Chapter 9 #3
“Does it hurt?” His voice was soft but not pitying. Just…concerned. Real.
I shook my head.
He huffed a laugh, almost a groan. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
I wanted to say something funny, something that would make him smile, but when I looked up, all my words got lost. His eyes were dark, green and gold from the lights in the bathroom, and there was something in the way he looked at me that made everything else vanish.
He leaned down, and for a second, I worried he’d stop. But he didn’t. He kissed me, gentle at first, just lips brushing mine. The water beat down on both of us, but all I could feel was Cole’s mouth, the way he tasted, the way he held me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I opened for him, needy and desperate, and he deepened the kiss.
His tongue was careful, not demanding, just coaxing.
My hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the muscles, and he shivered under my touch.
The power in him was unreal—I could feel it in every line of his body—but he held me like I was breakable. Like I mattered.
He broke the kiss first. His forehead rested against mine. We were both breathing hard, water running down our faces.
“You sure?” he whispered, and I realized he was giving me a chance to change my mind. To stop this, if I wanted.
I didn’t want to stop. Not even a little. “Yeah,” I managed, voice shaking. “Please.”
He groaned, low in his chest, and pressed another kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Let me take care of you.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, even though I'd been going to take care of him.
He washed me, slow and careful. His hands were strong but gentle, tracing the bruises on my side as if he could erase them by touch alone. He was so much bigger than me, but he never made me feel small—instead, I felt safe. Seen. Like every inch of me was okay, even the broken parts.
He turned me so my back was pressed against his chest. His hands skimmed my hips, splaying his fingers low on my abdomen. I could feel him, hard and hot against my ass, but he didn’t push. He just held me, letting me lean back and relax into him.
I let my head fall back on his shoulder. He hooked his chin over my temple, lips grazing my skin.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he murmured, and his palm slid lower, fingers wrapping around my cock.
The touch was electric. I gasped, hips stuttering forward, and he chuckled, low and rough.
“Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
He stroked me, slow but steady, his other hand braced against my chest, making a cage around my ribs so I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
Not that I wanted to. I’d never been touched like this before, not even close.
There was nothing mean in it, nothing rushed, just the sure way he worked my cock while his other hand kept me upright, like he knew I might fall apart if he let go.
The pressure built so fast I couldn’t hide it. My hips stuttered, and I let out a sound that made me want to crawl into the drain and vanish. But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just pressed his mouth to my hair, lips moving against my skin, and whispered, “That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you.”
The heat and the water and the way he touched me—it was too much.
I came hard, knees buckling. He held me tight, didn’t let me crumple, just wrapped both arms around my chest while I shook through it.
My heart hammered so loud I thought he’d hear it over the spray. If he did, he didn’t say anything.
After, I sagged against him, boneless and wrung out.
I was embarrassed at how quick it had been, but he just kept me there, stroking my side, not minding that I was shaking so bad I could barely stand.
His cock pressed hot and heavy against my ass, but he didn’t do anything about it. Just held me until my breathing slowed.
I turned in his arms, looking up at him, and I saw it—the hunger, the need. He wanted me. Not just to fuck. All of me. The broken, battered mess.
I wanted him, too.
I reached for his cock, wrapped my hand around it the way I wished I knew how he liked, and he groaned, head falling forward until his forehead touched mine. “You sure?” he whispered again. I nodded. Didn’t trust myself to speak.
He kissed me, slow and deep, and this time he didn’t hold back.
He pressed me up against the slick tile, his cock sliding between my legs.
I hooked one leg around his hip, and he hissed, like he was trying not to lose it right then.
He broke off, swearing, and got out of the shower.
For one agonizing moment I thought he was going to leave, until he came back with a condom and lube.
I nearly laughed at how stupid it had been that it didn’t occur to me, and that I should know better. I wasn't even on PrEP.
