Griffin Colson
ON THE WAY BACK TO the jeep, I shoot off a text to Jax, telling him to dig up everything he can on her exes.
She may not have wanted to give me their names, but that’s not going to stop me.
We had already assumed from the medical records that it was domestic.
But having her confirm it felt like I swallowed a hot fucking poker.
My palms itch with the need to make him regret ever touching her.
It doesn’t matter that it happened years before we met.
Any amount of her pain should be paid back tenfold.
And these shitheads are walking free after making her feel like she doesn’t matter.
They left her wounded to the point she doesn’t believe she deserves happiness.
That somehow her size makes her less of a person.
I will fix that. And I will make them suffer for it.
Her mood shifts on the stairs before we make it into the loft.
Today took so much out of her. She had to face things that anyone would struggle with but she did it with grace.
She didn’t break down once. She got quiet, more reserved.
The fire in her dulls a little when she’s actively trying not to think about it.
She received good news today but it isn’t over until she gets the last of the results.
And even then she will have scars you can’t see.
I plan to stand by her no matter how much time she needs.
She pauses near the door, lost in thought. Toeing off my boots and coming up behind her, I slide my hands on her shoulders, massaging lightly.
“Hey.” I press a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re okay. You’re clean. That’s what matters right now.”
I wonder briefly if I should tell her I get tested every three months like clockwork because of the amount of blood I come in contact with in my line of work.
I turn her to face me. “Want me to run you a bath? Or we could crash on the couch and watch somethin’ stupid until you forget today even happened.”
“I don’t know,” her response is empty.
I’m right in her face but she’s not focused on me. She’s buried under the weight of the day, the mental and emotional exhaustion. I bend down and scoop her up bridal-style and walk to the bathroom.
“Both it is,” I mutter. “We’ll use whatever fancy shit you’ve got in here that smells like rain or vanilla or whatever.” I nudge the door open with my foot.
“Shit! Griffin! You have to stop picking me up! I can walk. You’re going to hurt yourself!” She clings to my shoulders, afraid I’ll drop her.
I scoff, not even winded and adjust my grip, carrying her with ease.
“Wildflower, I’ve hauled unconscious men twice your size over my shoulder through active warzones.
” I sit her down on the counter beside the sink, flicking her playfully on the nose.
“You’re fine,” I reassure her and turn on the faucet.
“Sometimes I worry about your eyesight. That you miss what the rest of the world sees when they look at me.” Steam is already fogging the mirror behind her.
She’s referencing her weight again, and I stop mid-motion, my hand under the running water, checking the temperature. I shut it off with a sharp twist and turn back to her. I’m angry, not at her, but at whoever fucking taught her that she’s not perfect the way she is.
“The rest of the world?” I step closer, caging her between my arms. “Let me tell you what I see when I look at you.” I run my hand over her hip, tracing my fingertips over the offending softness she thinks I should hate.
“I see a body I want to spend years mappin’ with my hands.
” I move up to her waist. “One that fits against mine like we were made for each other.” I flatten my palm over her stomach, warm and possessive.
“And a woman who damn near broke me just by existin’. ”
My eyes burn into hers, unshakable and raw. “So no. My eyesight’s fine. It’s everyone else who’s blind.”
I capture her mouth in a kiss, gentle, careful. She leans into it and I deepen it. My fingers slip under her shirt, caressing supple skin. I only let up to come up for air, my forehead pressing against hers.
“Now stop second guessin’ yourself,” I growl, “before I have to put you over my knee.”
She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You wouldn’t.”
The mere thought of it is making my dick hard. Having her bent over my lap, my hand coming down hard on her ass. The way she would sound when she cries out. Fuck.
My lips graze her ear. I whisper, “Try me.”
Her breath catches and she shifts on the counter.
I move back to the bathtub and restart the water. “Now, vanilla or rain?” Nodding to her shelf of bath products.
“Vanilla.”
I dump a generous amount of vanilla scented salts into the water. A warm sweet steam permeates the air. Turning back to her, I reach for the hem of her shirt. “Arms up,” I order.
Once she’s undressed I help her in and kneel beside the tub like some battle-worn guardian angel. The water laps at her skin. My thumb traces idle circles on her back.
“Gonna open Moonglow tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I can imagine one of the ladies is tired of hosting their morning tea party at her house. I can’t wait for the earful I’m going to get.” She trails the water over her shoulders, comfortable with me despite her insecurities.
I chuckle, watching the steam snake across her skin. She gives in a little more, the line in her brow smoothing out a fraction as the heat sinks into her bones.
“I bet they’ll just be glad you’re back.”
I reach for the soap, lathering it between my hands to wash her.
She’s processing everything, getting used to her new normal.
I’m partially to blame. I shouldn’t have let pleasure distract me from doing the responsible thing and now she’s blaming herself for it.
I work out the stiffness, smoothing across her skin with steady strokes, attempting to remove the last of today’s stress.
