Uh. “What?”
“It’s fuckingme, Stardust.”
I blink at him, my lips parted in utter confusion. He’s lost his goddamned mind. “I–Are you okay?”
He just chuckles and traces the tender shape again. “Does this pattern look familiar to you?”
I stare at it for a long moment before it clicks and my eyes bounce back to Creed’s. “Holy shit.”
While Guy had wanted to cause the most damage to my body, he unknowingly had cut the shape of a fucking guitar neck—the bridge, saddle, and strings take shape on my forearm. I can’t stop staring at it in this new light, and I can’t believe that in mere seconds, Creed’s outlandish claim has given these cuts a new perspective.
It didn’t remove the memory of how they got there, but now I won’t be able to think of anything but Creed’s goofy-ass claim over their shape.
The fact that his shenanigans worked has an embarrassing squeak that’s supposed to be a giggle bubbling up; it pops from my lips on a hiccup. Creed’s attention snaps back to my face the moment the sound comes out and the most breathtaking smile graces his lips.
He reaches up with reverence and swipes his thumb across my lower lip, stopping at the corner of my mouth where I’m still smiling. “There she is.”
Something shifts in his gaze. His ice-blue eyes never leave mine as he raises my arm and presses a delicate kiss to my wrist, right over the scabs of the vertical cuts. Goosebumps erupt from the soft caress of his lips. “My amazing, strong girl.”
I shudder a breath. “I don’t feel strong.”
He rocks his hips to shift his position. It’s evident that his cock is, indeed, still rock hard. His rigid length combined with the subsequent brushing of the rough fabric of his jeans against my core causes an unexpected full-body reaction. I shiver as my thighs clench around his bracketed hips.
Creed groans, his eyes slipping closed. “You’re not doing a very good job at proving me wrong, Stardust.” He smirks as he leans back against the tiled wall again. The hot water of the shower has the room flooded with steam, and we’re both now a combination of wet and sweat, but I don’t care.
Creed’s confidence has created a safe haven for me to find my strength again, even if it’s fleeting. I don’t want to shatter the illusion by moving from this very spot just yet.
The cuts on my right arm aren’t nearly as shocking as my left, but they’re still fucking ugly as I show them to Creed, who takes his time to place soft kisses upon each and every one.
There are multiple cuts on my inner thighs that I’ve been ignoring the sting of while sitting astride Creed’s lap. He takes his time roving over them, but just as he’s done with every cut, he proves his arousal by torturing me with his rolling hips. I don’t believe it’s intentional, but he’s getting me so wound up, and it has my body feeling conflicted.
I’m sore from every cut. My muscles are stiff and protesting from being locked in the same position for two weeks. I feel dirty and a little hollow after Guy took and took and fucking took from me. I’m haunted and plagued by flashbacks of how he hurt Riley.
I’m tired.
So fucking tired.
But I also refuse to let him have any power over me where I can help it. I won’t let the memory of how he hurt me take away from every step I try to take forward. Creed has this way of giving me strength with his presence alone. His proximity and the aura he emanates is like a spark of life that ignites my soul, its warmth a physical thing I can feel.
The slow, unassuming undulation of his hips awakens something within me.
I’m still so broken, but fuck it.
This moment is mine.
His strengthismine.
It’s a feeling I want to drown in. To escape in.
Right now, I want to pretend I’m okay. That I can be everything that I know I’m not. I’m panting, hardly able to concentrate on anything outside the feel of his featherlight touch gliding up and down my thighs, over my hips, and deftly up my exposed back.
He reaches the tie of the soaked hospital gown and slides his finger through the loop, a clear question in his eyes.
“Yes,”I whisper, my voice breaking on the single word.
My hands tremble furiously where they grip his wet t-shirt as he pulls the string slowly until it gives way.
I close my eyes with a soft sigh when I feel the first touch of his fingertips against my skin. It feels healing, as he slowly peels the material down and away from my body. The gown folds over itself as if shedding skin as the last remaining part of my covered body is exposed to him.
