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“Together?” I said with a wink.
“I doubt we’ll fit. But we can try.”
We helped each other strip off our clothes and let them fall to the floor. They were so dirty, torn, and used, I doubted they could be used as clothes again.
Our lips joined again as if it was a pre-requisite for surviving.
Maybe it was.
We backed into the bathroom and the tiny shower stall. It was a tight squeeze and we couldn’t shut the door behind us.
We turned on the tap and rejoiced in the warm—if not particularly powerful—spray. It dribbled over our bodies and turned the water brown with the grime from our bodies.
I tugged the twigs and leaves free that’d embedded in his hair. I filled my hands with shampoo and washed his hair as he ran his hands over my body. Each time he rubbed my nipples, it sent shivers through me head to toe.
Then I scrubbed at his muscular frame. One powerful muscle at a time.
He was gorgeous.
His face was almost fully healed. It covered one cheek, chin, and nose. Even his hair was coming through thick.
To see him now from the charred figure he had been was nothing short of miraculous.
Then it was his turn to wash me. He took his sweet time around my breasts and licked my nipples with his tongue. He gripped my ass and squeezed it. He lifted me with ease and buried his lips at the nape of my neck.
We stepped from the bathroom and dried ourselves.
At least, that was the plan.
Instead, he pulled me toward him and buried his tongue in my throat.
I was ready for the challenge of taking his thick cock deep inside me. I wrapped my hand around it and led him toward the bed.
But something held him back.
He wore a frown and hesitated a fraction of a second.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” he said. “I know I might very well regret this later if it makes you not want to be with me.”
“What?” I said, heart in my throat.
“Your fiancé,” he said simply.
My fiancé.
All thought of him had largely left my mind. The truth was, as bad as it might sound, he was never a major part of my thinking. Not now, not when he proposed to me, not even when we were dating.
“Do you still love him?” Fiath said. “Do you intend still to marry him?”
I didn’t need to search deep for the answers to those questions. The answer was right there on the tip of my tongue. If I was honest with myself, it always had been.
“No, I don’t love him,” I said.
“Then why did you agree to marry him?” he said.
“Because it felt like the right thing to do. Because I didn’t want to end up like my aunt, an unmarried maid who decided to wait for her perfect love to find her, only she never did. Mostly, it’s because I hadn’t met you yet. I know now I never loved him. We were good friends, nothing more.”
I looked up at him through my eyelashes.
