My arm shook as I tucked it behind my head. I reveled in the aftershocks trying to wrap my mind around Hannah . . . what we had together. Each time we had sex it was far more explosive, far more intense than the time before.
Hannah slept peacefully on her side with her back to me. The tips of my fingers brushed over the curve of her hip. Her legs stirred underneath the sheet. It was a bizarre feeling having everything fade away and appreciating the quiet. The house definitely wasn’t quiet this weekend. We’d spent the majority of it in bed and as much as I enjoyed the sex, the great sex—I craved our talks equally.
It was one thing to want Hannah in my bed; it was a completely different matter to want her conversation. I was greedy. I wanted both.
I appreciated her honesty and how open she was with me. With Hannah, nothing was off-limits. We were two people who had gone through the same hell, but somehow we’d found one another.
Tomorrow morning she would leave and I wasn’t sure when I’d see her again. Two days would be too long. A week would feel like years. Every moment that Hannah wasn’t in my arms I’d wish that she was right here with me.
Stolen moments were all we had. Given the current situation, all I could do was soak up these last hours we had together.
Part of me wondered if we should stop seeing each other. It was getting harder and harder for me to control stealing glimpses of her at games or talking to her after practices when she picked up Luke. How long until someone figured us out? This might be too risky.
My eyes studied the string of numbers tattooed down her spine. It looked like coordinates. A tiny cross with a lasso and a heart decorated the space above her right elbow. Script font, “One day at a time” was tattooed on the top of her right shoulder. She had a gray feather tattoo on her right side just under her breast. That one was my favorite.
When my fingers traced over the feather, she rolled over dragging the sheet over her chest. “Can I help you?”
I nodded, my eyes falling to her lips as I continued my trail along her body. It was the middle of the night and I wasn’t the least bit tired, although I should be exhausted at my age. Somehow Hannah made me feel younger, invigorated.
I levered onto my elbow. “Tell me about your tattoos.” My fingers traced over her wrist “What does this say? It’s Italian, yeah?”
Hannah sat up and the sheet fell away from her body. She glanced down at the tiny tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. “It says, La vita è bella, la vita è amore. And yes, it is Italian. The English translation is, ‘Life is beautiful, life is love.’”
I grasped her right wrist tapping the ink. “And this one, I recognize the date. Are those Luke and Logan’s initials?”
“Yes,” she answered, tracing my finger over the ink.
I smiled stroking the pad of my thumb over the ink. “Tell me about all your ink.”
“I started getting tattoos when I was seventeen,” she began. “These two intersecting arrows here are for Ryleigh and me. It means sisters and we got them when went to that music festival that I told you about.”
My eyes dropped to smooth expanse of skin on right wrist, “Ahh, yes, I remember. Two rebel sisters.”
Her fingers brushed down my cheek. “That’s me. I think if you feel it, you should just go for it. I’m really into symbolism—all my ink is based on symbolism. That’s why my tattoos are all very sneaky. The one down my spine is the coordinates for my bucket list vacation in Costa Rica. I am very much a gypsy soul at heart. I didn’t get to travel when I was younger raising two kids and all, but I want to travel the world, and now I have the opportunity if I want.”
I bent to kiss the feather tattoo. “This one is my favorite.”
“Mmm,” she sighed. “The feather symbolizes my freedom.” Hannah flopped back onto the pillow. “That was my second tattoo. This is reflective of the whole overprotective mother thing. She suffocated us. We lived outside a college campus because Dad was a professor. Fun fact: my mom is my dad’s second wife.”
My brows lifted.
“It’s not a secret, although our mother would prefer that people didn’t know. Ryleigh and I call it second wife syndrome. Dad was married to his first wife for a year and then he met our mom. Rumor has it, when Dad was a teaching assistant Mom seduced him for a better grade. She knew he was married and didn’t give a crap—all to get a better grade. Yeah, so she arranges flowers at the church in her pastel twin-sets and pearls pretending that she hasn’t committed any sinful acts in her whole life. Ryleigh and I think that’s why she was so overprotective.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, so picture this, you’re a teenage girl about to go on a date. Mom would lecture us—if you get pregnant before marriage your life will be ruined. So you’re thinking typical strict mom shit, a little dramatic, but typical. Then you find out that your dad was married before your mom. What? Mind blown, and so you start to dig. Our mom is a homewrecker—and she knows it. Her guilt is the reason she kept Ryleigh and me under lock and key. So imagine her surprise when I got knocked up before I was married.”
I shrugged. “You were in love with your high school sweetheart—nothing wrong with that at all.” My eyes scanned the rest of her body, and I wondered about the script and geometric shapes on her biceps and forearms, but I wasn’t going to push because I wasn’t entitled to her life story. When Hannah was ready to share, she would.
“Uh, yeah, but the shit hit the fan,” she said, covering her face. “I finished college, barely. Carter and I got married at the courthouse and we moved into together. We lived in this small one bedroom apartment, and our neighbors cooked the worst food. It made the entire floor smell. It was not good with my pregnancy and nausea.”
“I bet not. First places are the worst.”
“Uh, huh.” Her brows lifted, and she smiled. “I am sure that with that big NFL contract your first place was a real dive.”
“Well, for your information, we bought this charming little bungalow in this trendy neighborhood. The real estate agent said it would be perfect for a young couple like us with shops, restaurants and nightlife. The only problem was that the parking was terrible and the streets were packed day and night. People would get drunk and come knocking on our door at all hours of the night. So it wasn’t particularly pleasant.”
I dragged Hannah closer to me tucking her against my chest.
“That would have annoyed me to no end.” She looked up at me, her eyes were heavy-lidded and sleepy. My mouth sought hers. No tongue. No teeth. No biting. Only my lips pressed to hers.
“We should get some sleep,” I whispered into her hair.
She hummed in response, scratching her nails over my abdomen. After a few moments, I felt her relax. Her breathing was low and even.
I laid there in the dark unable to sleep. I needed more time. Stolen moments were never going to be enough with Hannah. Not even close.
I was completely fucking wrecked for this woman.