‘I could get in there and help you.’ I’m partly joking but then she nods and the joke sort of evaporates and settles over me. Showering seems so intimate, so very couple-like, and it’s fucking terrifying how much I want to do it with her.
‘Hurry please, though.’ She steps back into the shower and lets the curtain go. ‘I have shampoo in my hair right now that I can’t get out.’
It grows silent as she waits for me to get in. I strip my clothes, wondering if a) she’s as nervous as I am and b) how the hell I turned into the kind of guy that gets nervous about showering with a girl. Yeah, I’ve never done it before, but still, it’s just a lot of nakedness and water. Not a big enough deal to get all worked up.
Still, I feel out of my element as I draw back the curtain and step inside. My eyes are fixed on Violet as I seal the curtain shut. She’s standing in front of the downpour, her cast arm in front of her, water rivering down her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her entire body wet and sexy as hell. Little beads of water dot the tattoo she has going down her side, of intricate flowers that wind and create viney patterns and I have the strongest hunger to lick them off. I catch her eyeing me too, her gaze lingering on my chest before colliding with my gaze.
‘How do you want to do this?’ Her chest heaves as she takes a deep breath.
It takes me a second or two to process exactly what she means, my mind immediately filling with a hundred different dirty ideas, every one of the including our naked bodies pressed together. But she’s talking about her hair.
I step toward her, the warmth of the shower hitting my legs as the water splashes on me. ‘Here, tip you head back,’ I tell her. She obeys, angling her neck and dipping her hair into the water. She starts to lose her balance and she sticks her good hand out to stop herself from falling. I hurry and wind my arm around her back, support her weight. ‘You can let go … I’ve got you.’
She swallows hard then lets go of the wall. Her eyes are fastened on mine as I run my fingers through her hair, washing the soap out. Her gaze fills with confusion, like she’s looking for something in my face or eyes but can’t figure out if it exists. I’m about to ask her if she’s okay, when she mutters, ‘You’re always keeping me from falling.’ Her eyes snap wide as soon as she says it, clearly the words an accidental falter of the lips. But it’s already too late. They’ve already struck my heart, pierced my soul and I lean down and press my lips to the base of her throat. I slide my lips up her neck, licking and nibbling at her flesh, moving slowly, relishing the taste of her. She lets out this uncontrollable whimper that I’ve only heard once from her, but that drives my body into a mad frenzy. I kiss her lips fiercely and she kisses me back with equal intensity. Our wet bodies are pressed together, the air damp, heavy, filled with heat. She’s still tipped back as I hold her up, tasting her, but I want more.
Slanting back, I guide her with me until we’re both standing up straight. She looks like she’s going to protest, but I back her up against the wall and lower my lips, licking up the water on her tattoo, just like I wanted to. She moans, relaxing under the touch of my tongue as it travels up her body, taste her flesh until I reach her mouth and crash my lips to hers. Her good hand grips at the back of my neck, pulling me close as my tongue searches every part of her mouth.
‘Luke,’ she groans, her leg lifting up and hitching around my waist. Something snaps inside me and every part of my body wants to be connected to her.
We haven’t had sex since the thing at the police station happened. I’m not sure why, other than it seems like we’ve both been tangled in this emotional web of confusion and trying to figure out stuff.
‘Tell me it’s okay,’ I whisper against her lips.
She doesn’t respond with words, instead rocking her hips against mine and moaning. ‘It’s more than okay.’
My fingers slide up her leg, grip her thigh, grasping her tightly as I hitch her other leg around my waist. Her legs open up to me and her arms loop securely around the back of my neck. My lips collide with hers, pulling her nearer, our bodies aligned, but it feels like I need her closer.
She continues to kiss me, biting my bottom lip as I brace one of my hands against the wall and slide deep into her, our wet bodies colliding, our hips meeting rhythmically. Steam surrounds us, consumes us, makes it difficult to breath. The feel of her lips … her warmth … the inside of her … watching her head fall back and her eyes gloss over as she comes undone in my arms temporarily takes all the bad away and pushes me toward the edge. Moments later, I join her, struggling to hold us upright. We’re breathless, our chest crashing together with each breath we take.
‘That was …’ She trails off, breathing profusely.
‘Perfect,’ I finish for her.
‘Such a softy,’ she whispers. Usually she jokes when she says this, but now she just looks tired and kind of content.
I want to call her a softy, take the upper hand, because that’s what we do, back but I keep the remark to myself, figuring I don’t want to do anything to ruin this good moment.
A really, really rare, but good fucking moment. If only I could find a way to make more of them.
Chapter 13
Violet
Things haven’t been that bad for the last couple of weeks and that’s saying something. I haven’t heard or gotten any surprise packages from Preston either and the texts have stopped. Mira Price is behind bars for now, something that I’ve wanted to happen since I was five. I’m still dealing with my visit to her on an emotional level, the cast on my arm constantly reminding me of what happened. But it’s strange. I’d been so angry and unstable at the police station, to the point that I’d broken my arm, but as the days go by, it almost feels like some of my internal scars are healing, right along with my broken wrist. I feel like a part of me was sort of set free in my outburst. Seeing Mira in that room, knowing she was there – knowing she’s still there – is a small bit of justice for my parents, if only they could just catch the other person. I know that it won’t bring them back and that’s still another thing I’m dealing with, but after the drowning incident I’m trying to avoid testing my life at the moment, choosing to live life I guess.
The detective called me into the station for a little chat the other day to give me an update, which was basically so he could inform me that Mira was being an uncooperative pain in the ass. He’s kept looking down at my casted arm and then suggested that maybe I should go see a therapist to help me go through this. I’d told him I was fine, since the idea of going and spilling my thoughts to someone is something I never wanted to go through. I remember the looks people used to give me when they found out I’d spent twenty-four hours in the house with my parents’ bodies.