Rescuing Melissa (ALPHA TEAM: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists)

23. Her Shower

TWENTY-THREE

Her Shower

MELISSA

Melissa’s heart stumbled, unsure whether to race ahead or stop in its tracks. She was in a shower big enough for two with the hero of her dreams standing half-naked behind her.

She felt all of him. His presence enveloped her, wrapped around her, and covered her in a blanket of support and something much more primal. The heat of his skin radiated out from him as if seeking her center and stoking a desire buried deep within. She wanted him. Or wanted him to want her. She breathed deep, certain this was a dream, but knowing it was all too real.

It would be nice to enjoy this moment, except for the excruciating pain.

Of all her fantasies, none held a candle to what was happening now, but this wasn’t a sensual prelude to sex. It was a pathetic weakness that brought him near.

Story of her life, and it sucked.

Her body was a twisted mess of muscles strained too far, and she’d seen the bruising when she’d undressed. She thought she could handle something as simple as a shower, but the floor tilted up, and she crashed into it. And as she fell, memories of a more twisted time invaded her thoughts.

The bruises and pain brought back the night of her first beating.

She’d been married less than two years. A thunderstorm raged above her house. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky, and in-between the booming thunder, tornado sirens pierced the night with their shrill cries.

Scott hadn’t finished the new tornado shelter. It didn’t have a door. She was alone, waiting for Scott to come home. She grabbed the keys to the old shed, the one he ordered her never to go inside.

The entrance to the old shelter was in there, a heavy door she could barely lift, but a door nonetheless. He said it wasn’t safe, likely to collapse at any moment, but she feared the destructive force of a tornado more than a cave-in from an old storm shelter.

With the wind roaring, and the sirens wailing, fear gripped her gut. The new shelter wasn’t ready, and she had to choose. She raced to the old shed and fumbled to open the trap door leading to safety. It might collapse inward, but it was better than facing a tornado in a shelter without a door.

She didn’t hear him yelling until he yanked her back, slapped her in the face, and knocked her to the ground. He kicked her in the ribs and screamed at her tonevergo inside the old shed.

Scott dragged her back through the storm and across the expansive lawn to the new shelter. He threw her inside, and she crumpled, shivering against the cold concrete floor. Beyond the entrance, the storm howled, and the sirens wailed.

Confused and terrified, yet relieved to have her husband home, she didn’t understand his rage. Her relief was short-lived because he ripped screams from her battered body under the fury of his belt.

For your protection,he said. He punctuated each word with the swing of his belt.The old shelter isn’t safe,he said.

She would discover that lie many years later. If only she made it to the old shelter before he came home. How many lives could she have saved if she discovered what he hid beneath the shed?

She spent two days in the hospital under observation, and never ventured into that corner of the estate again, not even when the police came four years later with a warrant demanding she open that old shed. She thrust the keys at them, her hand shaking, unwilling to break one of Scott’s rules.

Only then did she learn what vile purpose that shed, and the bunker below it, had been used.

Tears ran down her cheeks with the terrible guilt from that night. If only she’d been quicker. If only he hadn’t come home when he had. If only she had discovered the girls trapped inside. She could have saved them. She could have saved all the ones who had suffered and died over the next four years.

“Hey, are you okay?” CJ leaned over her shoulder, his powerful hands gripping her waist.

His calming presence helped her breathe away the horror of that night and anchor herself back in the present. Her tears flowed, but he couldn’t see the terrible remorse.

Ah hell, what was she thinking? He was in the shower, stripped down to his skivvies, not naked but close enough, and he was trying to comfort her. She pressed her palm against the tile, spreading her fingers in frustration. The rough tile pebbled beneath her fingertips, just as ugly and raw as she felt on the inside.

CJ said a shower would make her feel better. He didn’t mention he’d be joining her, not that her falling down had been his fault. But she felt self-conscious exposed to his eyes.

Was he looking at her ass? Did he like what he saw? Had he seen down there? She hadn’t shaved or waxed in far too long. He must think her a primitive.

She pressed her forehead against the shower wall and breathed out. His fingers dug deep into her back. The roughness of his hands caught on her skin, causing tiny shivers to spread out from each of his fingertips. He moved up to her neck, hitting pressure points at the base of her skull.

It hurt like crap, but the pounding in her head seemed to fade.

“Does that feel okay?” He didn’t ease the pressure. “Not too hard?”

“It hurts,” she admitted, “but whatever you’re doing is making my headache go away.”

“That’s what it’s supposed to do. Try not to tense up.”

Easier said than done.

His fingers worked magic. He said he would only help her wash up, not give a massage, but she didn’t dare stop him. Whatever he was doing felt heavenly.

CJ’s fingers pressed into her flesh, kneaded with expert precision, and attacked her knotted muscles with purpose. Beneath his touch, her body melted, taut muscles relaxing, the pain dissipated.

“You’ve got a lot of knots,” he said.

Melissa lifted her shoulders to her ears when he pressed on a particularly sensitive spot.

He stopped rubbing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No. It feels amazing.” She stretched her neck.

