wish I could take away.

Jon’s eyes lift and meet mine. The way he looks at me makes me want to lean in and kiss him. We stay like that for a moment before he lies down again, and I continue tracing the rises and falls of his body across his muscular shoulders and down to his waist.

I slant toward him and place a kiss on the small of his back, lingering there for a moment. I want to press my cheek to his back and hold him, but I don’t. Not right now.

My curls brush across his skin when I sit up. I notice his happy shiver, the same as before. He likes that sensation, so I lean forward and do it again. My hair lightly touching his skin, grazing over it in a light caress. He moans my name in response.

I reach for his arm and roll him over to face me. When I do, Jon looks up, his face a combination of adoration and longing. I lean down until my lips are almost to his and smile. I pull away without giving him the kiss he thought he was getting, and drag the tips of my curls over his washboard stomach. I follow it by doing the same thing with the tips of my fingers, barely touching his skin, and feeling him draw in jagged breaths as I pass over his body.

I tug my dress over my head and toss it aside. As my hands reach up for my bra, I say, “It’s my turn.”

His eyes open, flashing with emotion. I toss the lingerie aside and sit there for a moment. The wind blows my hair over my shoulder, covering me. Jon sits up slowly. There’s so much conflict on his face that I wonder if he’ll do it. He reaches out and lets his hand hover in the air for so long I think he’ll say no, but he finally lowers his palm to my shoulder. His strong hand strokes my skin, jarring memories I wish I could banish. It would help hold them at bay if he spoke, if he used his voice to keep me in the present.

I tell him so. “Please talk to me. I need to hear your voice.”

Jon begins to describe what he wants to do to me. His lips sweep my neck, whispering into my ear, “I want to feel every inch of you beneath my hands. I love your soft skin and your scent. God, Cassie… You light me up and steal my breath. You make me whole in a way I thought I’d never be.” He leans in, touching his lips to my shoulder. “I’ve wanted to kiss this spot since I met you.”

He begins trailing his perfect lips over my skin and retelling our story, kiss by kiss. He doesn’t touch my breasts until he’s caressed and kissed every inch of my back, shoulders, and down to my waist. At some point, they’re the only part he hasn’t touched.

Jon hesitates, looking at the mounds of soft flesh as I lie back in the blankets. I take his hands in mine and place them on my waist. “I wanted you to do this once before.”

“I remember.” He seems afraid, timid. The wind blows his hair gently, reminding me of the arrogant boy who used to look out at me from behind those eyes, of innocence lost. Despite that, the man who’s above me now is so much better than he realizes. Jon is stronger, kinder, and better despite all of it.

“You won’t ruin me.” I tangle my hands in his hair on the side of his head for a moment, enjoying the sensation. “I won’t blame you for seducing me.”

“Me?” he laughs and sounds truly happy. “You seduced me, fully, completely. I’d die happy right now, and I've barely touched you.”

I place my hands over his and move them slowly up my sides. I feel him hesitate during their ascent. “Then touch me. I want you to feel me, all of me.”

He nods slowly, the movement making his dark hair fall into his blue eyes. He doesn’t push it away. Instead, I take my hands away, and he slides his palms over me. His hands feel warm and strong against my skin. I place my hands over my head and watch him.

After cupping me, he draws back and moves. He's lying on his side, looking down at me, tracing my curves with his finger. He circles my breast from base to tip, before doing the same to the other side. I don’t think ahead, and I don’t think back. I’m here, now, with him, and I realize I still want more. I’ve never had anyone treat me like this before. I feel cherished. It’s not fucking, and he’s not using me. Love and adoration motivate his actions. His fingers trace me, touching me lighting over and over again making the warmth in my belly coil tighter, and want more than skin on skin.

I tangle my hands in his hair and breathe, “Kiss me.”

When his lips come down on mine, I arch my back, pressing my chest against his firm body. As our tongues tangle together, the heat I’ve been feeling finally starts touching forbidden places.

