Like A Handprint On My Heart Novels & Stories

I knew many of them were the markings of the Bratva but one instantly stood out, making my heartbeat stutter in my chest as my eyes brimmed with emotion. My trembling hands reached out, softly tracing his chest, right over his wild beating heart as I took in the familiar sight. There was no single doubt in my mind that I was staring into a reflection of myself. My eyes, the lightest shade of blue, were right over his heart and I couldn't comprehend how I had not seen it before. His absolute devotion to me. His love and affection in everything he did, despite how unorthodox.

Even his lips so freshly red that gulpe me. I place my hand to my throbbing heart, it becoming hard to tame. I can feel like becoming breathless for such a sight and it lead me to some sort of after images. It seems familiar though, and it getting confusing. But then, my mind play a strictly trick, weakened my sense of reality to giving me hint with a forbodding scenario.

I closed my eyes—his heartbeat lulling me. The last thing I felt was his hand resting over my heart—right over the fresh mark. Whole. Claimed. Home

The world narrows until everything else is noise and just that—just his hand moving like it actually belongs to him. “Oh my God,” I blurt before I stop myself. I lean closer like maybe proximity will help. His fingers brush mine, so faint I could have convinced myself I imagined it. But they move again. Real this time. My heart lurches so hard I think it might tear through my ribs.

progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8"> _*]:min-w-0 gap-3 standard-markdown" I press my forehead against hers and I close my eyes and I just breathe her in, and she lets me, her hand coming up slowly and resting over my heart. She can feel it beating under her palm. I know she can. And I think that is why she put her hand there, not for comfort exactly, not just to hold on, but to feel the proof of it. The same way I counted her heartbeats in that cell through the longest hours of my life, she is counting mine now. Making sure. Anchoring herself to the fact of me the same way I anchored myself to the fact of her.

It sounds soft and gentle, full of love. Taylor wraps her arms fiercely around my mother as if she is scared to let go, like a baby monkey holding on to its mother for dear life. The scene unfolds in front of my amazed eyes making my heart stutter. Is that a thing? A stuttering heart? It is now. Usually, I would have assumed only in a romance novel or for lovers, but honestly it has stuttered.

It's still a mystery to me how he makes my heart race so fast. "I can feel your heart beating fast." He whispered into my ear and my breath hitched. My cheeks were burning with every color and not just red. My eyes widened and his fingers suddenly held my hand, guiding them to his heart. He placed my palm above his heart and I could feel his heartbeat matching the speed of my own. "My heart celebrates your presence like it's having a festival." He said, meaning it and I felt myself hot all over again. My insides were melting at his words and I couldn't think properly. He suddenly stepped back, a smug smile on his face, our eye contact never breaking.

“And then it runs down to where it hurts.” I pressed my palm flat against her small chest. Her heartbeat fluttered under my hand, quick and light as a sparrow’s. And under that, so faint I might have imagined it, I felt something else. A hum. Low and steady, like a far off hive of bees. I snatched my hand away. “Mama?” “It is nothing. Your heart is very busy, that is all.”

Slowly, I move my hand to my chest, and they both beat in the same rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump. They beat the same way, with the same sync and rhythm, and it finally dawns on me. Her heart beats for me. And me alone.

His body responds to me even when he refuses to let his hands do the same. When I finish the last wound, I straighten slightly, intending to step back. I don’t get the chance. His hand closes around mine. Not rough or gentle. Certain. He presses my palm flat against his chest. Directly over his heart. Everything stops. I feel it immediately, the hammering rhythm beneath my hand, fast and powerful and utterly undeniable. His heartbeat slams against my palm as if trying to escape his body, as if it recognizes me the way the bond does.