I let him hold me. I let him shake and shudder.
Time held no meaning as we existed in each other’s embrace and fed each other with love and togetherness. I would hold him for the rest of my life and ensure he never felt anything but acceptance, adoration, and unconditional love.
“It’s okay.” My voice hung around us, glittering like fireflies, warming up his ice-ridden body. “I love you. I’m here for you. Feel what I feel. Live in how much you mean to me.”
With a loud groan, Jethro scooped me from the bed. His arms bunched around me, cradling me gently as he carried me toward the bathroom.
My broken arm rested in my lap as I permitted him to do whatever he needed. I wouldn’t fear him. I wouldn’t question him or give him any reason to sense hesitation or unwillingness.
He wasn’t well. His strength had reached depletion, but something drove him onward. Something he needed to abolish to find peace.
I was his. He was mine.
I would be his everything until he’d gathered his scattered psyche and returned to me.
Silently, Jethro traded the room for the shower. The same shower where he’d caught me with the water jet between my legs. The same bathroom where I finally knew I was falling for him, despite everything.
Silently, he turned on the hot spray and walked directly under it.
My dress became instantly sodden, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was reanimating my lover, protector, husband-to-be by any means necessary. Cupping his nape, I pulled his face toward mine.
He didn’t fight me as our lips met.
He sucked in a tattered breath as I licked his bottom lip, worshipping him sweetly. His eyes closed, his arms gathered me closer, and the world became just us, water, and steam.
Opening his mouth, his tongue met mine hesitantly, apologetically.
I hated that he’d forgotten our promises and commitment. That he didn’t trust my vow to marry him. That he wasn’t sure I could love him after tonight.
Holding his neck tighter, I pressed our lips together harder.
He groaned as I tasted his sadness, licking away his worry, replacing it with welcoming passion.
Slowly, he responded. The ache inside him unfurled, the pressure and stress siphoning down the drain as more droplets cascaded over us. Our heartbeats communicated in-tune with worded confessions.
“I killed him.”
“I know.”
“I hated him.”
“I know.”
“But I loved him, too.”
“I understand.”
His tongue teased my bottom lip. His heart cracked open and poured everything he’d done.
“I hurt him.”
“He deserved it.”
“I liked it.”
“That’s okay.”
“I loathed it.”
“That’s okay, too.”
“Did he deserve it?”
“Yes, he deserved to pay.”
“He asked for forgiveness.”
“Did you give it?”
“Yes.
“Oh, Kite…” I kissed him harder, our lips turning from dancing to fighting.
“He apologised.”
“He should.”
“He regretted his actions.”
“Good.”
“In the end, he was the father I always knew he could be.”
“It’s over now.”
Jethro dropped me to my feet, crushing me against the tiles. My cast was drenched, but I had no concerns apart from Jethro. My dress clung to me, highlighting straining nipples, and the fact I had no underwear on beneath the shift.
Jethro tore his lips away from mine, staring at me. In my hold, he slowly came alive, shedding the holocaust and returning to me. He fell forward, trapping me between the tile and his nakedness.
The moment our tongues met again, our hearts shouted louder and louder. The more our souls conversed, the more violent and awake he became.
“I miss him.”
“You can miss the man but not the monster.”
“I shouldn’t have hurt him.”
“He hurt you.”
“I should’ve been stronger to save you.”
“You did save me.”
He groaned as my hands shot into his hair, jerking hard. I didn’t want him spiralling into self-hatred. Cut wasn’t worth that. I’d set aside my hatred; I’d granted forgiveness. But I wouldn’t let Cut’s shadow ruin Jethro’s hard-earned future.
I touched him. “You saved my life. More than once.”
“I was almost too late.”
“But you weren’t. You made it.”
“I should’ve saved you the first time I saw you.”
“You did save me.”
“How?”
“You fell in love with me.”
His hands coasted up my sides, tearing at my drenched clothes. My hair plastered to my cheeks as his fingers tore at the neckline of my dress, ripping it down the centre.
Dropping to his knees, he yanked the material down my wet body until we stood naked under the steaming stream.
We hadn’t turned on any lights and the window barricaded the watery attempt at dawn. Our bodies were Braille as our fingers tracked and touched.
His skin glowed white in the grey morning. His eyes such a vibrant bright.
Standing, Jethro grabbed my hips and guided us under the spray. His mouth claimed mine—desperate, hungry.
We drank water and each other, kissing, always kissing. Touching, forever touching.
There was no soap, but his hands covered every inch of me, washing away the past, the murder, the last few hours.