“Your father told me,” he breathes, his eyes never leaving my scar. I can’t tell if he’s afraid of it or disgusted by it, and I part my lips with a worried breath as he speaks. Just as the sound leaves me, his eyes close and he leans down, kissing the dark pink of the center of my scar, the deep line that draws nearly the length of where my ribs meet. “I went to see him, to find out why…” Andrew swallows, his lips dusting against my body as he speaks, his strong arms holding him above me. “I just needed answers—why you didn’t write, why they lied to you. He told me. And as much as I wish you were the one who told me, I also understand why you didn’t. You were afraid of dying, Emma. And your father was afraid of you dying, too. I…” Andrew’s voice breaks, and his eyes finally lift to mine. “I would have feared losing you, too. So I don’t blame him, Em…for keeping my letters from you, for lying about where I was, for telling you to forget about me. I don’t blame him. I would have done the same if I knew it meant you were safe.”

I swallow hard, willing my eyes to keep their hold on his, not to break. I feel like looking at him, bare and all of my secrets before him, is the ultimate show of trust—this is me giving him my heart. I won’t turn away, not now.

“I regret so much,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion.

“I know,” he says, his lips grazing mine as he breathes the words again. “I know. But I’m begging you…no more regrets.”

My eyes hold his a few seconds longer, and I nod yes. “No more regrets,” I repeat, as if reciting my pledge. My arms around his neck, I pull him to me, the warmth of his chest crushing against mine, igniting something deeper inside of us both. Andrew’s movements grow needier, his hands roaming my body more, gripping and clawing down my back as he kisses his way from my mouth down each of my breasts, sucking the peaks and pinching each between his teeth while I writhe beneath him.

He slides down my body, his lips pausing over my stomach, his mouth open and panting with a hungry need as he unhooks the button of my jeans and grips them around my waist, sliding them down my legs as he stands. My body shivers. He stands before me, slowly removing his jeans and boxers, letting himself spring free while I wait in nothing but my small, white cotton panties. I’ve never wanted to feel someone inside me more, to take someone completely, to give myself wholly. My legs part for him, and he groans, kneeling on the floor in front of me, and he slides his hands from the tips of my toes up the insides of each of my thighs, my core throbbing and my heart pounding.

“I…I waited,” I say, biting my lip hard, my eyes intent on him as his long lashes lift and his eyes widen on mine. “For you. I…I haven’t given this to anyone. I saved it. And I’m pretty sure I was saving it for you.”

His breath catches once and he exhales slowly, leaving his gaze on me. He lowers his head to the inside of my knee, placing soft kisses all the way up my leg until he’s at my very center.

“This,” he says, running a finger slowly along the waistband of my panties, teasing me by slipping a finger underneath, but never far enough. His eyes boring into mine, he draws a soft line with a barely-there touch from my belly button, over the top of my panties and down to the wet center where he presses his thumb, easing my need and igniting it all at once. “This…is only mine?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

His breathing ragged, his lips fall to my center, and he runs his tongue over the small strip of material, the only thing between us, and my body goes wild in response. The heat of his breath is almost too much to take. I feel his hand sliding along the inside of my leg, then pull aside the center strip, exposing me to him, and my body rushes with heat from blushing and desire. I grip at his pillow, pulling it over my face, biting the material hard as his tongue traces it’s same path, this time no barrier there to stop it from dipping deeper inside me.

“Oh my god, Andrew…” I pant, arching against him. His hand tugs hard, tearing my panties until they’re completely ripped away. Andrew’s tongue caresses me as his thumb presses on the swollen center between my legs until finally his hand slides forward far enough for him to push a finger deep inside, leaving it there as he works me with his mouth. The pressure is so much that I pull my legs up, bending my knees, wanting to hold on, to make this last longer.

Andrew continues to suck and kiss me, letting his other hand find my breasts, running the rough pad of his thumb over each nipple and pulling them back to attention instantly until I cry out with the sensation of my first orgasm. The waves are almost too intense to take, and I pull away on instinct, but Andrew holds me to him, pressing his tongue into me hard, cupping my breasts and pushing his other fingers in and out at an intoxicating rhythm.