26. Gilbert
26
GILBERT
The smell of lavender fills the air as I slip into the bath tub behind Ashlynn. I bring her body flush against mine, her back pressed against my front. The water sloshes, ripples caressing her skin. The soothing heat envelops us, easing the tension from our bodies.
“It feels… strange,” she mumbles.
I wrap my arms around her, kissing the side of her head. “What is? Taking a bath together?”
She nods. “And playing house.”
I can’t help the rumble that bubbles up. “Playing house?”
“What else would you call this?” She wriggles her back against my now half-mast cock, and I have to clamp down on the urge to runt into her like a caveman. Again.
Instead, my fingers find the space between her thighs, rubbing the sore, slick skin and removing the traces of blood. “I’d call it getting to know each other.”
Her thighs fall open, giving me more access. “Why the bath?”
“Because you need it.” My lips find her ear lobe, and I pull the skin between my teeth and nibble gently on it.
The heady moan that slips past her lips is music to my ears. “How do you know I need a bath?”
“You’re going to be more sore in the morning, and this should help loosen up your muscles.”
“Your hand is already doing a pretty good job of that.”
My lips stretch into a smile. “It doesn’t hurt to be thorough.”
She giggles at that. An honest-to-God giggle.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard her giggle.
“You are way too good at this,” she says, her tone playful. “I just can’t believe you’re a virgin.”
“ Was a virgin,” I amend, as I’m peppering kisses on her shoulder, and sucking the skin into my mouth.
“How’s that even possible? You were married.”
I heave both shoulders. “Rachel and I, our relationship was complicated.”
She tenses. “I’m going to start charging a dollar for every time someone uses that phrase with me.”
“Even if it’s true?”
“ Especially when it’s true. Everyone use the word complicated like it’s some sort of catch-all for hard to explain, but when you break it down, it’s really quite simple.”
“We’re discussing this now?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion.
Her chest vibrates with a deep hum.
I blow out a breath. “Did I love Rachel? Yes. She was my best friend. But our relationship was never sexual. It was more… codependent.”
It was more than that, but I’m not sure now’s the time to bring that up. Not with my fingers playing with her pussy.
“Did you see her naked?” she suddenly asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
It’s a simple enough question, but no one has ever point-blank asked me that.
“Yes,” I manage to say, the familiar ache in my chest tightening.
“Has she seen you naked?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t have sex?”
“No.”
We sit there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us.
“Help me understand,” she eventually says, breaking the silence. “I know my questions seem invasive, but I need to understand why. Or how. I guess I need to know the whole truth.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Do you know the difference between a marriage and commitment?”
“Aren’t those the same thing?”
“They’re not. Not always. People get married for all sorts of reasons, that doesn’t automatically make them committed to each other. Not in the traditional sense. Unless that’s something both parties mutually agree on. I’ll give you one guess, one you know all too well. Even if no one ever spelled it out for you like this.”
I envision the corner of her mouth scrunches up in her thinking face, and I can see the metaphorical wheels churning as she racks her brain, wondering what I could possibly mean. Then I feel it, the moment when the realization dawns on her.
“My parents.”
I nod, even though she cannot see it. “Even though your parents were married, but they weren’t committed to each other. Your father, rest his soul, was committed to his job. From what I know, he was damn good at it too. But the nature of his work meant he had no other choice but to compartmentalize, which meant keeping the professional and personal as far apart as Mercury and Pluto. I can’t say if your mother knew this going in, but she must have learned to accept it. After all, she had her own priorities and commitments that didn’t include him.”
“That part I did know,” she confirms. “I didn’t have to wonder why he wasn’t around. Mom filled both roles and that was enough for me.”
“Rachel and I had a different type of an arrangement,” I continue. “Our marriage was in name only, a means of escape for both of us.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It’s the truth, Ash. It doesn’t have to make sense to everyone.”
She leans back, resting the back of her head on my shoulder. “So, let me get this straight. In order to be free,” she says, placing the tips of both pointer fingers together, “you and Rachel legally bound yourselves to each other?”
A low rumble moves through me. “It sounds worse when you phrase it like that. But yes, we got married for the legal protections it afforded us.” It’s much more than that, but I leave it at that. “We were each very much committed to our respective careers.”
“But you were both adults, right? At the time you got married?”
“Yes, we were eighteen at the time. But really, there was nothing sexual about our relationship. See, Rachel preferred women.”
A beat passes.
“And you?”
“I prefer women too,” I tell her, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Just one, in fact.”
“Lucky girl,” she mutters under her breath.
“I think it’s more accurate to say I’m the lucky one.”
A shudder runs through her, ricocheting off me. “Just one?” she breathes.
My lips find her ear again, and I take it between my teeth. “A certain ballerina who keeps me up at night.”
The familiar blush I have come to crave makes an appearance. It slowly creeps down her neck and spreads across her shoulders. “I don’t mean to.”
“I don’t mind.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t mind it at all.”
She reaches for both of my arms and wrap them around her torso. Then she does the same, resting her arms on mine, our fingers intertwined.
“Since Rachel was a ballerina, and I am one too,” she begins, and I immediately don’t like where this is going. “When you look at me, do you see her?”
Yep.
I don’t like it. The shiver of apprehension that slithers down my spine confirms it. But I can’t lie to her. Not about this.
