“I hate that I brought you here, Wes. I hate that when we first met I used you for sex. And tonight, because you were here, and the position I put you in—that I’ve been putting you in formonths—ended with this result.” He gestures at my bruises, his eyes dark and stricken. “You and only you should have a say in who touches your body.”
I shake my head, keeping the movement small. “I understand what you’re saying, but all that has nothing to do with me wanting you—and needing you—here with me right now.”
He studies me for a few seconds and then changes the subject. “I got you a new set of clothes.”
I don’t want to know how he managed that, so just give him a grateful smile.
He helps me into the shower, and I hiss as the water hits my cuts and emerging bruises. But I still turn gratefully into the hot spray, feeling like it’s washing away the events of tonight.
The shower door opens, letting in cool air, and I turn as Mac steps in. I gesture at his boxers. “Take them off,” I say briskly.
“Yes, but?—”
“Off, if you’re only wearing them for my delicate sensibilities.”
He grumbles but slips off his boxers and throws them out of the shower stall.
“Alright?” he asks.
I nod. I feel utterly weary again, as if I could fall down and sleep where I am.
He picks up the shower gel. “You look so tired, baby.” I should ask him about all the endearments, but they feel so nice, I just want them to continue. “Will you let me wash you? Would that be okay?”
I edge closer and smile up at him. “Yes, please.” I try to smother a yawn. “I’m so tired.”
“Quick one, then.” Despite his words, his hands are gentle and his attentions slow and sure. I turn into his hands feeling the tender care in them—so different from the other hands I experienced tonight.
Before I know I’m doing it, I cup his face. He looks up from his inspection of my bruises, his eyes startled.
“Don’t let me hear you say again how you used me,” I say firmly.
“But I did.”
I shake my head. “Listen to me very carefully. You have been nothing but good to me, and I’m grateful for everything you have done. I may regret many things in my life, butyouwill never be one of them.” Despite my best efforts, I can’t keep the sadness out of my voice.
He stares at me for a long few seconds, and then, to my relief, he nods. “Let’s get you dried and into bed.”
I get out obediently, standing still as he dries me carefully. The care and concentration on his face makes my heart twinge, but I need to learn how to start ignoring my heart where Mac’s concerned.
He produces some pyjama shorts and a T-shirt still in their packaging. The fabric is super soft on my sore body, and I let him dress me, feeling him drop a kiss in my hair as he finishes. “Climb into bed,” he orders.
I hesitate, but I’m allowed to be weak for just a little longer. In this quiet room, it’s as if we’ve stopped time. Tomorrow, all the problems brought up by tonight’s events will still be there, but here and now, I’m taking what I need. “With you?”
He hesitates. “I’m sleeping in the chair.”
“Don’t be silly. Please.”
“You never need to say please for that. Climb in, and I’ll be in soon.”
I slide into the sheets, feeling the duvet settle over me, and I huddle into it like it’s a cave. Within a few minutes, he’s back in a new pair of boxers. He slides in, settling against the pillows. I feel his hand stroke down my side, and then he rubs my back. The motion is gentle and lulling and full of so much care it makes my eyes hot.
Why can’t I have this? Why did I have to have my illusions about him shattered tonight? Whenever I try to see a way forward for us after this, my thoughts get jumbled. All I can think of is violence and pain, and the fact that he’d kept another man before me and never once mentioned it. Was that because he cared too much about Brandon, or too little? My head hurts when I try to make sense of it all.
I cuddle against him, feeling him stiffen. “Hold me like you don’t care,” I whisper.
“Ican’t.” The words are jagged and impassioned.
“Damn you,” I say quietly.
