A bar of soap and a cloth appear in his hands, and with surprising gentleness, he begins to wash me. The tears are wiped from my cheeks before he lifts my hands and carefully scrubs the dried blood from my palms. Through blurred vision, I watch the water in the drain turn pink, then slowly run clear.
My head tips back against the cool glass as shampoo works through my hair. His fingers move in slow, steady circles over my scalp, easing the tight panic in my chest with every stroke. Each touch anchors me, pulling me back to the present and washing the death from my skin.
As the last traces of blood disappear, my emotions shift. The numbness fractures, giving way to urgency and aching.
After everything that happened tonight, I need to feel alive. I need warmth. Something real.
Through wet lashes, I look up at my husband. His chest rises and falls faster now, water tracing over the scars carved across his torso.
My hand finds his arm, fingers sliding down to his wrist. My thumb traces the dark star inked there, the mark of his world, before both palms flatten against his chest, where the steady beat of his heart thumps beneath them.
He goes still, registering the change in me.
Slowly, I sink to my knees, pressing my wet body against his before claiming his mouth.
The kiss isn’t gentle. My lips part, tasting water and salt and grief, giving him what I have left.
He groans into my mouth, his hands sliding to my waist and pulling me flush against him.. His mouth trails from my lips to my jaw, then down the sensitive curve of my neck.
Lower.
One hand cups my breast, lifting it as his mouth closes over my nipple. Heat blooms through me as he sucks, his tongue flicking with deliberate pressure, teeth grazing to make me gasp. Water streams between us while he pulls harder, as if he needs the taste of me, needs to feel me unravel beneath him.
A broken moan slips free. My back arches from the glass, fingers tangling in his wet hair to hold him there as pleasure rushes through my body.
The water shuts off abruptly.
Strong arms lift me again, carrying me dripping to the bed. Cool air skims over overheated skin as he lowers me onto the sheets, his body following, heavy and protective.
He moves down my body with slow intent, spreading my thighs wide before lowering himself between them. His mouth claims me, slow at first, deliberate, his tongue steady and sure. A cry tears from my throat as my hips lift helplessly toward him.
A low growl vibrates against me. He draws deeper pleasure from me, fingers sliding inside with controlled pressure while my hands fist the sheets and my legs tremble.
The last of my grief fractures beneath the weight of sensation.
His hands roam upward again, strong and certain. My wrists are pinned above my head, thighs guided wider. He presses against me before he drives forward in one powerful thrust.
The breath leaves my lungs as he fills me completely.
My legs lock around his waist, holding him close as he moves, relentless and steady. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my cries as he turns pain into a molten hunger that belongs only to us.
When it's finally over, the adrenaline drains from my veins.
I lie exhausted with my cheek on Konstantin’s scarred chest, listening to his heart.
He has one arm wrapped around my waist, pinning me against his side in the dark.
I'm physically and emotionally empty, but for the first time in twenty-four hours, my mind is quiet.
The storm has passed. The war is over.
I close my eyes and finally let my body rest. I know the man holding me is a monster to the rest of the world and that he's ruthless and capable of so much violence.
But as I drift off to sleep, feeling his chest rise and fall, I know he's the only place I'll ever belong.
He's the one person I’ll never let go of.
25
