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It’s nothing a little makeup can’t fix. That’s what I’m telling myself when the bathroom door creaks open, and Azrael’s body dominates the frame.
He meets my gaze in the mirror’s reflection, his darkening when he notices the expression on my face. I believed him when he said he would murder Caleb Church, and maybe it makes me twisted to want that, but I do. I just don’t want it to happen because he thinks it will prove something about our relationship. It feels like these threads that entangle us together are twisting and gnarling, and we’ll never get them undone. But the truth is, he’s already spilled blood for me.
Or was it for Bec? I guess I’ll never truly know, and taking him at his word isn’t an option. Not now, and maybe not ever again.
“It will heal,” he tells me as he approaches from behind.
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Or maybe I’ll need to get another tattoo. Perhaps you should have put yours there to begin with.”
Azrael ignores my sarcastic remark as he turns me to face him, tilting my chin to meet his gaze. “I don’t need to tattoo your forehead. Everyone already knows you belong to me.”
Heat rushes through my veins at the possession of those words, a familiar hunger sparking inside of me. He wants me, but he’s not forcing it. He’s been gentle with me since my return, but I can sense his desire to claim me again. Every time he looks at me, I can see the way he wants to imprint himself on my body and soul. The longer I stand here, beneath his gaze, the more this energy intensifies between us.
I do want him, and that’s the worst part of it.
I want him to take it all away. My pain. The memories. The brokenness inside of me. I want him to make me feel good again. But I’d sooner die than admit it right now.
“Your bath is ready,” he tells me in a gravelly voice.
I force my eyes in the direction of the tub, noting how high the water is. Before I can move, Azrael is already turning it off. When he turns to look at me again, I can see the question in his eyes. Will I send him away?
Every day, he has come in here since my return, trying to help me; every day, I have demanded to be left on my own. Logic tells me I should do the same right now. But instead, I find myself pushing boundaries as I disrobe before him, letting him gaze at my naked body as I walk to the tub.
His eyes drift down to my breasts and over my torso before they harden when he notices the still-healing bruises.
Wordlessly, he holds out his hand and helps me into the tub, watching me settle in before he sits on the edge, reaching for the soap.
“I will kill him, Willow,” he reassures me.
I look up at him, only to wish I hadn’t when I see the determination in his eyes. He wants to avenge me, and I’m not sure why that feels so… satisfying.
“I know,” I croak.
He watches me as he squeezes soap into his hands, waiting for me to issue my rejection of his assistance. But try as I might, the words don’t come as he begins to lather my shoulders, working his way down my arms and then, eventually, back up to my breasts.
The first brush of his fingers over my nipples has me shuddering, and I close my eyes on instinct, realizing how much I’ve missed his touch. Azrael pauses, waiting for me to signal my approval, and my nipples tighten in anticipation. Maybe it’s the hormones or just stupidity, but either way, I can’t help myself.
“Azrael,” I whisper his name.
He doesn’t make me say anything else. There will be no begging today. He gives me what I need, stroking my nipple with one soapy hand while the other drifts down between my thighs.
I keep my eyes closed and give myself over to the sensations as he strokes me between my legs. I bite my lip as tension builds inside me, the pressure and stress of the last few days drifting to oblivion.
I’m close, so freaking close, to falling apart… then I feel him shifting before he adjusts me, leaning my body forward. I open my eyes to see water sloshing over the sides of the tub as he slides in behind me, fully clothed.
“Azrael.” Nerves grip my voice as he wraps an arm around me from behind.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs against my ear. “Lean back, Willow. Let me feel you.”
My heart races, breath stalling in my chest as that familiar panicky feeling takes over me. It isn’t the water. It’s the feeling of being out of control in the water. The memory of gasping, lungs burning, trying to claw my way out as Caleb held me under.
