Her dubious stare returns to the tub. “This is bizarre, even for you. How many bottles did it take to fill it?”
As I unknot my tie, I rattle off the stats. “I actually know that because Gentry sent the final numbers to me. Three hundred thirty-five bottles of Dom, thirteen bottles of Rémy Martin, and a dash of simple syrup and lemon juice. It’s not the correct ratio, of course, but champagne is the best for this, so …”
“Marilyn Monroe once bathed in three hundred fifty bottles of champagne, so that makes sense.” It’s not surprising that she knows that fact, but she also knows my motives aren’t to immerse us in opulence. She peers at me over her shoulder. “What’s the point?”
“I told you I didn’t expect things to just magically be okay. I’m here, for all the days in front of us, even if they’re messy.” I set my tie with my suit jacket and work the buttons on my shirt, first the sleeves, then up at my collar. “We’re going to reclaimwhat he stole.Ourscars tainted what we had and what could’ve been, so we’re washing them in what has always been ours.”
Neither of us is religious, but Mercy dedicated a few months of her homeschooling education to studying various sects. That’s why she knew how many acres were at the Vatican when she spewed her mixed-upPope in the woodsidiom. My girl always loved to geek out, and her mother let her dive into any subject that caught her attention. Mercy was fascinated with the ritual of burying the old and becoming new.
Her chin quivers, brown eyes brimming with far more emotion than what we’ve explored tonight. “We’re going in?”
“Will you start fresh with me?” I chuckle because this will feel anything but in the literal sense. “Or sticky with me?”
“Yeah.” She unclasps her earrings and her electronic access bracelet, sets them on the counter, and returns for me to unzip her dress.
I take my time with her zipper, drawing out the simple act for what it is—one more piece of her I’ve never had, even when so many others were only mine. My fingertips drag over her silky skin, bumps sprouting in their wake, as my mouth peppers kisses along the curve of her shoulder and neck.
Once the garment slinks to the floor with awhiz, she spins, standing before me in nothing but those black satin panties that were gagging her not long ago. Her chin is lifted, the confidence that she lacked weeks ago on full display with her beauty. Perky tits and taut nipples; a luscious swell to her hips; smooth, shimmery skin; and the scars that shout what a goddamn warrior she is.
My eyes rake over every striking part of her, my chest tightening, lungs squeezing painfully. And suddenly, though I have plans for us, I can’t resist. One hand kneads her breast as my mouth sucks on the opposite nipple, and my other hand grips her plump ass. She whimpers and arches, and everything abouther begs for more, but I need to focus, so I pull back, nipping at her lip.
“You are magnificent. I doubt I’ll ever catch my fucking breath when you’re naked.”
She brightens at the praise, but can’t mask her impatience. “Your turn.”
“I have some things to show you.” I slip out of my button-up, and her gasp has me pausing, her focus lasered on my abs. I’m thrilled she likes what she sees, but that’s not what I was referring to, so I twist to show her a tattoo I got on my side shortly after she arrived. “Remy drew this for me.”
“You really did it.” She’s unable to conceal her shock as she runs her fingers over the three stick figures—us. “He did good.” She rolls her lips in. “Any idea why our hands are like that?”
A barked laugh flies out of me because our hands look like mitts or cartoon hands that got rolled over by a bus. “Maybe he thinks we’ll be baseball players.”
“Does Remy know?” She smirks and keeps tracing it, lost to studying the simple drawing even though my chest and back and biceps are covered with phenomenal pieces Jax crafted. Maybe she sees what I see—our family.
“Not yet. I figured if I showed him, he’d tell you. And I wanted to wait until—”
“Until it didn’t freak me out.” Her brown beauties flick up to me, and the boldness in them is spellbinding.
“Yeah.”
She pops one nonchalant shoulder. “At this point, I don’t think you can shock me.”
I’d bet otherwise, but I decide not to share that. “Fair. I have something from when you were that age too.”
Her mouth pops open, but it’s a grin that could rival the dawn sun. She knows. “You didn’t.”
I twist to the other side to reveal the viper on my bicep. Mercy’s baby teeth marks form the fangs.
Her hands cover her slack jaw, her reaction breathy. “Ryker … when?”
“About five years ago.” It was just a snake and some teeth marks, and I told myself that it didn’t mean more than simply being a tattoo I’d share with her someday, but I was fooling myself.
“Five?” And because my girl’s intuitive, she correctly links that to another piece of information she has. “How long have you been celibate?”
“Closer to six. Are you okay?”
The tattoo was months before her first date with Dalton and months before I tempted him with the career move of a lifetime. He didn’t bite, and there was a pit in my stomach. I hadn’t even worked out what I could offer her since she wanted to wait to be serious with someone until she was in her mid-thirties. Casual wouldn’t have been an option for us, and losing her because she didn’t reciprocate wasn’t either. But when he turned me down, I knew in my gut that I was too late.
She doesn’t know all of that, but she understands the gravity of the timeline and probably has a slew of follow-up questions. Thankfully, she doesn’t hammer me with them.