Then he swore a second time and threw the things on the counter, grabbing up a huge towel and holding it out for me to step into. "Better in bed," he said, and I agreed despite how hard and aching I was. Shower sex was good in theory, but I was shorter than him, and it had been a long time.
He dried me like I was precious and just dragged a towel absentmindedly over himself. I had to stop him going lower or it would have been all over, and I wanted more. Much more.
When we got into bed, he spent so long on prepping me, kissing me, I was ready to explode.
But he didn’t hurt me. Not once. He just made me get on my hands and knees and lined up, careful and gentle, and when he pushed in, he went slow enough that I could breathe through the burn even if it was tremendous.
I wasn't an ass-virgin, as I'd nearly lived with a guy, but I’d never had such care.
I never felt like I could say stop and he wouldn't listen.
I didn’t want him to stop.
He fucked me slow, rocking into me, praising me quietly, truths spilling from his lips.
“God, you feel good,” he said, voice rough and nothing like the careful, perfect Cole I’d known. This was raw. This was wild.
I wanted more.
He groaned, a sound that vibrated straight through my chest, and thrust into me, slow and deep, and every time he bottomed out I saw stars.
The pain was nothing, just a whisper compared to the heat rifling through me.
I wanted to tell him but all that came out were broken noises, the kind that would have embarrassed me if it was anyone else.
He didn’t laugh. He just pressed his lips to my back, marking a line of heat down my spine, like he needed to brand me.
Every touch was careful, every movement deliberate. He didn’t go faster until I begged, and when I did, he gave me exactly what I needed. The hand braced on my hip threatened to bruise, but I craved it. I wanted to wake up covered in reminders of him. Of this.
He reached around and took my cock again, working me in time with his thrusts. I was so sensitive I swore I’d black out, but he just murmured, “That’s it, love, let me see you,” and stroked me until I came again, shuddering so hard my arms gave out.
He caught me, didn’t let me fall. Not once.
“Good?” His voice was rough, barely more than a rumble against my ear.
I nodded, too strung out to speak. I wanted to say yes, wanted to say you have no idea, but my mind was just static with the lingering burn of being wanted.
He fucked me deeper, faster, his control finally slipping.
Every thrust made me feel more alive. I wanted to be wrecked by him, wanted to give him something real, something no one else had ever touched.
I expected to be in pain from my ribs. I should have been in agony, but somehow the heat from his body was keeping the pain away. It made zero sense.
When he came, it was sharp and sudden—a curse and a groan and my name, nothing else. He shook with it, arms braced around me, and for a second, we just froze like that, the world narrowed to this single moment where neither of us had to pretend.
He held me until I could breathe again, then kissed my shoulder, soft and almost apologetic.
“Not too much?” His voice was gentle. He was always gentle, even when he lost control.
“Perfect,” I managed, and felt his arms tighten.
“I mean it.” He reached over for the towel and cleaned me, and I let him.
I thought we’d just sleep, but he curled around me and held me so close I felt like maybe even the broken heart inside me could knit back together.
His arm was slung heavy over my stomach, chin tucked against my hair, breath slow and steady as if he could keep the nightmares away by sheer will.
I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to risk waking up and finding out it had all been a dream.
I was warm, for once, my body pressed into his, the heat between us something fierce and protective.
I let myself drift, eyes closed, and listened to the way his heartbeat thudded against my back.
I matched my breaths to his, slow and even, and for the first time since I could remember, sleep actually came.
Not the kind where you wake up every twenty minutes convinced you’re about to get jumped or frozen solid. Just real, deep sleep.
When I woke up, the light was fading, and I knew we’d slept the day away.
I was still in his arms. His hand had drifted up, fingers curled under my ribs, thumb tracing lazy circles on my skin like he was soothing a nervous animal.
I didn’t dare move. Every part of me ached, but it was a good ache.
The kind that said I belonged here, even if it was only for this day.
He shifted behind me, just enough to press a kiss into my hair. “You awake?”
“Mmm.” My throat was dry. “Yeah.”
His voice was rough, sleepy. “How’s the pain?”
