I’m dumbfounded, slack-jawed, struck stupid, as she rises. Water sluices off her perfect body in thick rivulets, cascading over her flawless, smooth, golden skin. Thick suds of bubbles slide down her thigh, over the serpent tattoo that wraps around it.
I love that tattoo. I love her thighs. Fuck. I’m hard.
A bead of water rolls between her perky, hard tits, dripping down her stomach like the stars I inked on her sternum years ago. I’m fighting the urge to fall to my knees and crawl to her. Beg to lick every drop off her body, until I’m the only cause of her wetness.
What does it say about me that I’m jealous of the fucking water? I’m disgustingly envious of every drop that runs down her skin, wishing it were my hands instead.
She steps out of the tub, and I’m damn near panting when my eyes get stuck on her pussy, almost as if I can feel it flooding my senses. Her taste, the way she smells, how it feels when she’s clenching around my fingers and my tongue. I involuntarily lick my lips at the sight of the ruthless temptation.
“Augustus?” Her sultry voice has my eyes snapping to her face. She flashes me the sly smile that makes my goddamn knees buckle. “My robe?”
“Sorry,” I breathe, holding it open.
She turns around, and I bite my tongue to keep from groaning at the view of her perfect ass as she slides her arms through each of the sleeves, and I let the fabric slip from my hands and onto her shoulders.
I’ve seen her struggle with PMDD for years. I remember her periods being bad in middle and high school, worse than they seemed to be for other girls. She battled with the pressure of being judged—told she was faking the severity of her symptoms for attention, or to get out of gym class. Not just by other students, but by teachers too.
I knew her better, though. I could see how much pain she was in, even back then.
In her early twenties, it got worse. The symptoms started weeks before her period and lasted long after. They were paired with anxiety attacks and mood swings. She’d sometimes go days without leaving her bedroom. She wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus on her writing.
Her flare-ups would sometimes coincide with her on-again, off-again relationship with my brother, and he loved to use words like crazy and insane and too-fucking-much. He didn’t believe her either, because she couldn’t understand what was wrong with her, because not every month was the same.
But like always, I knew better. I saw what no one else could.
Elena spins, tightening the robe around her body. Her eyes flutter upward, playful and taunting and such a contrast to the haunted vacancy I found in them earlier. “I like it when you stare, by the way. Feel free to continue doing so.”
She smiles as she steps away from me and back into my bedroom before halting. I know she’s taking in the made-upbed, overflowing with pillows I brought down from her room. The television turned on and set to the same episode ofReal Housewivesshe was watching in the bath. A fresh pair of sweatpants and her favorite crewneck sit folded at the edge of my mattress. The table on the opposite side of the bed from where I sleep has her e-reader, a fresh mug of tea, and her dinner sitting beside it.
“It’s the red lentil soup from Fred’s deli. I had it delivered. I also made you grilled cheese, and that tea is raspberry leaf. I read it helps with symptoms, but I can make you another cup of chamomile if you don’t like it.
She turns around, brows drawn deeply as her lips cluster at the corner of her mouth. “You said you didn’t want me in your room.”
I take a careful step toward her. “Thought tonight could be an exception.”
I want you right beside me.
She seems to hear the words I don’t speak, causing her eyes to soften.
“I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case, Augustus.”
“You are not my fucking charity case.” I take another step toward her. “You are the only person who doesn’t treat me like I am one myself.”
Her breath hitches as I close the distance between us. “What are we doing here, August? What is all this?”
“You’ve always been my undoing,” I whisper, bringing my hand to her cheek. “Sometimes I fear you may be my detriment.” Her eyes fall closed as I make contact with her soft skin. “But right now, Elena, you are my salvation.”
She exhales a shuddering sigh, leaning into my touch before nodding.
I let my hand drop from her face, sliding down her neck and between her breasts until it lands on the knot of her robe.Making quick work of untying it, the fabric falls open, revealing her flawless body to me. She allows me to take it off her shoulders, her skin now mostly dry.
I dress her, and she watches my every movement with rapt attention. We’re both out of breath by the time she’s covered up, and I know there is a part in each of us that wishes I’d strip her bare again, though tonight isn’t the right time for whatever physical steps we’ll inevitably take next.
Because I wasn’t lying when I said I fear she’ll be my detriment, but I also realize now that there is no force strong enough to keep me from her. Our grandest sins, our deepest pain, our tortured souls—they all resulted in the two of us ending up right back here.
We may destroy one another until we’re both ground to dust, but there’s no doubt we’ll be doing so wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Get in bed, Little Vice,” I murmur as her sweater falls over her body.
