Chapter 11 Deirdre #2
Kieran falls silent, and I can see the war behind his eyes. His thoughts are still pacing…still calculating.
He shifts forward, brushing my damp hair behind my ear with the backs of his fingers. His hand trails lightly down my cheek and along the curve of my jaw. “You’re still clammy,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”
I nod, too tired to argue, and currently feeling too raw to pretend I don’t need exactly that.
He carefully helps me out of the bed, steadying me as I stand.
My knees wobble slightly, but his grip is secure, grounding me.
His hand curls around mine and, without another word, he guides me into the tiny bathroom attached to the dorm room.
The fluorescent light flickers for a second before it steadies, but Kieran’s already moved to the shower, turning the hot water on full blast.
Steam begins to cloud the mirror almost instantly.
“I didn’t think the water got that hot in here,” I say, confused, watching the steam swirl up the glass.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I put in a maintenance ticket while you were still in the hospital. Told them a student was recovering from surgery and she deserved a damn hot shower.”
He remembered the water didn’t get hot in here.
A flush spreads through me, and not from the steam. It’s from him. His thoughtfulness. His quiet way of showing up for me again and again.
My hands tremble slightly as he begins to undress me with careful precision.
He lifts the hem of my oversized sleep shirt and pulls it over my head, mindful of the bruises that still mark my ribs.
I wince a little, but not from pain, more from the ache of vulnerability.
He hasn’t seen me naked since before the attack.
My body feels and looks different. I attempt to cover up the healing bruises that pepper my pale skin.
“You don’t have to hide from me, Deirdre.”
He presses a kiss to my shoulder as the shirt drops to the floor.
When I’m fully exposed, he guides me into the shower. I step in carefully, trying my best not to slip in this old, yellow-stained ceramic tub. The hot water cascades over my skin, providing relief easing the tension from my muscles. I let out a faint sigh as I lean against the tiled wall.
A minute later, the shower curtain rustles, and when I turn, I see him there, naked, steam curling around his shoulders like smoke. He hesitates for just a second before stepping in behind me.
“What are you doing?”
“I am going to wash your body. You deserve a relaxing shower, sweetheart.”
He picks up my lavender body wash, squirts it onto my loofah, and works it into a thick lather.
Then, delicately, he begins to run the sponge over my skin, my arms, my back, the curve of my hip.
His feather touches are like a ghost across my skin.
I feel every inch of him behind me, but I don’t move. I just relish in the moment.
His fingers linger a little longer than necessary as he works down my spine, right above the divot in my lower back. He slides his hands back up, curling around my shoulder blades. I crane my neck to the side to let the warm water run over my neck as I stretch, the tension melting away.
My breath catches when he gently turns me to face him. His hands pause when he reaches my ribs. Briefly, a pained expression flashes across his face, like he is remembering a memory.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint.
“You won’t,” I whisper.
But he stays still. “I have before.”
I grab his hand, placing it over my heart. “Kieran, I am right here. Do you feel my heart beating? You saved me.” My voice cracks as I attempt to choke back tears.
He lets his hand holding the sponge run across my breasts, under and around, then slowly down my stomach.
We both feel it. The heat simmers between us, building in the steam. His hands linger on my hips, and my body presses closer to his like a magnetic force.
But neither of us moves to take it further.
Because this isn’t about need. It’s about care. It’s about healing. It’s about restraint, even though every ounce of me wants to fall into him.
His lips find my temple, and I feel the shake in his breath. “You don’t know how hard it is not to touch you the way I want to.”
I nod, forehead against his chest. “I do,” I say quietly. “Because I need you to touch me.”
We stand there, tangled in heat and unspoken ache, the water rushing around us like the only sound in the world.
And for now, that’s enough.
By the time we step out of the shower, my skin is flushed from the heat and his hands. My body feels more at ease. My mind is calm. Less like a live wire ready to snap.
He grabs one of Claire’s plush terry towels and dries me off meticulously, with the kind of focus that’s become second nature for him.
Kieran wraps the towel around me like I’m breakable porcelain, like one wrong move could shatter me.
But he doesn’t know I’m already in pieces, and he is the only person who knows how to glue me back together.
He dresses me in one of my old oversized band shirts and a pair of cheeky panties.
Once I’m tucked beneath the blankets again, he gets dressed again and climbs in beside me. He pulls me into his chest without hesitation. His arms come around me, and I settle against him like a habit I never want to break.
His fingers trace idle lines along my arm as I start to drift off. I feel safe in a way I haven’t in thirteen days.
“Sleep,” he murmurs against my hair.
“I’m trying,” I whisper back.
And I do. Eventually.
The last thing I remember is the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek and the feeling that, for once, I’m not alone in the dark.