In front of the vanity, he turned her back to the mirror and hooked his arms around her waist. His cock jerked against her thigh, and she looked up with an arched eyebrow.
“Ignore it. Look behind you. What do you see?”
Twisting to peer beyond her shoulder, she flinched at how the artificial light glared off her white skin. “A pasty girl in desperate need of some sun.” She caught his glare in the mirror.
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Don’t you dare tan that pretty hide.” The corners of his mouth kicked up. “That’s my job.”
“Har har. What am I looking at?”
“Bruises. Discoloration. Blemishes. Any of the usual post-pain leftovers.”
She squinted at her reflection. A couple of pink lines marked her shoulder. Otherwise, her skin was flawless. “I don’t understand. The implements you struck me with should’ve left marks.”
“I think after the first hit of the pole, your mind stayed in the zone without your body needing further punishment. You tensed before each strike and that’s when you seemed to be the most turned on. As long as I kept you guessing, I could feint a lot of the follow-through.”
“Like the choking.” She turned that over in her head. The collar of his hand hadn’t strangled her. She’d held her breath, imagined danger associated with it. “Wow. I’m a head case.”
He pinched her chin, angling it until her body followed so he could look her directly in the eyes. “No, Charlee. You’re a survivor, packing all kinds of hidden weapons. But I’ll be honest.” His hand moved to the back of her head and his forehead lowered to hers. “Hurting you is a very difficult thing for me to do. I’ll do it. Whatever you need, even as I hope like hell I’m right about this.”
She sank against his long frame and traced the indention between his hip and thigh. Pleasure without the soreness? Orgasms without planning? Never mind all that. The hopeful look in his eyes made her want it more than anything. “Me, too.”
70
The spray of the shower head wasn’t what spiraled heat over Jay’s body. It was Charlee’s hands as they lathered soap across the ruined skin on his back.
He’d never showered with another. Had never even removed his shirt in front of someone other than his doctor, and that had been a very long time ago. “I love your hands on me.”
“How are you really doing with all the touching?” Her tone was soft, careful.
He braced his arms on the tile and let his head drop between them. Suds collected between their feet, hers so small beside his. “The fear is still there. Touch never guaranteed a breakdown, but knowing that it could, I’ve always restricted it.” Like a big *. The expectation of panic was worse than the reality. He knew that, just couldn’t move past it.
Her hands lowered to his ass, fingering soap into the cleft. The little devil wasn’t going to leave a single cranny unwashed.
“You told me in New York that talking about your demons was a trigger.” She squatted behind him and raked her nails over the backs of his thighs. “Can we test that?”
Fuck no. He couldn’t talk about the shed or the horror within its thin walls. She had enough nightmares of her own. She didn’t need his.
She wiggled around him, her beautiful face hovering below his and blinking against the deluge of water.
The muffle of slapping guitar beats sifted through the bathroom. She cocked her head. “Why do I hear the song Punk Rock Girl?”
He leaned down and captured her lips with a shower-wet smack. “Because I set your ringtone. Like?”
“Love.” She grinned, and her lips curved down just as quick. “It has to be Nathan. Maybe he has news about the letter.” She slipped out of the stall before he could catch her.
Damn Nathan, the hater. Interrupting his shower time.
He followed the trail of wet footprints out of the bathroom and found her bent over the desk, dripping water on the phone in her hand and tapping on the screen. She held it up, wide-eyed and gorgeous. “How do you work this thing?” Then she returned to her frantic swiping. “I haven’t owned a phone in years.”
Probably not since Noah. Who was she going to call? A twinge pulled his chest. He closed the distance and held out his hand. “Give it here.”
When she stretched it toward him, he grabbed her elbow. “Go dry off properly. Water on marble inspired Bon Jovi to compile Slippery When Wet.”
Her eyebrows climbed then dropped over narrowed eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”
He pinched her ass. “Walk back to the bathroom like I’m not.”
The pound on the door sent him lurching into the closet. He dropped the phone and fought a t-shirt from its hanger. Yeah, so he still didn’t want anyone looking at his back. Motherfucking knee-jerk reaction. He yanked on a pair of workout shorts and didn’t belittle himself too much for it until he skidded out and found her answering the door stark fucking naked. “Charlee!”
She startled and dropped her jaw as if she had no clue why his face was on fire.