There is a catch in his tone that I don’t understand, then again, that’s pretty standard for me. “Transformative,” I say, running my hands up his back.
Then I realize that word might be a lot of pressure. For him, it was probably just sex.
“For me,” I add with a wince. “I’m guessing not for you. I know that you’ve had loads of sex. Or I don’t know, I assume. I…” I stop because I can hear myself working up to a babble. Nothing ruins a moment like babbling.
But I feel him relax again. “It’s the first time I’ve had sex married,” he offers as he slides out of my body. “And the first time I’ve had sex with a virgin. Both have been…”
I don’t know why, but that makes me feel a little empty. Maybe because the sex, the experience was real for me, but now that it’s done, I remember…the marriage is fake.
And that thought makes me want to hide. He lifts up and I follow, pushing up from the mattress, intent on going into the bathroom and collecting myself.
“What the fuck?” he rumbles out, stopping halfway off my body, trapping me underneath him.
“What?” and then I look down, following his gaze.
My eyes go wide. There’s blood all over the bed. A lot of it. “Shit.”
I try to snap my legs together, the sight making humiliation burn in my cheeks. But his knees are still between mine, so I mostly just bang our legs together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” I ask, some of my embarrassment fading with my curiosity. It’s my first time, I’m not sure what I was supposed to know in advance.
“That I was hurting you like that?” he growls out, before he bends back down, picking me up in his arms once again. It’s like he thinks I can’t walk.
I’m not complaining. It’s actually kind of nice.
“It wasn’t that bad. I don’t know why there’s so much blood.” Honestly, toward the end, it had even started to feel good. Really good…
“You can’t mean that. I’ve seen murder scenes with less fucking blood.”
“You’ve seen murder scenes?” I ask, genuinely curious as he stomps into the bathroom. “Who died? Who killed them? Have you murdered anyone?” I’m like this sometimes. My thoughts tumble down a trail. But honestly, my father has mostly beat the behavior out of me.
He reaches into the shower, turning it on. He’s covered in blood too, and our bodies slide together. I don’t hate that either.
“Sasha,” he grits out. “You’re missing the point. I must have really hurt you and that is killing me.”
“Oh,” I whisper, my eyes going wide as we step into the warm spray. We’re going to make a mess of the white tile but I’m too busy looking up at him. “That’s so kind but?—”
“I’m not being kind, it’s my fucking job to make sure you’re not hurt.”
“That’s kind too. No one’s really done that for me before.”
“Done what?”
“Tried to protect me from pain. My father had a very opposite view of parenting—” I stop because I don’t want to ruin a beautiful moment of caring with memories of my father.
My feet touch the warm tile as Ryker sets me down to grab the soap. He starts scrubbing the bar down my body, his hands sliding over my skin.
“What was your father’s view of parenting?” he asks, bending down to gently wash my thighs. The floor of the shower has run red.
Maybe it’s the warm water, or the way he’s touching me, but I the words slip easily from my lips. “He mostly used his fists to beat out any unwanted behaviors.”
Ryker’s hands stop as he looks at me, looking as though he’s got a mouth full of nails. “What?”
I blink down. “Sorry. I didn’t realize that information would upset you.”
He stands again, his hand wrapping around my jaw, before he leans down to kiss me. It’s not soft or gentle, it’s the kiss of a soldier.
But I don’t mind it. In fact, I like it.
