I slowly remove the top and watch his chest move up and down faster. He reaches out and gently touches my stomach. As my flutters oscillate, he asks, "How did this happen?"
Maybe it's the darkness or the monkeys howling high in the trees.
Perhaps it's the seduction of being with the sexiest man I've ever met and no one else around.
It might just be that I've reached my limit of being the unexperienced thirty-five-year-old.
For once in my life, I don't cry. I reach around my body and remove my bra, then drop it on his lap. In an emotionless voice, I reply, "Santiago ripped my shirt, and his men held me, then groped me in front of the entire camp."
The warm jungle air feels cool against my hot skin. My nipples pebble, hardening into marbles. Arousal wafts in my nose, and I realize it's coming from me.
Malin doesn't move. His chest rises and falls faster. "Your breasts are bruised."
"Yes."
His jaw twitches. "You have scratch marks as well."
"Yes."
"Monsters," he mumbles so quietly, I barely hear him.
Seconds turn into minutes. I twist my fingers.
Why did I do this?
I look away, no longer able to stare at him in his goggles.
"I need to see your back now."
I spin, and he lightly drags his finger over several areas of my back.
My spine erupts in tingles.
He leans into my ear. "Don't move. I'm going to sit behind you." He positions his body so I'm between his legs then slides the goggles over my face. "What do you think, ma belle? Do they live up to the hype?"
Everything becomes clear. There's a green light illuminating everything. Several animals move in the jungle, and I watch them scurry in the trees. I turn my head to look at him. "Interesting. You're glowing."
He licks his lips. "So were you, but you glow with or without those, ma belle."
Play it cool. Don't be a child.
Butterflies erupt everywhere. I bite my smile, inhale deeply, and look forward. "I'm ready."
He rubs the cream in his hands then on my back. It should only take a moment, but he lingers, giving my back a massage and rubbing out several knots.
I stare into the trees, my body blazing hotter from his touch, feeling alive instead of creeped out. And I push all thoughts of me trying to analyze it to the back of my mind.
His hands leave my body, and I want them back on it. I sit up straighter.
His warm breath hits my ear. "I'm going to put this on your torso now. Are you okay with that?"
"Mmhmm." Is he going to be able to feel the quivering in my gut?
He glides his hands over my waist, rubbing arnica on me until his arms are entirely around me. I lean back into his pecs. His hands brush lightly against my stomach, and I gasp from the zing rushing to my core.
"Okay, ma belle?" he murmurs in my ear.
"Mmhmm."
"May I put the arnica on your breasts now?"
No. I can't stand men touching me there.
"Umm..."
"I can give it to you to do if you wish."
Be a woman. I need to stop letting Zaka destroy everything in my life.
"You can do it," I blurt out.
"Are you sure?"
I nod. The pounding of my pulse beats louder in my ears.
He lightly rubs his fingers on the underside of my breast while I hold my breath.
My chest tightens, and my heart races. I like his hands on me. But my demons don't stay away.
It's not Zaka. It's not Zaka. It's not Zaka.
"Stop!" I cry out, and he moves his hands in the air so I can see them.
Short, ragged breaths come out of my mouth. My eyes well with tears.
Why can't I be normal?
"Ma belle, you okay?" he asks, his hands still in front of my face.
No. Nothing about me is okay.
"Please finish," I whisper.
He stays frozen.
"Ma belle—"
The need to have him finish what he started is something I haven't felt before. "Please."
His head bobs next to my cheek. "Okay. Say stop at any time." He slowly moves his hands back to my breasts.
I press my cheek against his.
His fingers slide around my areolas. "Almost done."
I hold my breath again.
He removes his hands, grabs the T-shirt, and puts it over my head. The soft material hangs against my cleavage, and he holds my bra out for me to put my arms in it.
I slide them through the holes, and he clasps the back of it. When it's secure, he guides my arms into the sleeves of his shirt.