Her trembling increases to shaking. I tighten my hold on her, letting her know without words that I’m going nowhere. I’m her rock, her lighthouse—her whatever she needs me to be. I caress her back, drawing light circles on her wet skin.
She rests her forehead on my good shoulder and a sob takes over her body.
“I’ve got you, Jess,” I tell her, my breath fanning the shell of her ear. The words aren’t whispered. They’re clear and true, a sonnet, a song. I gently rock her, my hand still drawing circles on her lower spine.
She lifts her chin, and her beautiful brown eyes—rich with flakes of gold—lock with mine. “Make love to me. Here. Now. Help me forget…” A slight desperation marks her tone.
I glance around the large shower. My eyebrows are raised when I return my gaze to hers. “In the shower?” My voice is deep and husky. I enjoy shower sex as much as the next man. There’s something sinfully carnal about it. But making love in here with an injured shoulder is going to be more challenging.
She nods. The look in her eyes reaches in where my heart beats wild and strong for her, and I know there is no denying her. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for this woman. No mountain I wouldn’t climb. No creature I wouldn’t fight to protect her.
“Okay,” I whisper against the side of her head, my voice gravelly, rough.
I kiss her temple, the shell of her ear, her neck, the curve of her sweet-smelling shoulder. One arm keeps her close. The other hand slides down her spine.
Her body is still bruised from the day Wilson confronted her about his missing wife and child. I lower to my knees and kiss each black-and-blue stain on her body, doing what I can to help her forget or at least lessen her burden.
Water rains on my body, hot and sensual, but that won’t last forever. And as much as I want to taste every part of Jess, we don’t have long before we’ll be facing a cold shower.
I seek the sweet bundle of nerves between her legs and flick my tongue against it, kiss it, suck on it.
Jess’s head falls back on the tiles. “Oooooh, Trooooy.”
Smiling, I push to my feet and kiss her deeply, completely. Our tongues tangle and glide, explore and seduce. I turn her so the curve of her spine faces me. My hand reaches in front of her and finds the sweet bundle of nerves again. I nudge her legs wider with my knee, and my fingers circle her mound.
A needy moan escapes her once more.
I plant a light kiss between her shoulder blades and lightly flick the tip of my tongue along her skin, tasting her sweetness.
Then I take my time, stroking her, worshiping her, bringing her to the brink. My mouth whispers my love on her skin, painting invisible tattoos with my breath.
I take her hand and place it on the tiles. She bends at the hips, and I trail small kisses along her back, wishing I could take longer. Knowing once I take her to bed, we’ll have all night for me to show her how much I love her.
I position the tip of my length at her entrance and inch in, groaning at how the heat of her body stretches around me, hugs me. I plunge in the rest of the way. My hand continues tracing circles on the most sensitive part of her, teasing sweet gasps from her.
I rotate my hips, my movements slow and deliberate, as I thrust fully inside her again and again. Her breaths come in short and ragged gasps, a harmonious symphony to the deep bass of my groans.
Her heat tightens around me, and a cry tumbles from her, the sound echoing off the tile walls. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh. God.Trooooy.”
My hips shift gears and move deeper, faster, harder, thrusting with a new desperate rhythm. Her inner muscles pulse along my length, pulling me farther in, squeezing until I lose the final threads of control.
I release inside her, my cry a guttural plea for her to never give up on us.
It’s an unspoken prayer she’ll forever let me love her.
Because there’s no other place I would rather be than by her side.
3
JESSICA
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
I dialViolet’s phone number. Again. It’s been three days since her husband was arrested, and I haven’t been able to talk to her. She hasn’t answered my calls or responded to my texts.
I’m clicked through to her voicemail. I don’t bother to leave a message. She hasn’t replied to the half dozen others I’ve left her, checking to make sure she and Sophie are all right.
