“You just puked, babe,” I murmur, rubbing a hand down his arm, suppressing a grin. “I’m not getting near your face until you do.”
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile and cry at the same time. “That’s fair. Take a shower with me?”
Even though I just came out of the shower not even an hour ago, I nod. A shower sounds way too fucking amazing right now. Not because I need it. Not because I’m dirty. But becauseheneeds it. Becauseweneed it. Because it’s not about sex. It’s about him, me,us.
I lock the door and turn on the water while he strips slowly, like the last two days are still clinging to his skin, like it hurts to move. I grab a new toothbrush out of the cabinet and push it in his hands before getting rid of my clothes. I step in first, letting the hot stream soak my hair, my shoulders, wash the aching between my ribs away while I let him brush his teeth.
When he steps in after me and closes the curtain, I open my arms without a word, and he just fucking melts into me.
I hold him to me, my Jace, water sliding down our backs like a second skin. His arms wrap around my waist, mine around his shoulders, our bodies fitting together like they’re trying to put the pieces back. And shit, how he belongs there,here,with me.
He buries his face in my neck on a sigh, trembling. And then, quietly, brokenly—
“Replace it,” he says. “Please replace that kiss.”
And of course, I fucking do.
I cup his face, gently, reverently, and he clings to my wrist like I’m the only solid thing in the world, those wicked gray eyes full of storms, damn near begging me to anchor him.
I let my nose slide against his and he shivers on a gasp, chest rising against mine, before I kiss him.
The first brush of my lips is soft. Hesitant. And then I kiss him again. Firmer. Deeper.
I replace the pain with every brush of my lips.
I replace the violation with every stroke of my tongue.
I replace all the heartbreak with every quiet moan that spills from my Jace.
We stay like that for a long time, only kissing, just touching. The water pours down on us, washing away the worst of it. Not all, never all, but enough. Enough for now. We’ll fix this in time, I know we will.
He’s here. And that’s all that I care about.
Eventually, when his breathing settles, when the tension leaves his shoulders, I reach for the soap and wash him gently. His hair. His shoulders. His hands. And he lets me. No shame. No words. Just us.
When we finally dry off, we shuffle back to my room, wrapped in towels.
I shut and lock the door, and without a single word, we drop under the covers like we’ve been doing this forever.
And then we fucking hug. Hard. Almost as if we’re both afraid the other might vanish if we let go.
His arms wrap around my middle, face buried in my neck, breath still hitching every now and then. Mine are tight around his back, holding all the broken pieces together.
Neither of us says anything, we don’t need to. We just lie there, tangled up, breathing each other in like it’s the only thing keeping us grounded.
Eventually, I whisper into his damp hair, “I’ve got you, okay? You’re home.”
And he nods against my chest, his wet hair tickling my skin, like that’s the only thing he’s been waiting to hear before he can finally let go and drift off, wrapped in my arms, safe again.Home.
EIGHTEEN
WhenIslamtheback door shut behind me, I lean against it to catch my breath. I jogged all the way home from the most boring class in existence, dying to get back to my man. I already missed classes yesterday and he wouldn’t let me miss another. But the very insistent, veryurgentneed to get upstairs to Jace nearly made me skip again anyway. Because fuck, I missed him. Even though it’s only been a couple of hours, being apart still sucks.
And while that need is burning strong in my chest, there’s also a rising wave of panic in my gut, because I’m praying like hellthat he got to the package before any of the nosy fuckers here got their hands on it and opened it.
They have a habit of doing that. Zero boundaries exist in this damn house. And this particular delivery is one solely intended for him and me.
I check the tracker app again, and yep—there it is, in bold letters:Delivered.
