Chapter Eight #3
I sink into the steaming water, letting the heat soak into my bones, and for a moment I almost believe I could be clean again.
The scent of lavender and bubbles barely covers the metallic tang of blood still clinging to my skin.
I can feel Alex’s gaze on me—hot, electric, burning through every inch of me.
I tell myself to look away, to focus on anything else, but I can’t.
Not when he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing a chest carved from muscle and shadowed in black ink.
I swallow hard, my curiosity warring with embarrassment and raw need as I take him in.
His tattoos wind across his skin—dark, intricate, hypnotic.
He’s even bigger than I remember, all raw power and dangerous beauty.
I shouldn’t want him right now—but I do, and that confuses me almost as much as it comforts me.
He unbuckles his belt and lets his black jeans drop to the floor, leaving him in nothing but tight, dark boxer briefs that hug every line of his body.
My eyes betray me, dropping shamelessly to the bulge pressing against the fabric.
My cheeks flush, heat pooling low in my belly, and I try to ignore the flutter of want that spirals through me.
It’s wrong. This is not the time, not after everything that just happened.
But I can’t help it—the sight of him, blood still streaked across his arms and jaw, eyes dark and wild, is doing things to me I can’t control.
I sink lower in the water, hoping the bubbles will hide the way my nipples harden and my thighs press together under the surface.
God, I’m a mess—traumatized, exhausted, but undeniably, stupidly turned on.
All I can do is float in this confusion, wanting to disappear, wanting to be held, wanting to feel something other than fear.
“I’m going to join you, darling.” There’s no room for argument in Alex’s voice—just cool command and a gentle, careful hunger that makes my toes curl under the water.
He stands at the edge of the tub, water glinting on his skin, and gestures to his underwear, eyes searching my face for real consent.
“On or off?” he asks, and for a second, it’s just us—no blood, no violence, just the question hanging between us.
I can’t answer. My throat is locked, my body a battleground of need and shame.
Every nerve is screaming for him to take them off, but there’s a desperate ache in my chest, too—a wild, urgent craving to feel good, to be wanted for something other than my pain.
I shouldn’t want him after what just happened, after everything I’ve seen him do.
But I do. God, I do. My gaze drops helplessly to the bulge beneath the fabric again, heat flaring through me.
I think I nod, barely, but it’s enough—he reads me like a book.
His fingers slide into the waistband, and he pushes his underwear down, slow and unhurried, as if giving me one last chance to stop him.
My jaw drops. His cock is semi-hard, thick, and heavy, and pierced in a way that makes my mouth dry.
Silver bars run in a perfect, straight row beneath the shaft, each one glinting in the bathroom light, evenly spaced under velvety skin.
I’m mesmerized—filthy thoughts twisting through my mind.
I can’t stop imagining what he would feel like inside me, how he would stretch and fill me, how something so dangerous could make me forget everything else.
I gasp, way too loud in the quiet room, cheeks burning.
My heart is thundering, my thighs pressed tight together under the bubbles, the ache between my legs as sharp as my confusion.
Even though he's not fully hard, he’s impressive—maybe the biggest I’ve ever seen, and believe me, I’ve seen plenty.
Shame and want coil together, making me dizzy.
I shouldn’t want any of this. But I do. I want to be touched, to disappear into something other than my own terror, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
Alex catches my reaction and smirks, a flash of wicked pride lighting up his face before he forces it away.
He moves toward me, muscles rippling under all that ink, slow and deliberate—every step careful, as if I’m breakable, precious.
He slides into the bath behind me, the water shifting, warmth surrounding us.
He pulls me back against his chest, arms strong and gentle around my body, his breath a whisper against my ear.
My body goes rigid for a heartbeat, panic and desire surging together—but then I melt, boneless, into him.
He holds me like I’m something he’s afraid to lose, and for a moment, I let myself believe I am.
Reality is waiting just outside the door—a world where Alex is dangerous, a murderer, a storm.
He didn’t just kill Derek—he mutilated him, taunted him, reveled in the violence like something unhinged and primal.
I should be terrified. But right now, pressed against him in the hot water, I feel the strangest kind of peace.
His arms are strong, steady, wrapping me up in the aftermath of chaos.
For one impossible moment, the world outside can’t touch us.
He is danger and comfort all tangled together—a storm and a shelter.
And somehow, despite everything, I let myself lean back and believe in the safety of his hold, desperate for the escape only he can give me.