“You’ll never get warm that way,” I laugh, moving him so he’s standing directly beneath the showerhead.
Water cascades down his face, soaking his curls through until they hang limply around his cheeks and neck. He reaches up and pushes the wet strands away from his eyes, blinking as water dribbles down his forehead, droplets catching like dew in his eyelashes. I’m about to gently reach out to tip his head back when he does it himself, like he was reading my mind. He sighs as he closes his eyes, the water wicking away the traces of sticky dried tears and hopefully some of the sorrow he brought with him to my apartment tonight.
“Feels good, huh?” I ask as he tips his head back down and turns around to let the water hit his pale chest.
He nods but wobbles on his feet again, so I move to stand behind him, bracing his body with my hands on his hips. When he feels a bit more settled on his feet, I reach forward and grab my shampoo, figuring that starting there is probably the safest bet. As much as I want to grab his arms and scrape the wounds he created away, I ultimately just want him to feel better. Shiloh nearly purrs as I scrub the shampoo into his scalp, kneading my fingertips along his skin in small circles. When I’m done rinsing the shampoo out, I grab the conditioner and repeat the process, working through his tangles with my fingers as he sinks into my touch.
And then I turn him to face me and reach for his chewed-up arms. Shiloh goes stock still and looks away from me, his chest heaving slightly. I take his hands in mine and raise them up so I can get a good look at his forearms. They’re bruised and scabbing over in some places, and my heart aches as I try to both keep count of and not count the times he damaged himself.
I don’t make a comment because he doesn’t need my words. Instead, I grab my blue shower poof and wash every inch of his body that I can see before turning him around and doing the same to his back. The only piece of him I don’t touch is the heart I carved into his chest, and when I turn him around to face me again, I put the loofah down.
“I will keep your heart, Shiloh,” I say, reaching out to press my fingers to his chest below the jagged, reddened heart. “But I don’t want it without the rest of you. I want your mind, your touch, your love. Call me greedy, but I want it all. Every piece of you is precious to me, even the ones you wish you could cut away and hide. You’re not the monster you have been, baby. I know that. I can’t say it’s okay to do what you’ve done, but I believe you’re worth more than to be thrown away like a broken toy, soplease… stay? Let me keep you. Be here with me and let me be here with you.”
“Stay?” he asks, his eyes once again filled with reverence and awe.
“Yes. Stay here where you’re loved, Shiloh Ryley Lake.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SHILOH
Stay…
He wants me to stay.
I’m so caught up on the words that I can barely think.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out soft and a little breathy when Donovan pulls me from the shower and gently towels me off before leading me to his room. I’m still in shock that he’sokaywith this, that he’s letting me stay. I was ready to die here, to die for him. I was ready to die in little pieces every day for the rest of my life if he turned me away…
I’m not sure if I ever really thought he’d want to keep me.
I’m drowning in the way he’s looking at me, in the fact that even though he’s seen the monster I am, there’s still a part of him that seems to seemore.
I want to be that more. I want to live in that place between his expression and the soft curve of his lips as he presses me against his cool sheets.
“Has anyone ever taken care of you, Shiloh? Has anyone tried to show you how special you are?”
My brows knit together as he crawls onto the bed with me, his big body hovering over mine.
Has anyone ever taken care of me?
I’m sure people have tried. I’m sure my mother took care of me when I was small, even though my memories of her are stained in red.
But judging by the way Donovan’s looking at me, that’s not really what he’s asking. Even with him, most of the time when we’ve been fucking I’ve been on top.
“I’ve never trusted anyone enough to really let them.” I breathe out the soft confession, and he nods once… twice… and then drops his lips to press them against mine. He kisses me softly, one gentle swipe of his tongue before he moves to the curve of my jaw.
“You deserve to be taken care of, Shiloh.”
His mouth moves to my neck, and I know he can feel how hard my heart is hammering.
“I don’t know if that’s true.” My head is reeling from all this honesty, but something about it feels good… almost like I’m bleeding poison from beneath my skin.
“Can I show you that it is? Will you let me show you?” Even now, when I owe him everything, when I could just as easily have died beneath the knife he had pressed to my throat… he’s asking.
“Always.” It’s the only answer I have, and I think when he presses his lips to the little cut he left on my collarbone, I can feel them trembling.
I can’t breathe around the knowledge that I’ve hurt him, that knowing what I was brought him pain… but maybe I can make up for it now.
