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A small smile tugs at my mouth, as this conversation is one we had all those months ago. However, now I’ve been caught staring.
I decide to reply with the same response as he gave me. “I know where your eyes are,” I whisper, and Quinn shakes his head with a dimpled grin.
We remain silent, no doubt lost in the past and recollecting how far we’ve come since our first encounter.
Only when Quinn removes the shower gel from my hand and lathers it up into his palm does reality kick in. I gasp when he reaches forward with strong fingers and begins rubbing the vanilla-scented body wash all over me.
He starts at my neck and slowly works his way down, not missing a single inch of skin. As he rubs over my breasts, my nipples immediately pebble with his touch, and I whimper. But he continues to be the perfect gentleman, ensuring my needy body does not deter him from his task at hand.
However, when he arrives at the junction between my thighs, we both softly groan at the sensation.
His deft fingers stroke over my core, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming out in pleasure, as I know this isn’t sexual. This is him showing me how much he cares.
Once my front is cleaned, Quinn turns me so I face the white shower wall, and he begins the same treatment as he did on my front. His skillful fingers lull me into a sleepy bubble, and I lightly shudder when he massages my ass.
But again, he’s only there to take care of me, something no one has ever done for me in my entire life.
By the time he’s done washing my hair, I’m about to fall asleep standing up. I’m pretty sure I’m halfway there because I don’t remember getting out of the shower, drying off, or climbing into bed.
It’s only when I feel Quinn’s naked flesh press up against mine that I barely register where I am.
“Sleep, Red.”
I do as he says because sleeping beside the man I love sounds like a perfect thing to do.
The following morning, I wake before Quinn, which is unusual. So I steal this moment to examine the man beside me.
Quinn’s epic looks are beyond being simply amazing—they arefuckingamazing.
His hair has grown so much longer since we first met, and I reach forward, brushing his dirty blond hair off his brow. My finger traces his thick but well-groomed eyebrows, and continues to glide down the slope of his nose.
When I reach the seam of his top lip, my heartbeat begins kicking against my rib cage. His mouth has kissed me in ways I never thought possible. I lightly rub over the silver hoop that hugs his plump lower lip, and as a tiny moan escapes him, I catch a glimpse of his tongue ring.
But regardless of his looks, I know I would still feel the same about him. Quinn Berkeley is beautiful, inside and out. He’s shown me how to live, and through his strength, I have never felt so alive.
As he shifts, the sheet slinks lower, exposing his entire chest for my viewing pleasure. But there is one thing I am interested in—his tattoo.
Believe it or not, I actually have never been close enough to read the intricate script writing, which is buried in swirls of red and orange. But now that the opportunity has arisen, I can’t stop myself as I slowly glide the sheet a little lower so I can read it in its entirety.
I turn my head to the side as his tattoo originates just under his armpit and flows across his ribs, leading into the waistband of his black boxer briefs. It’s a beautiful side piece, and as I look closer, I can see that the bursts of red and orange are actually flames.
However, these flames are drawn with such fieriness that I’m almost afraid to reach out and touch them just in case I get burned. These flames, I imagine, are what the flames of hell would look like.
I lean closer and lower his briefs to read it all, as the last word is inked down his hip. I gasp when I softly read aloud what the tattoo says.
Love cannot save you from your own fate.
I don’t know what to do because I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. I know that’s ridiculous, seeing as it’s tattooed on his body forever. But like my ink, I never got it to show others. I got it for me. It reminded me of who I am and what I did until that point in my life to mark my body forever.
And I have a feeling Quinn did exactly the same.
It really is a beautiful tattoo, but I slowly pull up his briefs and glide the sheet back over his body, not wanting him to know I’ve seen it.
Although he doesn’t hide it, I still feel like this is a private memory he’ll share with me when he’s ready.
I slip out of bed, not wanting to wake Quinn, and make some coffee.
As I cradle the coffee cup, I think about my decision. Even though every bone in my body tells me not to go, I’ve decided to see my mother. As selfish as this makes me, though, it has nothing to do with her being a “zombie,” as Polly phrased it.
