Bare by Raijahn [Reviews - 6]

Itís the soft touches that wake you. Feather light kisses, fingers stroking gently, a warm body shifting carefully next to you.

Thereís no sudden remembrance, no jolt of fear, no Ďoh my godí moment. You wake with the knowledge of exactly who is in your bed, and the corners of your lips curve up into the barest of smiles.


Itís been building between the two of you for months. Attraction, need, desire. Finally exploding into the most intense and passionate encounter youíve ever experienced.

What made it better, what made it more than sex, was quite simply the affection, caring and friendship between you. It was in Gregís touch, in his voice, his eyes. So much so that you knew this wasnít an casual one night stand.

You want to kiss him badly right now, but you donít want to interrupt his gentle exploration of your body. You want to see where, and how far, heíll take it.

You remember your scars the same instant that Greg finds them, his body going still and his breath drawn in harshly, and you have to fight to keep from stiffening or opening your eyes.

Fine, pale white lines on the insides of your wrists. Normally covered up but even not, not so easily seen.

Greg continues to touch you, but his touch has grown hesitant and light. You know him well enough to understand that itís only because he doesnít want to hurt you, not because heís afraid or disgusted by them.

Greg draws your hand up and the soft, fervent kiss he places over the scars make your eyes burn.

No oneís ever been this gentle with you before and it doesnít surprise you at all that itís Greg whoís treating you this way.

Opening your eyes you reach up and tangle the fingers of your other hand in Gregís hair, gazing up at him with more feeling than youíve expressed before. He sees you looking at him and holds your hand tighter, pressing the palm to his cheek.

ďWhy?Ē he whispers softly, his thumb stroking slowly back and forth over the faintly ridged scars.

You understand what heís asking, and why, and draw him back down into your arms. Attempting to explain how hard, and how necessary, it was for you to hide who you were from your frat brothers, from the discrimination and prejudice that you grew up with in Texas.

Greg listens quietly, watching you with gentle eyes, brushing fingers and lips over scars long healed. You donít have to hide anymore, your bare wrists only prove it.
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