I feel alive. I don’t want to hide from him. I want all of me against all of him. I want his hands on me, his lips tasting me, and I want him inside of me.

I reach for his pants and undo the button, followed by the zipper. I slip them off along with his boxers and wrap my hand around his hard length. It's so warm and perfect in my hand. I close my palm around him and move my wrist in a way that makes him moan.

I watch his body writhe, and those narrow hips buck into my hand with a controlled rhythm. There’s an expression on his face I’ve never seen before. As I continue to work him, sliding my hand up and down over his shaft, I watch how he reacts. His lips part and he’s completely relaxed. His guard is down with no walls in sight. He trusts me completely, and I find I’m almost jealous. I don’t know how to do that.

His eyes flick open and he shifts, pushing me to the bottom and breathing harder than before. “You’ll make me come if you keep doing that.”

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” I smile, and he presses a kiss to my nose.

“Yes, but not yet. Can I touch you, Cassie? Do you want me to?” He lingers there, studying me. His hand is at my waist, above my panties. He’s waiting for me to say yes. He won’t move unless I say he can. It’s strange having a man want to do things to me to make me feel good.

I slip my hand over his and lower it. It lowers beneath my waistline, and he rests his palm there just above the place that’s warm and ready for his touch. In the back of my mind, warnings bells start to chime:

It’ll hurt. You’ll cry. He’ll leave. Don’t do this. You can’t survive the rejection—

I silence the worries by pulling his mouth down onto mine. I get lost in the kiss and let it fill my head. Soon my hips are swaying, lifting toward his hand, and I hear my voice making noises I don’t make. But it’s me.

My eyes flutter between open and closed before Jon’s hand slips between my lower lips very carefully. He strokes me, pressing a single finger against my core and sweeping upward toward my belly. His eyes bore into mine as he does it making me feel exposed, completely raw. In response, my heart pounds harder, and my past nightmares rear their ugly heads.

They grab my throat hard, and I nearly start crying. “Talk to me, Jon. Say something and don’t stop. I need to hear your voice.”

Jon stills his hand. “Of course, I shouldn’t have stopped telling you how much I love you. How much I want you. Cassie, you make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You’ve put this massive amount of hope inside me, and I’m worried it’s going to explode. I have a cheesy smile on my face that won’t go away. This voice I’m speaking with is cheerful. Cassie, I’ve never been happy, I mean truly elated before, and certainly not for this long. It’s because of you. It’s because of your smile, and your touch. It’s from your kiss and your caress.” He continues to speak and at some point, his hand begins to move again.

His fingers stay outside, cupping me, gently passing over my lips until my eyes close and I relax fully. His words feel like a song chasing away the demons. It’s just us. As he whispers in my ear, his finger slips inside, past my seam, pressing against that sensitive spot. He stays still for a moment, allowing me to adjust to the sensation.

His lips press against my cheek for a moment, before he says, “Tell me what you want.”

My eyes flick open, and I look at him.

A sheepish look crosses his face. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell if this is hellish or if you like it. You’re all scrunched up, and too quiet. I can stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to insist on doing this, even if it makes you sick and causes you pain.” He begins to pull his hand away, but I place mine over it and stop him.

“That’s not it. I haven’t done anything like this. Well, I’ve done this, just not this way. I like your hands on me. I’m wondering if I’ll like more, what it’ll feel like.”

“Do you want me to slip my finger all the way inside, Cass?”

I nod.

He shakes his head, “I’m not risking anything unless I hear your voice. You have to say it, baby. Tell me what you want. Tell me what to do, how hard, and when to stop.” He’s watching me closely.

Worry pinches the corners of his eyes, and I know sex is going to need to be like this for a while. He doesn’t trust himself, and I don’t know where my line is, or if there is one. Part of it depends on what Jon does and how he does it.

Watching his eyes, I tell him, “I want it.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to rub me, the way you were, gently. I liked that.” I feel so strange saying this out loud. I’d rather drink Drano than play this weird version of truth or dare.

