“How are you doing, lass?” His voice is rougher than usual, like the words cost him something.
I open my mouth to lie, to say I'm fine, that I just need a minute, but what comes out is a broken sound that's half laugh, half sob, like I’ve gone mad. We’re all mad here.
My throat closes up tight, and suddenly I can't breathe right. The tears are already burning behind my eyes, and I know that if I let even one fall, I won't be able to stop.
“I'm not so good,” I manage, and my voice cracks on the last word.
“Shh, love,” he says, holding me close.
That's all it takes. The dam breaks.
I'm crying freely, and it’s not the pretty, silent tears from movies, but ugly, gasping sobs that shake my whole body. The kind of crying I haven't done since I was eighteen and woke up screaming from nightmares I couldn't remember. The kind that empties you out and leaves youhollow, that makes my nose runny and my head feel like it’s been stuffed with cotton.
I don't remember moving, but suddenly my face is buried against Ashland's shoulder, my fists twisted in his shirt. And he feels… safe.
His arms come around me, solid and sure, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other spans my back. He doesn't shush me or tell me it's okay. He just holds me together while I fall apart, his chin resting on top of my head, his heartbeat steady against my cheek.
I cry until there's nothing left.
“Let it all out. It's good for you. I cried like my heart was broken when my brother died,” he says in my ear. “And it felt much better after. Let it out. Here.”
He picks me up and carries me, and I no longer protest. It doesn't hurt him. He's as strong as an ox. He likes carrying me, and truth be told, I like being carried.
We make our way to an overstuffed chair in the corner, nestled under the soft light of a lamp. He settles me on his lap and nuzzles my cheek. I put my head on his chest, and his fingers come to rest in my hair.
“Let it out,” he says. “It's been a lot, hasn't it?”
“Aye…” Then I'm crying again. “All those years, Ashland, she lied to me. All those years, she thought—she told me it was my duty. Even now, she doesn’t even care that he tried to hurt me. All she cares about is the money, the family, and whatever responsibilities we have. I just?—”
I cry until his tee’s soaked, and I’ve bunched tissues in my hands, trying to mop up the mess.
“Oh god, I'm sorry.”
“Don't you dare apologize,” he says quickly. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he pulls it off in one tug.
Once more, I glance at the hard planes of his muscles, the ink and scars, before he balls up his T-shirt and gently dries my eyes. He reaches across me and plucks the square box of tissues from the side table.
“Here, blow your nose for me now. C'mon.”
I mop my face and blow my nose, then release a shuddering breath.
“There,” I say, feeling lighter.
“Good. Aunt Caitlin's right. A steaming cup of tea, a good, rich biscuit, and a good cry are what's needed to soothe the soul. And then later,” he says, as if we're talking about the weather and what to order for dinner, “I'll take you to the bath. We'll take a nice shower together, won't we?” His voice is low and dark. “I’ll kiss your breasts and worship your curves, then lay you on the bed and eat you out until you forget your own name.” He kisses my cheek. “How does that sound?”
“Ashland,” I say, even as heat thrums through my veins. “Oh my god.”
He’strue to his word about the tea first.
I sit curled on the couch, wrapped in one of his massive sweatshirts that swallows me whole, sipping from a ceramic mug while he watches me with those silvery eyes. My eyes are still puffy, my nose red, but something in my chest has loosened.
“Better?” he asks in that low rumble that does things to my insides.
I nod, setting down the empty mug. “Better.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and the intensity radiating off him makes my breath catch.
“Good. Because I meant what I said, Bianca. Every fucking word.” His accent is thicker now, rougher. “I'm going to take you to the shower and worship every inch of your body. Going to make you forget everything but how good I make you feel. Understand?”
