Hitting the faucet with my elbow, steam immediately billows around us. I place her on the toilet, and it’s hard not to remember seeing her here, bleeding out numerous times. And the times I picked her up, I begged her to keep fighting.
Staring at me with a heated gaze, I can’t tell if it’s in anger or lust.
“Let me help.”
“I don’t need it,” she mutters, looking away. Goosebumps cover her skin, and the sheer fabric of her bra and panty set does nothing to hide how she responds to me.
Hate me, ignore me. But her body still wants me.
“You don’t,” I admit. “But I’m going to anyway.” Because, as the eldest daughter, she doesn’t expect help. She’s never had it.I have to do it—repeatedly—until she understands I’m the one to depend on.
I broke that trust years ago, but I’ll work harder than ever to earn it back.
She wars with herself, arms crossed. My mouth waters, scanning her body, the nipples that poke through the lacy fabric, the way her bottom lip pouts. I want to run my tongue over every inch, drink her down like she’s the last drop of water in this universe, but I hold firm.
“You have fifty-three scars,” I recount. “I’ve healed twenty-seven of them. I was there when you were weakest.” I swallow roughly. “And I saw you at your strongest. We have shit to fix, but don’t deny it. I know you better than anyone else. I can help you—Iwillhelp you. Whether you ask, or whether you want it. Whether you think you need it, I will be here. Because I’ve always been at your side—I’ve seen the ugly, the good. And the dark. I’mstillhere.”
“Is that really fair to say?” she asks, voice soft. “You haven’t always been here.”
“I have, Princess.” Holding out my hand, I add, “Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean you were alone. My spirit never left yours. You’ve been the keeper of my heart since we were kids, but you took my soul the day you gave me your love. I could never truly leave you.”
Indecision flickers in her gaze. If she lets me in again, will I hurt her—obliterate her trust? I see it in those damning eyes, and I hold my breath, awaiting my judgment.
I ruined her, broke her in ways no one else did. Not intentionally, no. But it doesn’t matter—I did it. Our shattered relationship is proof of it. But if I could give my life to the heavens above to get a shred of it back, I would.
Seconds pass, her eyes lifting to me. They’re guarded, unsure. It fucking rocks me to my core.
She sighs. “Fine.”
She places her hand in mine, and I exhale as if punched. It’s a small step, one hand of trust, and I wrap my strength around it to keep it from breaking.
“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you.”
My smirk is brittle. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not now. Maybe not tomorrow, or thirty years from now. But one day, I’ll earn it back.”
Peeling the bra strap from her shoulder, I marvel at the softness of her skin and the scars that line her collarbone. I know what she feels like, milking my cock, but touching her skin—feeling her presence is a pleasure I can’t describe. A deeper connection than just sex.
It’s coming home, her soul nestling in the empty spot I’ve kept for her return.
The rest of her clothing drops, panties falling to the cold floor. Her wound is angry, and my fingers feather over it.
“We have to keep it dry.”
She pokes my shoulder, and I bite back a curse.
“This needs to be taken care of, too.”
Pain in the ass.
Stripping, I follow her into the tub, gingerly holding her upright. Maneuvering her, I keep her warm in the water while blocking the wound on the side. The water hits my gash, and I hiss out a breath, the heat zapping some of my strength.
I trace a large scar that surrounds her left breast, a dull, raised line. A parting gift from the monster she slayed. I want to go to Hell and cut off every finger for daring to harm her.
Heat surrounds us, and she lets me hold her, curves soft against the planes of my chest and hips. Her slick body, crushed against mine, heals something torn inside my chest. Hope. Jubilation. I’m not sure, but I feel whole. It soothes the demon, born from sins before I was born, tempered by her touch.
She plays with the pendant at my throat, face pensive. I don’t move or risk breaking the spell.
“Now, what?”