“You’re okay,” I whisper in her ear. “Should’ve been more careful with you.”
Every move, every touch is deliberate, designed to pull her back into her body without dragging her under. I lean down and press my lips to the crown of her head.
She leans back, her eyes closed. She lets out a small gasp when I press my fingers into her skin.
Her face flushes with something other than the heat of the water.
She bites her lip ring and it’s all I can do to keep from climbing in with her.
The sound of her breathing, the way her lips part.
I love when she lets herself go like this, lets down those walls and really lets herself feel.
And God, it sets something off in me every damn time.
I know this is something I should hold off on while she’s this raw.
The clinic and everything that went with it is a heavy weight, and she needs time to sit with it.
I should be giving her the space to do that.
But I don’t stop. My fingers skim up her neck, thumb tracing the line of her jaw to tilt her head back further so I can look down at her and study her flushed cheeks.
“That’s it. Just let go.” I brush her bottom lip, tugging enough to pull her lip from her teeth. “You don’t have to think right now. Just feel.”
Her eyes go hazy and she shivers. For a fleeting moment, I feel guilty for using this against her, using her body’s natural reaction to take her mind off of things. But then she looks up at me with hooded eyes and the guilt evaporates like smoke.
“God, you’re beautiful.” My hands trail across her chest, caressing each nipple. “Lean back for me.”
She complies. Her back hitting the slope of the tub, her neck inclined, eyes closed.
Her hands come up to grip the edges on either side.
I’ve seen her vulnerable before but this is something else entirely.
She’s offering herself to me in a raw, intimate way with nothing but the water between us.
My heart slams against my ribcage with the weight of that trust.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I command.
My fingers continue skimming across the sensitive peaks that are already tightening.
The slightest touch makes her whimper and I can’t get enough of the way she responds to everything I do.
Right now, I want her to feel nothing but pleasure.
This moment is all about her and what she needs.
No pain. No hurt. No past. Just my hands worshiping her, tracing the lines of her ribs, the soft fullness of her stomach, the dip of her hips.
I want to make her feel like she’s the only thing in my world, a delicate, treasured possession.
It’s the only way I know how to show her how much she means to me, how wrong she is about why I shouldn’t desire her.
“I got you,” I rasp. “You’re safe.”
My hands never stop moving, every stroke of my fingers deliberate, worshipful. When they slide lower beneath the water’s surface, her breath hitches. The steam rising around us makes everything feel foggy, intimate, like time has slowed for this.
“That’s it,” I murmur, her hips shifting toward my touch. “Just like that, take what you need from me.”
And I mean every word, more than physically. If grounding her in pleasure helps quiet the storm in her head even for a minute? I’ll give it to her without hesitation.
I keep the pressure shallow, almost delicate.
My touch is feather light as I skate along the edge of her center.
My eyes are glued to her face, taking in every flicker of response, the flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips part slightly.
I could watch her like this for hours. I press inside her and maintain a steady rhythm as my thumb circles her clit.
“There you go,” I say as a soft whine tumbles from her throat. I lean forward, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Come for me.”
My fingers curl, the water sloshing against the porcelain as she arches under me.
Her legs tremble and her nails dig into my forearm.
I can feel her walls squeezing my fingers.
I ease her through it until I feel the pulses stop.
She comes down and I pull my fingers free, pressing my forehead to hers. Our breath mingles between us.
“Always gonna take care of you.”
My heart is pounding, my body taut with my own need.
It takes every ounce of control I have to hold back.
But she needs this, something soft, something easy without any expectations.
And I’m more than happy to give it to her even if it means I’m going to bed frustrated as hell.
She looks up at me, hazy and heavy-lidded, I swallow a curse.
She’s the most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
“Feelin’ better?”
She licks her lips, then nods. “Yeah, thank you.”
I leave to grab her a soft night gown from her room, coming back in, I help her out of the bathtub. I towel her off, rubbing her down enough to remove any lingering tension my fingers missed. I tug the nightgown over her head before bundling her up and pressing a kiss to her damp hair.
“Movie?” I grunt, herding her to the living room. I’m determined not to let today end with any shadows left behind.
I settle onto the couch and pull her down into the curve of my body. Tugging a blanket over us so the warmth doesn’t escape. She curls into my side. I find her hand beneath the blanket, weaving my fingers through hers as the opening credits of a movie flicker across the screen.
She doesn’t make it halfway through before she falls asleep.
I can’t help the satisfied feeling blooming inside my chest. The knowledge that she feels safe enough to give into sleep in my arms, her head cradled in my lap.
When the end credits roll, I reach out and flick off the TV.
Scooping her up, I carry her into the bedroom.
I tuck her in and pull her against me. I refuse to let myself think about anything else right now; the clinic, the future, the dangerous parts of my life.
Right now, lying here with her as the moonlight creeps through the blinds, surrounded by the smell of her, is the closest thing to peace I’ve ever had.