"Absolutely Not."

Chapter 21: Raw

With his face still buried in the crook of my neck, giving the sensitive skin there a quick nibble to earn himself a gasp to escape my lips, his free hand that was not gripped onto my hip found the end of my sleeve and tugged it down past my wrist. I didn't even think twice about bending my arm to pull it free of the fabric, revealing imperfect skin nobody had seen in over a year.

He triggered another shivering ripple of goosebumps to erupt by a heavenly sweep from his calloused hand, barely brushing against the bare skin, and just by the simple gesture, I rested my forehead against his chest with a groan.

His other hand released its strong grip on my hip and began working on the remaining sleeve, and his greedy digits completely slipped the sweatshirt completely over my head, leaving me in just pants and my bra.

He breathlessly uttered just one word before his lips found mine again, "Fuck," and I pulled him into me with my hands on either side of his neck. Shirt forgotten by our feet, he wasted no time in shedding off his own shirt to add to the accumulating pile.

Needing more of me, those deprived hands of his hoisted me up by the waist just level enough to where he could then slide a ravenous palm to my more than willing thigh that was already wrapping around his midsection. I barely even breathed a single breath before his feet began to carry us the short distance onto his bed.

I swore he did it just to prove that he could.

And fuck did it work in turning me on more.

In quick succession, my back met his mattress with a soft 'oof', his and my sweatpants merged with the rest of our garments, and my eyes stayed glued onto the shiny disfigurement to his skin, almost in horror.

I shouldn't have run.

I could've done more.

I should have stayed and fought and maybe the scars that now served as a harsh reminder of him almost dying, wouldn't be as severe. Maybe they wouldn't lick all the way to his chin or expand past his navel, but they did, and I felt entirely at fault.

His voice brought me back, reeling me into reality with a subdued tone and a gingerly placed hand on my cheek. "Better not be feelin' bad for me."

"I am a little."

"Don't."

His hand glided against the skin of my arm matching the flesh that now engulfed the vast majority of his torso. "Better not ask me if it still hurts."

A small smirk twisted my lips. "I won't."

His fingers squeezed into my cheeks, forcing me to lock eyes with him as he hovered above me. Our noses touched as he leaned in so dangerously close again to whisper, "Good girl."

I felt how much he'd missed me through his underwear as he intentionally grinded his hips against mine, and it was now my turn to mutter out a desperate, "fuck," as his bulge rubbed against my aching sex.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," Simon murmured as his lips brushed against mine. "Or tell me to keep going, and fuck, Kels, I'll keep going."

Wordlessly, I told him exactly what I wanted as I planted my mouth against his, closing that minuscule proximity, and all of the doubt-filled thoughts that were plaguing both of our minds melted away in an instant.

It was as if there had not been a huge gap in time between now and before Russia. We remembered every divot in each curvature of muscle and where to touch or kiss in order to elicit the softest of sighs.

My bra was next to go, unlatched by his deft fingers and flung blindly, his hand didn't miss a beat in kneading the soft tissue or twisting my erect nipples, our breathing becoming more labored with each second our final layer of thin clothing stayed on.