Note: stepping outside my comfort zone to play around with character intimacy.
His eyes dropped to the scar and, my breath coming in short bursts, I watched him watch me. My hate for the thing perching it’s way across my chest grew. A hate I kept locked away, refusing to let it control me. I never covered it up. Not on purpose. If the shirt I chose showed it off so be it. If the knotted mound of flesh where it started peaked out from the shoulder of my school shirt, well, so what?
Jared’s gaze, blue and molten, flicked up to my face to catch my eye, and something there shifted. With a slowness that made my lungs stop working, he brushed his fingers against the knotted edge of the scar, then ducked his head and kissed it. Soft, chaste, and heated. He kissed it again. And again. And again. Trailing kisses along the length of the jagged scar. As if his lips could knit the flesh back together.
He touched my face, trailing one finger down my cheek, across the matching scar there, thinner and less obvious—but still marring a track down the side of my face. He stared at it almost reverently and I watched, unable to breathe or think as he lavished my flaws with attention. With soft touches and kisses he made me feel beautiful; and he was once again my knight in shinning armour, rescuing me from the bloodiness of my past.