Page 49 of Battle Scars

I watch as he pulls his T-shirt over his head and drops it to the counter before switching on the taps to fill my large bathtub. Maybe he’s going to let me rest after all. But then again, I should know better.

He gently unhooks my bracelet and places it in the dish I have on the counter for the bits and baubles I take off and then moves to slide each earring from my ears, dropping them in the dish as well. He opens a drawer, somehow knowing exactly where I keep my hairbands, and grabs one before turning me around to face the mirror.

I watch him as he gathers the weight of my hair in his hands and twists it up on top of my head, securing it with the elastic. His eyes lock on mine in the mirror as he touches his mouth to the side of my neck in a tender gesture before he steps away from me, leaving me standing naked in front of him.

He moves to the tub and tests the water. A delicious curl of steam wafts up from the bath, and there’s a sultry warmth in the air. He shuts off the taps and then unbuttons his jeans, pushing them to the floor and stepping out of them, his long, thick cock, bobbing out in front of him. He holds out his hand for me again, and I take it, letting him help me into my tub and move me forward so he can fit himself to my back in the warm water.

His powerful thighs curl up on either side of me, his knees above the water. He pulls me backward with a hand at my belly, so I relax against his chest and feel his hard length press against my spine.

I feel tight, like a bowstring. I’m not sure how I’ll ever relax in this tub with the man I keep promising myself I’m going to stay away from. But then he grabs a washcloth and dips it into the water, soaking it before he wrings it out in his fist, then he pops the cap on a bottle of shower gel, and pours a heaping amount into the soft terrycloth.

Gently, he glides it up my arms and shoulders and back down again. Up my neck and over my collarbone. He delicately teases my nipples, scraping the material over each tip as he washes me, and then he moves down my belly and between my legs.

By the first brush of the cloth and his knuckles over my center, I gasp, my breath coming out in short bursts. He drops it into the water and lets his fingers tease my swollen flesh. He moves over my clit softly, just enough to make me burn but not enough to get me off, and I whimper.

“Please.”

He moves his other hand up around me to cup my breast and feel the weight in his palm as he flicks his thumb over my hard tip.

“You beg so prettily,” he says just as softly, and then he moves his fingers over my clit faster and faster.

I grip his thighs beside me as I arch my back and rock my hips in time with his skilled fingers. The water slaps and splashes up and over the side of the tub, but I don’t care. I’m lost to the way he plays my body, the way he makes me feel.

“Gabe,” I pant.

“That’s it,” he praises. “That’s my good girl.”

My mouth falls open on a silent scream, and I dig my nails into his thighs as I come.

Gently, reverently, Gabe turns us so I’m leaned back against the lounging side of the tub, and he kneels in front of me between my thighs. Slowly, he slides inside me and holds me in his arms while he moves his body in and out of mine.

He doesn’t fuck me. What he does is gentle and loving, not rough and harsh, yet no less erotic as we come together. He touches his mouth to mine, and we breathe each other in as we find our release.

Afterward, he pops the drain on the tub and dries us both off, taking extra care with me. Making me feel cherished. And then he carries me to bed, where he lays me down and holds me close until I drift off into a peaceful sleep.

And when I wake, he’s gone.

Just like always.

But this time, it hurts even more, because now I know what could have been.

TWENTY

SLOW

Gabe

Leaving her after she falls asleep is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done but she needs space to figure out what she’s doing. Her date with the douche was clearly shit, and I’m not mad about it. But I am upset that he treated her badly.

Adrienne needs to know that she’s in charge of her own life. She is, but she’s also mine. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know how to tell her all the things I want to say, and I don’t have flowery words to say them, so I hope she sees how it is between us when no one’s around. That’s when it matters.

Until then, I’ll go slow. I can’t turn her world upside down all at once—that’s the shit that everyone else keeps pulling with her. I can wait. It’ll be fine.

I’ll keep things slow.

TWENTY-ONE

NOT A PRAYER