53. Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kat
“Why am I so sad you put that shirt back on?” Henry asked from the bed as I came out of the bathroom. I laughed at his poutiness and shrugged.
“Probably because your two new favorite friends are being smothered,” I offered reasonably. He smiled. It was quite a dangerous smile. And despite everything, it made me grin right back. If the grin was slightly feral, only we would know.
“Would it make you feel better if you knew I took my thong back off? I can’t wear it right now for several reasons,” I stated, not lying but definitely weaponizing the information. Henry was suddenly sitting on the end of the bed, making me very aware that he was still naked.
I took a step toward him, wondering if we could maybe have one for the road before I figured everything out. But the room started spinning for just a moment, and I immediately felt warm hands on my waist.
“Kat? What’s wrong?” he asked urgently. The room righted itself as quickly as it had started its tilt-a-whirl impression, and I pressed a kiss to Henry’s chest.
“I just got a little lightheaded there for a second,” I said quietly, knowing he was about to go all Henry on me with that information.
“Back in the bed,” he demanded in a low voice. I crawled back in, knowing not to argue with him. I was lightheaded because I hadn’t had enough food or water for what we had done last night. He knew that. I knew that. He wanted to fix that. I could see it in his eyes.
He followed me back into the bed, pulling me into his lap, my back to his chest. I let him manhandle me to his heart’s content. It was the least I could do, and if I was pressed, I’d admit I wanted it a little. Maybe more than a little after that phone call.
“I ordered food already,” he whispered, clicking the TV on and pulling the comforter up and over us both.
The Australian news or something was on, it really didn’t matter what it was.
We just needed background noise. I leaned up and pressed a kiss to his jaw, wondering at the fact that we were now sober and this was still… easy.
Even after everything that had happened this morning.
“What happens if I don’t like what you ordered?” I asked in a teasing tone. He glanced down at me, giving me a dirty look. Exasperated. I gave him my most charming smile.
“Kat, I got you coffee, tea, bacon, toast, and French toast with strawberries and whipped cream and real maple syrup,” he whispered. My stomach growled as if on cue. He smiled back at me.
“Sounds like I did just fine, my love,” he whispered. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he flushed. And busied himself with his phone. I wondered where the thought that we could kiss when sober in the morning went.
Not that I thought it was a good idea.
Because it still wasn’t.
But he didn’t know I thought that.
It probably disappeared somewhere between me trying to flee and me cussing him out. Or maybe me falling apart selfishly about what happened to ME in the hospital.
Well, we were on the same page, then.
I was still sipping the last of my coffee after already finishing all my food AND my tea. And some of Henry’s tea. And some of his omelet. Good thing it was massive.
Fuck I hoped it all stayed down for once. I could see my ribs. Henry hadn’t commented, but I knew he noticed.
No one wants to fuck a skeleton.
While I was slurping like a heathen, Henry was finishing up MacGyvering a trash bag/duct tape/determination cover for my sling and shoulder, already having covered my casts a little easier.
I could see the tip of his tiny little tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth in the mirror.
He didn’t see me watching him, but I smiled softly anyway.
I wished I could keep him.
But I was inches away from where I’d knelt as Donovan threatened me with torture and worse violation.
Where he’d promised that the third time, he’d get it right.
He’d torture Henry to DEATH, this time.
So, I couldn’t keep him.
But I could let him help me shower for the first time in months.
“There!” he exclaimed delightedly. My smile grew at how proud he looked of himself. It was strange how little I cared that I was standing here in front of him, as naked as he was. It just didn’t seem to matter after everything.
He leaned to the side to grab something, and I was blatantly staring at the long line of his neck, stretching down the slope of his shoulder, the delicate hollow of his collarbone.
Okay maybe it mattered a little.
A lot.
He was damn sexy. How the HELL was I turned on AGAIN? I should’ve been good for a month!
Okay well at least a week.
A couple days. The sight of his abs, strong even behind the still healing scars, caught my eye.
Okay fine at least a day. Not only a handful of hours.
I wasn’t making it through this shower. He looked up and caught my eye in the mirror, noticing I was staring. He shoved his too-long hair out of his eyes, running his hand through it.
And grinned.
“You do realize I still can’t actually SHOWER, right?
” I pointed out, raising one eyebrow at him.
He slid his hands around my waist and across my stomach, landing on my ribs on opposite sides.
Pulling me back into him, I could feel against my back how interested he was in showering with me. He leaned down to whisper in my ear.
“You do realize I wasn’t planning on letting you anyway, right?” he asked teasingly, copying my cadence deliberately. I stuck my tongue out at him again, with him only an inch away this time. He pressed a kiss to my temple and let me go in favor of turning on the water.
I didn’t actually want him to kiss me. Like actually, really.
Well.
I wanted it desperately.
But I couldn’t allow it. Because I wouldn’t survive it.
And he wouldn’t survive whatever was coming for ME, if I stayed, and if they found me. I knew that for a fact.
So, after this shower, I needed to somehow make him hate me. Or at least, believe I didn’t want him. Somehow.
I heard a soft crinkle as Henry grabbed my hand and gently pulled me into the shower with him. I distracted myself from his curly, wet hair and damp skin by checking to make sure his waterproofing job was holding up. It was. Of course it was.
“I thought you trusted me, Kitty Kat,” he whispered in my ear from behind me.
I spun around, ready to smack him for the nickname I hated SO much, when I saw the grin on his face.
He’d done it on purpose, probably to help me stay distracted from the fact that now we were both wet and slippery and contained in this steamy, liminal space.
Instead, I found myself thinking of Vegas.
Of my body trapped between his warm safety and the cool tile of the wall.
Of clinging to him as he showed me for the first time that maybe my body wasn’t as broken as I’d thought.
That if a man actually TRIED, and if I actually LET him, I could actually COME with him. Together.
Ah, fuck.
My heart rate was so high and my mind was so not there that I jumped when gentle hands hit my hair. He froze.
“Kat? You jumped. Are you okay?” he asked softly. I nodded. Then responded before he could ask for my words.
“Yes. Just… distracted,” I whispered. He thankfully didn’t ask what I meant. Probably because he’d been thinking similar things, if the continued warm press against my back was any indication.
“Okay. Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he whispered back, somehow understanding the quiet was needed, here.
His fingers in my hair made me moan, and I heard his breath his between his teeth at the sound. I couldn’t help it, though. My hair was so sweaty and sticky after the night before, and his hands felt SO good.
They felt good through methodically washing my hair. They felt good through softly putting conditioner in the way I’d shown him before.
They felt SO good as he washed me slowly, massaging muscles I hadn’t realized I had, let alone that they were sore, as he went.
And even as he washed the places he’d been obsessed with the night before, he was just gentle and soft. Careful.
But when he was finally done, I turned around, hoping I could maybe figure out how to do something of the sort for him. Not because I needed to, but because I NEEDED to.
But my crinkly cast raincoat pressed against his chest, and then I just let it fall to the side. I couldn’t do anything. At all. I couldn’t… I just couldn’t.
I sat down gracelessly on the shower bench, pulling my legs up to my chest. He sat down next to me, facing me. Waiting for me.
He’d spent the entire night showing me I didn’t HAVE to do anything to receive pleasure from him. But the tears started falling, because I WANTED to do those things for him.
And I couldn’t.
I just fucking couldn’t.
And after this shower, I wouldn’t get the chance again.
I started sobbing as he pulled me toward him, wrapping my curled-up body fully in his arms, his chin on top of my head where it lay against his chest. He didn’t ask me what was wrong.
He couldn’t possibly know.
But there was an awful lot to mourn, either way.