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He lengthens in my hand, and I stare up at him, offering everything he wants. All the distraction there is to give in the world.
He shakes his head, and I feel a twinge of disappointment that feels embarrassingly close to uselessness and failure. "No. But I do want that shower. Then I need you to hold me." He looks away as the words slip between his tight, full, luscious, giving-me-everything-I've-always-wanted lips.
I kiss his tip and then push to my feet. "Then let's do that."
I spend nearly twenty minutes in the shower with him. Focusing all of my attention on him, letting the water glide between my fingers as I wash him, allowing him to feel all of me against his back.
All the while stroking at his hard length and then coursing my fingers through his hair to massage his scalp. He sinks against the tile of the bathroom like I had and starts talking.
"I've missed this. Remember those nights you used to do this?" He asks.
Did I remember? Had I ever forgotten? Could I ever forget? Every time he'd had a bad day, or I'd had a bad day, all I had to do was request a shower, and he would be there, talking me through it and holding me afterward. It always worked with no exceptions.
"Yes. I never forgot. It got me through many long nights. And quite frankly, days."
"Did you ever touch yourself to the thought of me?"
"I never had a choice. No other man would've done. Therefore, your memory had to be enough."
"I want to fuck you so hard right now." He swears. "Fuck Melissa. I'm scared you'll get caught in the crossfires of whatever's about to happen. And you're not even my wife yet."
"What's about to happen?" I ask. "And if you want to take me. Then I'm willing. Right now."
"I can't. I'm punishing myself, I know. But for some reason, I just don't want to. Even though I need to."
My brows crease with questions I couldn't wait to voice. "Why?"
"Because I'm fucking scared I'll fuck all this anger out, and it's all I have, Mel. This anger is everything protecting me from you."
The hurt comes whittling at me, sharp and stabbing at my chest and my stomach and my heart and anything else it could find.
18
XANDER
I feel her body change. Her hands leave me first, and I feel the withdrawal like a body part gone, as though she's already an extension of me.
"Why do you need protection from me?"
I point at my side. "Did you see this?" I rumble out of my too-tight chest.
"The tattoos?" She asks, confusion leaking into her voice. Her fingers land on the tattoo of a black light with the sun shading it.
The larger the dark light, the smaller the sun until it dims away almost completely at the other side of my back in just a small sliver of light and a very dark light.
She's the sunlight. I'm the darkness. And all six tattoos represent all six years she was gone.
The first year, I hoped she'd return. Hoped it was a joke. Until by last year, I'd nearly given up. And now she's back, I'm not certain if I'll need more tattoos or not.
Now the fucking Russians are encroaching on my territory, war is certain to break out, and she's making me entirely too unstable.
Worrying about my child and my wife. Because when I'd heard the Russians had invaded my territory, I'd immediately made a call to Romero to make sure she was home.
Then I'd had Ryder drive me down here to make certain because she was my weakness. She'd asked why I couldn't have her.
Well, I could just be honest and say you didn't indulge in dessert you knew would rot your teeth. At least, I shouldn't. But when had I ever listened to myself when it came to this woman?
"Yes, Mel. The tattoos. Six of them for all the years you've been gone. That's how much I missed you. That's how much I kept a reminder of you on me. You drive me to extremes."