“Sometimes,” I admit, because it is the truth.
And truths don’t always have to be pretty.
I feel, rather than see, her eyes squeeze shut, and it’s not long before her breaths come out in soft pants.
That can’t be good.
I give her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Ash.”
A beat passes, then she squeezes back. Then, as much as I don’t want to break the skin on skin contact, I turn her body around, so she’s facing me.
As I suspected, her eyes are still squeezed shut, and tears slip past her eyelids and trickle down the sides of her face.
Fuck.
Leaning in, I cup her cheeks with both hands and press my lips to the corners of her eyes. Over and over until the flow of tears subside. Then I tuck a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear, brushing her cheekbone with the pad of my thumb. She leans into my touch and I lower my lips, gently brushing them against hers in what is meant to be a chaste kiss. Instead her lips part and her tongue brushes across mine, demanding access. So I give her that, taking her mouth in a slow, sensual kiss.
I love the way her lips look puffy when we part. She bites her lower lip to stifle the lustful moan that escapes, and it takes everything in me not to crush my lips to hers a second time. Her eyelids eventually part, and as she stares into my eyes, a look of pain and lust and hurt and wonder and something I can’t quite put my finger on filter through her expressive green eyes in rapid succession, each one morphing into the next.
I realize I am totally screwed, and not just because my cock pulses painfully between my legs. I reach down, palming her stomach as my thumb traces her words of her tattoo.
You are beautiful.
You are worthy.
You are enough.
I know what phrase belonged to whom — the first two, that is. Rachel and Hannah switched phrases. It’s one thing thing to have a daily affirmation for yourself, and it’s another to read it off the body of your soulmate.
Growing up, Rachel’s mother berated her constantly, telling her she would never amount to anything because in her twisted, perverse mind, her daughter’s sexual preferences dictated her worth to society, hence the phrase You are worthy . And Everett Crane, curse his soul, thought that attacking his wife’s looks would keep her in her gilded cage like he wanted, while he picked up and left anytime he wanted, hence the phrase You are beautiful .
Both women fought like hell to overcome their respective demons, and just when they were about to ride off into the sunset to live out their happily ever after, Clement fucking Blackwell stole that from them.
And as for the third phrase…
“I like you, Ashlynn Crane,” I say softly, my heart pounding in my chest. “I really, really like you. And I’m not just saying that because I know how it feels to be inside your perfect cunt.”
Her eyes fall to the water as a flush crawls up her chest and fills up her face. “Can you not?”
I hook a finger under her chin, bringing her gaze back to mine. “You are enough,” I whisper, my throat tight. “You’re more than enough. You’re the most gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking woman I’ve ever met. Being with you makes me feel like the luckiest man on the planet.
“You asked if I see Rachel in you, and the answer is sometimes. When you dance, I see in you the passion, grace, and fierce resilience Rachel had. I also see Hannah in you too. I see all of the above, plus the warrior she bought into this world. But more than that, I hear you. I feel you, in here,” I place a hand over her heart, “and I see you. All of you, even the parts you try to hide.”
Her breath hitches. “Gilbert…”
“I’m crazy about you.” I grip her jaw and stare into her eyes. “Absolutely, utterly crazy about you. So, ask me what you really want to know, Ash, because the one thing you can count on, is that I will never lie to you.”
Her green eyes search mine for the truth of that statement. I let her find it. I’ve spent the last few months trying to keep this attraction locked down, and I’m done hiding.
She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving mine. “Why did Dad hit you?”
That’s easy enough to answer. “Because I told that Hannah planned on leaving him.” A beat passes, then I add, “And that Rachel and I were getting a divorce.”
An odd glimmer crosses her eyes. “Oh.” her voice cracks, and she looks away.
“Don’t do that,” I tell her.
“Do what?”
“Ash, look at me.” A beat passes, and when she doesn’t, I nudge her gaze back to mine. “Ask me.”
She looks at me for a long moment, her expression softening. “They were having an affair… with each other.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
“I wouldn’t call it that. They were in love, yes, but it was more than that. They were soulmates.”
A ghost of a smile tugs her lips. “And you were okay with it?”
I nod. “I was. Your father wasn’t. Either he didn’t know, or pretended not to know. When we were picking out plots, I requested that they be buried side by side, and he vetoed it. I know Bonnie tried to convince him to see reason, and he hit her. So I snapped and told him the truth at their funeral. It wasn’t my finest moment and he almost broke my nose for that.”
Her eyes fall to the water.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know?” I continue, my throat tight. “Rachel and Hannah waited until you were old enough to understand. If they were still alive, you would have two moms.” And I’d still be traveling the world, taking on one classified assignment after the next.
Not sitting here in this bath, with my own soulmate.
It’s like she can read my thoughts. Her head shoots up, her eyes finding mine as those teeth sink into that plump, delicious bottom lip of hers. I want to taste her again. The need to have her lips on mine is overwhelming every single one of my thoughts.
“Dad hated you,” she admits. “But I could never bring myself to do the same.”
At her words, a wave of relief washes over me. I feel a lightness come over me. A lightness so pure and freeing, I feels like I’m floating on a cloud.
Still, I ask, “Why’s that?”
“Because I’ve always liked you.” Her confession is soft. Shy. “I liked you long before I understood what it truly meant to like someone that way.”