I set down my phone and stripped off my clothes. Threw them over the back of the chair.
The bathroom was full of pine-scented steam, and in it, beneath the water, Mitch stood with his face lifted.
Rivers ran over him, flattening his dark hair, catching in the lashes of his closed eyes and soaking over his broad tan shoulders. I paused and indulged in the sight of him. Taking in his strength and the shape of his muscles beneath this flesh. His black body hair clung to his chest and tapered down his abdomen to his thick cock. To the left of his navel was a raised red scar, evidence of his close shave with a bullet.
As I studied him a thrill went through me, a sense of ownership. Yes, I was his, but he was also very much mine. That was a truth I was sure of, and that warmed me from the inside out.
I slipped into the shower and circled my arms around his torso. I pressed my cheek to the center of his back, loving how our bodies molded together and the feel of his wet skin on my breasts.
“Hey, you,” he said over the patter of the shower. “Come to help me soap up?”
“If that’s what you need.”
“Always.” He turned and smoothed his hands over my head, brushing my hair back. He studied my face. “You make me happy.”
“Good.”
“I never thought I would be again.” He frowned slightly. “And there are still things that hurt.”
“Not seeing the boys?”
“Yes. But I know you understand me, my past, and that makes it easier to deal with.”
“As you understand my past.”
“We all have a past.”
“Mine is more fucked up than most.”
“Which just proves how bloody amazing you are that you’re so grounded now.” He smiled.
“I try, it’s taken time.” I slid my hands over his wet shoulders and enjoyed tracing their shape and the balls of strength that led to his biceps. “I just want a normal life.”
“I’ll give you that. You can trust me to always care for you.” He dragged me closer, his wide hands spread on my ass cheeks now. “But you know I’ll always be part of…”
“Galahad.”
“Yes.”
“And they’re not normal, is that what you’re saying?”
His left eyebrow lifted. “What do you think?”
“I know what they are, I understand.” I paused and stared deep into his eyes. The water had shaped his eyelashes into tiny triangles. “Or at least I want to. I want to understand more.”
He pulled in a breath. “I’ve found a group of likeminded men, intelligent, talented men, and between us we have ways and means of protecting the vulnerable and balancing the scales of justice.” He paused. “Some people belong in Hell. I’m proud that I play a part in putting them there.”
I thought about it, wondering just what else he’d done. How much did it bother me if he had shot someone dead? “Nigel Strand belonged in Hell,” I said slowly and thinking if he’d never existed my life would have been very different. “I’m sure he’s there now, burning.”
He nodded. “He will be, for eternity.” His lips flattened into a thin line.
“What?” I sensed there was more.
“You should know that Galahad might mean I’m never more than a beat cop, a low rank. Pushing boundaries, breaking rules, it doesn’t go down well with the force.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. Your rank. Why would it?”
“It mattered to Sarah.”
