Demi’s panted breaths fan my neck when I twist my arms around her back to undo her bra. She gasps softly when I have the three prongs undone in an impressive two seconds.
Once I’ve dumped her bra onto her dress, I lower my hands to the rim of her panties. “It’s okay,” I assure her when she curls her hand over mine, panicked I’m about to see a womanly product she’s certain will offend me. “All you need to do is step out of them. I promise I won’t look.”
Lying has never been a strong point of mine, but I see it becoming easier if it lessens Demi’s hesitation as quickly as it does this time around. Her teeth only graze her bottom lip for the slightest bit before she presses her palms to my shoulders, then steps out of the cotton material I lowered to her ankles.
Wanting to show her she has nothing to be ashamed about, I remove the thankfully empty pad from her underwear, fold it together, toss it in the bin at the side of the vanity, then tug out the hair tie she put in during our commute to Rocco’s place.
“How about we get you cleaned up? These products don’t look as nasty as the ones at the hospital.” Demi almost always wears her hair up and out the way, and the low-quality shampoo and conditioner supplied by Mercer Private gave her the perfect excuse. It knotted her hair more than it made it glossy and smooth.
Demi looks torn between sobbing and smiling when I step us into the shower. I guide her back until her long locks are drenched by the water pumping out of the showerhead. Her hair is so thick, it takes me running my fingers through the tangled waves to ensure they’re fully wet.
There’s no doubt which way her emotions swing when I crack open an untouched bottle of shampoo, squeeze a dollop of the fruity product into my palm, then commence massaging it into her scalp. Her eyes are full of turmoil, but she knows as well as I do that Col won’t hurt Sloane more than he already has. Without her, he has no bargaining chip to wager with tonight. He won’t give that up any more than I’ll ever deny Demi this much-deserved moment of peace.
“Close your eyes,” I say with a breathy chuckle, equally mortified and pleased she’d risk burning her eyes with shampoo so she wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity of returning my yearning stare. “You’ll get shampoo in your eyes if you keep gawking at me like you are.”
“Totally worth it,” she murmurs a mere second before she balances on her tippytoes to plant her lips on mine.
We kiss long enough there’s no doubt all the suds in her hair are washed out, then we kiss some more once her hair is drowned in conditioner.
What? Even guys know you have to let the conditioner soak in. It makes its moisturizing powers more effective.
I run my index finger down Demi’s nose when she groans about the withdrawal of my mouth a couple of seconds later. It won’t keep her needs contained for long, but it does advise her I’m struggling as much as she is. Not touching her is the equivalent of torture for me. I’m just aware she needs this even more than I need my hands on her to breathe.
When the happy gleam in her eyes switches to sexual frustration, I say, “I brought you in here to get clean, not to mess you up.”
Memories of the first time we fooled around in a bathroom roll through my head when Demi replies, “You can be clean and messy at the same time, and you don’t even need to know how to multitask to do it.” She swivels on the spot, her earlier anguish up and vanished. “Trust me. It’s a lot of fun.”
I send a voiceless warning to my cock to calm down when the grazing of her teeth over her lower lip this time around occurs without an ounce of guilt in her eyes. She’s forgotten all about the shitstorm raining down on us. Once again, it’s just her and me against the world—exactly how it’s meant to be.
After a beat, I nudge my head to the tiled shelf housing the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. “Put your foot on the bench, I can hear your thoughts. With how wickedly dirty they are, I’ll need to scrub your skin raw.” Not an ounce of malice is heard in my tone. I’m as lost in the chemistry brewing between us as Demi.
When Demi does as asked, I squeeze a generous dollop of strawberry-scented shower gel into the palm of my hand. There are untouched shower puffs on the tiled bench Demi is balancing her foot on, but I’d rather use my hand. Then I can feel the effect my touch has on her body as well as see it.
It’s going to be a glorious couple of minutes.
Once my hands are loaded with bubbles, I place them on each side of Demi’s right ankle before dragging them up her calf. Her legs are lean and smooth, meaning two hands is a little obsessive, but what can I say? I like having my hands on her that I’ll always use two no matter how snug the area I’m nurturing.
Yes, you read that as intended.
The thrusts of Demi’s chest double when I slide my hands past her knee and up her thigh before stopping at the base of her sex that smells more scrumptious than the body wash coating her skin. The scent of her pussy has me wanting to be a ravishing caveman. I’d give anything to demand her sweet pussy to my mouth so I could feast on it like a Viking, but I also know she needs a gentle, caring lover right now, not a savage beast who could eat her pussy for hours without coming up for air.
“Not yet,” I push out with a moan after cleaning her pussy with three carefully placed scrubs. I don’t plunge two fingers inside of her as my cock is demanding. I gently glide them through the folds of her pussy while staring at the throb in her throat so I can time her breaths. One wrong quiver, and I’ll withdraw contact quicker than a bullet being fired from a gun.
After cleaning her left leg as effectively as I did her right, I shift my focus to Demi’s midsection. Conscious of the pained groan she released when Nurse Sandy took her vitals, I’m extra cautious with her stomach. I don’t want to cause her more pain. The emotional toll of a miscarriage is already confronting, not to mention almost losing your life in the process. My emotions are teetering, so I’d hate to think how Demi’s are handling the complex situation.
I am devastated she lost our baby, but I am so fucking grateful I didn’t lose her, I’ve placed the loss of our child to the back of my mind. He or she will be mourned. I just can’t do thatandensure Demi’s well-being isn’t sitting in the grinder mine was minced in when I thought I had lost her.
The world wobbles beneath my feet when I raise my sudsy hands to Demi’s breasts. Her fantastic tits could revamp the centerfold industry. They’re not pompously large, but they are more than a handful, have perfect symmetry, and her light brown nipples always stand to attention, pleading to be fondled.
They peak even more when I glide my hands over them. With the bliss in her eyes shining brighter than worry, I give her breasts an extra scrub before raising my hands to her shoulders. Let me assure you, it’s a fucking hard feat. One I’m doubtful I would have achieved if it weren’t for the morals my parents raised me with.
My life changed in an instant when I took another man’s life, but it will take staining my hands with more than one man’s blood for years of teachings to be forgotten. Besides, I didn’t kill Igor for fun. I did it to protect Demi. And I’d do it again if it produced the same results. The past couple of weeks have been tough, but my relationship with Demi is stronger. I truly believe we can survive anything.
By the time Demi’s body is coated with suds, the amount of blood inflating my cock has me on the verge of coronary failure, and Demi looks close to climaxing. I didn’t think this through. This is way harder than I thought it would be, and no, I’m not solely referencing my cock.
The struggle to keep things friendly is heard in my voice when I say, “Step under the spray so I can wash off the suds.”
With her eyes locked on me, Demi does as requested without protest. The purposely-scalding water glides down her enticing chest, over the smooth planes of her stomach, past her fragrant-smelling pussy, and weaves around her legs before it circles the drain along with the suds of shower gel.