I checked. A little bit of everything, but nothing sharp enough to make me want to curl up and hide. “Better. Sore, but…you didn’t break me.”
He huffed a laugh. “If I’d known you were such a lightweight, I’d have gone easier.” I snorted. He'd been gentle and we both knew it. His hand tightened, just a fraction. “You want rough, I can do rough. But you needed soft.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I just let myself lean back into him.
His body was so solid behind me, legs tangled with mine, chest pressing into my spine with every breath.
For a minute, I let myself pretend this was normal.
That I could wake up every morning wrapped in him, safe and wanted.
But I was betraying him. I hated myself so much in that moment I wanted to die, even though I’d survived my life so far because I wanted to live.
Because somewhere in my screwed-up head I was convinced it would get better.
“Stay here,” he murmured, voice gone gentle again. “I’ll get you tea.”
He was up before I could even argue, tugging on a pair of sweats and disappearing down the hall.
I lay there and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the panic to set in.
It didn’t. Not really. There was just a weird, weightless feeling in my chest, like maybe the world had shifted a few degrees and I hadn’t caught up yet.
He came back with a mug of tea and a protein bar, which he handed over with a look that dared me to complain.
I sat up against the pillows, careful of my ribs, and let him fuss over the blankets.
He didn’t say anything about the bruises on my neck or the marks on my hips.
Didn’t act like he was sorry for any of it.
Just watched me eat, eyes dark and steady, like he was memorizing the way I held the mug like it was the only thing anchoring me to the world.
He didn’t look away, not even when I burned under the intensity of it.
For a second, I thought he might say something, but all he did was reach out and brush his thumb over the inside of my wrist. Warm.
Gentle. Just enough to make my skin tingle.
The silence stretched, soft in the fading light, and for once it didn’t feel dangerous. Just…safe. Like maybe nothing bad could get in for the next five minutes.
I finished the protein bar because his eyes told me I wasn’t getting out of it.
He watched every bite, and when I was done, he took the wrapper and mug and set them on the nightstand.
The urge to apologize was so strong I actually had to grit my teeth so I didn’t do it.
I didn’t want to ruin this—the quiet, the comfort, the way he treated me like I wasn’t a fuck-up for once.
He sat on the edge of the bed, legs wide, elbows on knees. The mattress dipped, and I could feel the heat of him even before he leaned in.
“You sure you’re all right?” His voice was low. Careful. Like he was ready for me to bolt, even now.
I nodded, and that was all it took. He reached out, and this time when his hand cupped the back of my head, I let myself lean into it. He pulled me forward, slow and steady, and pressed his lips to my forehead. Just a kiss, nothing more, but it made every muscle in my body go soft.
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m not letting anything touch you here. Not my father, not the press. Not the arseholes who think they can get to me through you.”
The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I blinked fast, hoping he didn’t notice. But of course he did.
He slid into bed next to me, rolling onto his back but keeping an arm around my shoulders, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I let my head rest against his chest and listened to the steady thump of his heart.
Not an ache in my ribs, not the guilt gnawing a hole in my stomach, not even the memory of what I had to do next could ruin the comfort of it.
We lay like that for a long time. Just breathing. Just being. And I didn’t know what to say. I’d kept myself apart, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be near him, even if it meant handing him over to the wolves in the end.
He lay flat on his back, arm heavy over my chest. I could feel the rise and fall of his breath, steady now, untroubled.
I didn’t want to ruin it. Not this, not the quiet.
Not the feeling of being wanted. But I was going to have to.
I was going to have to text that number and start reporting to the man who’d threatened me, threatened Ricky, and who would destroy Cole if he thought it would make him richer, or safer, or more in control.
But that was for later. Not now. Not when Cole was here and real, and I could taste him on my lips and smell him on my skin.
Later? I was fooling myself when I knew the weight of betrayal pressed down on my heart more than the lingering ache in my ribs. I just didn’t know what to do. About anything.