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But I know that it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. Her memory will never leave, even if she’s not physically here to torment me. And I think that’s enough to keep the guilt at bay, at least for now.
“Me neither,” Riley whispers, taking my silence as an answer. Yawning, she climbs under her covers and rests her head on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, signaling the end of our conversation. I walk to the door and am pulling it closed behind me when she calls my name.
“Yeah?”
I hear her swallow. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Not exactly sure what she’s getting at—or that it’s even true—I smile as I leave, closing the door on my way out. “I’m glad you’re okay too, Riley.”
Crossing the hall into my bedroom, I shuck off my soiled clothes and toss them into the hamper in the corner of my room, then get into the shower in my en suite, letting the scalding spray soothe and massage my aching muscles.
‘Just because I never put him on your birth certificate doesn’t mean I don’t know who he is.’
LeeAnn’s words replay over and over in my head, fogging up the free space with interest. Do I even want to know who he is? Would it really matter, after all this time?
No, I resolve, shaking my head. I don’t think it would.
Pressing my hand against the wall, I feel the dirt and blood and vomit roll off my body, and then the curtain is pulled back and Fiona’s standing there, completely naked, her dark hair pulled into a bun, eyes roving over my chest.
Just the sight of her standing there is enough to rob me of all the air in my lungs.
She swallows, looking nervous, white-knuckling the curtain. “I thought you could use some company.”
Moving more directly beneath the spray to give her room, I gesture at the empty space. “All yours, princess.”
Hiking her leg over the lip of the tub, she steps inside, immediately reaching for a bottle of citrus body wash, squirting some into her palm and edging closer. I suck in a sharp breath when she presses the soap into my chest, the chill a stark contrast to my skin.
Working the soap in circles over my pecs, she presses down on spots that are particularly sensitive, making me jerk forward from the soreness. I almost topple over when she swirls the pad of her finger around my nipple, looking up at me through hooded lashes.
Hooking my arm around her waist, I yank her body into mine, reveling in the perfect fit. She continues massaging up my neck, digging her fingers into my muscles, eliciting a low groan from deep within me, the pain wrapping around the soothing sensation of having her hands on me, making me dizzy with desire.
“How’re you feeling?” she asks in a low voice, stopping the massage and instead just flattening her palms against my chest.
“Better now that you’re here.”
Worrying her bottom lip, she sighs. “I swear, I didn’t know about Romeo. If I had—”
Cradling her jaw in my hands, I tip her head back and cut her off with a deep kiss, my tongue tangling with hers with such ferocity, you’d think it’d been more than just a few weeks since I last tasted her.
Dropping my head to her throat, I glide my lips along the smooth expanse, biting down gently on her pulse, making her jolt.
“I don’t want to talk about anything that happened tonight,” I breathe, alternating between sucking and catching her flesh between my teeth, fire spilling down my spine as she arches into each movement.
“What do you want to talk about, then?”
“No talking, period.” My fingers tingle as they skim down her shoulders, pressing along the divots in her spine, and settle on the firm swell of her ass.
Gripping hard, I haul her into my arms, bringing her wet little cunt flush with my pelvis, and press her back into the shower wall.
She gasps as she collides with the cool tile, her tits bouncing as she tries to escape the feel of it on her skin; I dip my head, laving the flat of my tongue over one pebbled nipple before sucking her into my mouth, relishing the way her moans echo above us.
“Boyd,” she sighs, her head bumping against the wall. “We should really talk. I want to apologize.”
Dragging my tongue up between her breasts to the dip in the middle of her collarbone, I shake my head. “I don’t accept.”
Scoffing, she fists the hair at the nape of my neck, drawing me up so my forehead is level with her chin. “You can’t just ‘not accept’ an apology.”
“Wrong, my little manipulator. I don’t have to do anything.”