The awkwardness doesn't last long, though. I’m wet, and the way Jon moves his finger over me is too arousing to ignore. I tip my head back, close my eyes, and let my hands fall to my side.

“Cassie, you can’t do that.” His hand slows. I moan, holding onto it. “Stay with me. Tell me when to stop and what to do. I’d love it if I knew exactly what to do, but I don’t. You have to tell me what you want.”

I look up into his face and want to kiss him. “I love you,” I say.

He smiles boyishly. “I love you, too.”

“Do you think it feels the same?” He doesn’t understand so I elaborate. “This, you touching me, compared to the way I was touching you.”

He grins. “I’m not sure. Do you like it?”

I nod and remember to speak. “Yes, I like it a lot. I want you to slip a finger inside of me.” My hand is on his arm, almost like I don’t want him to, as if I’m holding him back.

“Are you sure?” He glances at it too. “There’s plenty of time, Cassie.”

I squeeze his forearm. “I want to know if it feels good or if it makes me want to cry. I want to know.”

Jon nods and his gaze drops with grief. The only way to find out if he’ll hurt me is to do it. Jon swallows hard and the lump on his throat bobs. He sweeps his finger gently over me once, then again, before placing it just above my core. His eyes lock on mine, and I don’t mean to, but my hand is on his arm again, ready to make him stop.

“Tell me.” His voice is gentle, careful. “I won’t know if you don’t say anything.”

I nod and force myself to speak even though my voice is tight, even though panic is racing through my body, ready to rip me in half. “I’ll tell you. I’m nervous, that’s all. Nothing hurt up to this point and hearing your voice helps keep my mind out of the past. I like it when you talk to me.” I smile nervously at him.

Jon smiles back. “I love talking to you. And I know this is hard. It’s difficult for me as well, Cass. I’ve wanted you for so long and now that I can have you, well, I don’t want this to be clinical, but I think it has to be right now.”

I nearly choke on a laugh. “This isn’t how gynecological visits go, Jon. If they did, every doctor in the city would have a line from here to Jersey with eager women waiting for appointments. It’s not clinical,” I assure him, “but it is different. Will you pet me for a moment, and then try?”

He nods thoughtfully, keeping those sapphire eyes locked on mine. As his hand moves against me, I feel the tension fade away. He says sweet things in my ear, his warm breath washing across my face as he runs his gentle touch between my lower lips. My eyelids feel heavy until he slips his finger inside. I stiffen and yelp, my spine going ramrod straight.

He immediately tries to pull back, but I stop him. “It doesn’t hurt. I just…” My heart feels like it’s going to explode. Regret gives way to relief, and I start crying.

Jon pulls his hand away and cradles me in his arms. He’s crooning in my ear, apologizing. “It’ll be all right, baby. I’ve got you. Nothing will hurt you.” He kisses my head and continues saying comforting things as I shiver in his arms.

I don’t understand. My body reacted wrong. My mind was okay with it. The long scar inside me didn’t make me want to puke. Jon's hand felt good. Then with a single touch, everything changed and I’m a shaking blubbering mess.

Jon wipes the tears away and kisses my cheek as he holds me tight. I rest my head against his chest and stare out at the sea.

I don’t know how to fix this. At one time this didn’t happen to me. I thought if I loved Jon things would be okay, that we could work it out. I never thought my mind might rewire itself over the years, but it must have. It’s like my body bypassed my brain. That tender touch shorted me out, and I feel like he did the same thing as Mark.

That’s why the tears fall.

That’s why I can’t stop them.

I know Jon won’t let me try this more than a few times. It hurts him, too. It’s too much to ask anyone, especially since I’m not convinced getting through this is even possible. I always thought that one day, with the right guy, I’d cross the lake of torment and land on the other side. There’s one question burning my tongue, one thought I’m too afraid to ask.

What if there is no other side?