“Sorry,” I whispered, pulling away from him. He didn’t respond. His jaw ticked, something dark passing over him. Aware the mood had shifted, I said, “I’ll grab you some clothes.”
I went to skirt past him, but his grip on my wrist tightened. I stilled, looking back up at him. He shook his head slightly at me and dropped his head back down to my level, as if wanting to re-establish the moment. I met him halfway, and he inhaled sharply when our foreheads touched again.
We stayed like that for so long, the entire bathroom filled with steam. We swayed together, intimate but not overly. We watched each other, nuzzling our noses to keep that contact alive, but never fusing our mouths together. I gave him the control because he needed it, and because I was terrified of making the wrong move.
My eyes trekked down his body, lingering on his cock, and god, I felt so hot. It wasn’t just the steam making me sweat. I had the most delicious man in front of me and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
Clearing my throat, I took a step back, breaking the moment because I genuinely couldn’t trust to keep my hands to myself.
“Take your time,” I murmured to him, aware my voice sounded breathless. “I’ll be waiting.”
He stiffened a nod, saying nothing. I bolted out of there, but not before noticing the bruises running down the back of his body.
Scars and bruises and more ink I’d never seen before.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte
The scar on his throat had been raised. It looked like it healed from a deep cut, and I couldn’t express the agony my heart endured thinking he’d been hurt like that. I had to take deep breaths and remind myself this man had endured hell.
I needed to tread carefully.
But all I kept thinking of was how bruised and scarred his body was.
I wiped a few stray tears, determined to keep myself together.
He had a very long shower. I was anxious the entire time, trying to busy myself. I’d cleaned the room up three times, clearing off the dresser and wiping down the mirrors. I added some light make-up because eight years in the slammer and I didn’t want him to see me looking like a sad troglodyte. I hung up my cardigan and changed into a different pair of pyjama bottoms. Ones made of silk and made my butt look more flattering.
I didn’t have the body I used to. But I was proud of it, nonetheless.
I had a fresh set of clothes for him on the bed. I sat on the edge of it, hands clasped in my lap, and then it suddenly didn’t feel like the kind of position he should find me in. It was too…expectant, too formal. When I heard the shower go off, I stood up in a panic and tried to find a better spot for him to find me. I took a few steps to the dresser before turning back around. I was on my way back to the bed when the door opened, and he stepped out. I paused mid-step and turned to him, standing in the centre of the room feeling completely out of my depth.
The bathroom was billowing with hot steam. He emerged with a towel wrapped lazily around his hips. There was so much more colour to him now. His cheeks were crimson from the heat, his hair deliciously tousled in all directions. He still dripped water everywhere, but he wasn’t shaking. He immediately found me standing there, and his face softened.
“Do you feel better?” I asked, aware my face was probably pink.
“I do,” he answered, that voice low.
Oh, God, the things that voice did to me. It travelled straight to my sex, and the throb worsened.
I pointed to the bed where his clothes were. “Just there is a change of clothes.”
As he walked past me, I felt my cheeks burn. My heart was battering hard in my chest. This felt so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. He looked down at the clothes, pausing for a moment before he glanced back at me with a curious look.
“These are mine,” he stated, sounding pleased.
“Yeah.”
“You kept my clothes.”
“Of course. They’re hanging in the closet.”
His brows furrowed. “But the fire…”
“When we sold your apartment, I had a bunch of your things boxed up and put in your mom’s place, remember? We were renovating the house, and we never got around to picking them back up.”