His hands pressed against her skin, and his fingers continued their magical dance. He hit another sore spot causing her to hiss and lift onto her toes. The deep pulls of his breath startled her, almost ragged and raw.

He reached out to steady her. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me,” she said with some protestation. “Okay, it hurts a lot, but it’s the good kind of hurt.”

“Hm.” He collected her hair and straightened it down her back. “I love your hair.”

“It’s a mess. Boring and straight.”

“There’s nothing boring or straight about your hair.” His fingers pressed into the muscles of her back, causing her to gasp as he hit yet another spot. “Stop?”

“Mm…no.” She loved how he paid attention and adjusted the pressure he applied. His touch felt like fire and had her curling her fingers against the tile.

“It doesn’t work unless you let the muscles release.”

She squinted against the pain. “I’m trying.” Her teeth clenched.

With effort, she forced her shoulders down. CJ rubbed her skin, changing the deep muscle massage to a light surface caress. Once she relaxed, his fingers pressed in and held. She gasped in agony.

He placed his cheek next to hers. “Breathe in and out. Give it a moment. The muscle will surrender.”

She did. It was difficult. It hurt like hell. And it worked.

As the water poured around them, the muscles in her shoulders relented under his touch. She lifted her head and breathed out, only to arch as he massaged the muscles along her spine.

“Holy crap,” she cursed.

CJ paused. “Stop?”

She panted against the pain. It wasn’t the good kind either. Tiny jolts of electricity traveled down her spine and wrapped around her ribcage.

“That doesn’t feel right.” Her body wasn’t healed enough to manage that pain.

“Hmm, okay. How about we wash this hair?”

At that moment, the shower turned from slightly sensuous, to mechanical and stale. The metallic taste of disappointment filled her mouth. Her shoulders slumped as the last bit of energy left her body.

“I guess,” she said.

Why not? What else were they going to do in the shower? She was naked. He was nearly so, and the long, hard length of him had bumped against her hip more than once. Was she crazy thinking sex might be in the picture? Did he even want her like that? I didn’t seem like it, but there was his erection.

Melissa pinched her eyes closed. Good thing they were in a shower. He would never see her tears of frustration.

A coolness spread against her scalp. CJ had squeezed shampoo over her hair.

“You’ll need a lot more than that,” she said.

“Really? Cause I put on a bunch.”

She shrugged. He’d figure it out.

She didn’t move. He’d already seen far more of her body than she was comfortable with. She didn’t mind if he saw her ass. There was nothing special about her flat ass. Honestly, as far as the sex went, if he tried to put the moves on her, their coupling would be the most uninspired lovemaking in the history of shower sex.

At least CJ had the most divine hands ever created on earth.

The way he massaged her scalp had her head tilting back in ecstasy. He cupped the left side of her head in one hand, scrubbed with the other, and then gently rolled her head to clean the hair on the other side. He added more shampoo, rinsed it, then coated her hair in conditioner.

“Time to wash the rest of you.” His gentle tone had heat rising to her cheeks—another reason to face away.

Before she could think how uncomfortable she would be, his hands lowered to her shoulders and drifted down her arms. He rubbed her arms, lathering her skin. His fingers circled her elbows, and he massaged her forearms, continuing the electric touch down to her wrists.

His fingers passed over the backs of her hands, which she held stiff, unclear how she should respond. Then he circled around until their palms connected, and her heart rate spiked. His touch was sure and confident while she trembled.

Their fingers interlocked and folded together. He brought his hands around to the front of her body, just below her breasts, encasing her in the surety of his embrace. Suds covered her, trailing down her skin in rivulets. He leaned against her, his chest sliding against her back. Their skin, slippery with the soap, heated with mutual arousal. His erection pressed against her skin, and she gasped.

“Sorry.” He shifted, angling his hips away. “It’s, um, a natural reaction.”

She screamed inwardly with silent frustration. That’s not what she wanted.

“You doing okay?” His question lingered.

She bit her lower lip, not trusting herself to words, and nodded.

“If I make you uncomfortable, do anything that crosses a line, you let me know. Okay?”

She nodded again. The hard length pressed against her hip. She released her lower lip and prayed her voice didn’t shake.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to wash your front and back, and then I’ll wash your legs. I have to touch certain places…”

“It’s easier if we don’t talk about it too much. Just do it.”

He released her hands, and she let her arms drop to her sides. CJ’s ministrations became efficient from that point forward. The shoulder rub had been a painful but exquisite experience, delivered with care and consideration. When he washed her hair, she could imagine he lingered because he enjoyed it as much as she did.

When he washed her body, especially her most private places, he did so in a methodical manner. In less than half a second, his hands ran over her breasts. He lifted them like they were nothing and dropped them to move on. There wasn’t even an attempt to brush her nipples with his fingers.

He used a washcloth to clean between her legs as if he couldn’t bear to touch her down there. Up and down her legs, brusque and businesslike, he continued to her backside with that same damn clinical efficiency.

All the while, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as a constant and needy throb made her ache for more. Her cheeks burned, heated not from arousal, or embarrassment, but from a deep frustration.

She couldn’t wait to end this agony.