Page 55 of Find Me

He kisses my back, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through me, and I feel him ease out of me gently.

I turn around to face him, his green eyes piercing through the steam that hangs low in the air around us.

“You are fucking incredible,” he says between pants, a smile filled with desire crossing his lips again. “But one question, love… what’s your name?”

I blush, jokingly smacking him on the chest before leaning into him, as his arms wrapped around me.

“Turn around, I want to wash your hair,” he says and does just that. Switching from erotic and demanding to gentle and loving in seconds, worshipping my body and caring for me as if I am the oxygen he needs to breathe. He takes the shampoo and gently massages it into my hair, and I relax back into his touch. We stay like this until the water runs cold, his hands never leaving my body as we let the water wash over us.

I shiver, the heat from his body no longer enough to keep me warm, and quickly rinse off. Jax turns off the water, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel, wrapping it around me snugly before kissing me, his lips brushing mine gently.

We make our way back to the bed, naked except for the towels around us, before climbing under the duvet. My thoughts wander as his body heat warms me, the water on my skin starting to dry. Within minutes, my breathing quickens and my palms become clammy, the emotions I’m holding at bay threatening to resurface the second I let myself relax without his touch as a distraction. A few seconds later, I feel the ache for something more returning, a pull at the back of my mind trying to take hold of me.

Jax rests a hand on my chest, familiar fingers brushing my skin lightly.

“Tell me a story, love.”

“A story? About what?” I question.

“About you. Tell me what it was like to be you growing up.”

I move my head to his chest, and his arm wraps around me. His hand now lazily stroking my stomach as I stare absentmindedly at him.

This.

Us.

Whatever this is between us has caught me completely off guard, and I’ve never felt it from anyone else before. I don’t know what this is, what we are, yet I know it’s something profound. Something about him that just makes me feel whole. He’s the perfect combination of hard and soft, violent and protective. And maybe a little possessive too.

He’s made it very clear that I am his, and I’m okay with his newfound claim on me.

I turn to Jax, not sure of what to tell him a story about, and as I move, the duvet slips off of me, my skin bare against the cool air. He quickly repositions it, making sure I’m tucked in snuggly. I am cozy, warm, and feel safe, and for a moment I’m reminded of the unicorn duvet I had in my room as a kid, the one I spent many hours under, hiding from the world around me.

“I can practically hear you thinking, love.” His voice startles me from my thoughts, bringing me back to the present moment with my hand tracing the curves of his abs.

My hand trails lower, and he lets out a sigh as I get dangerously close to his naked length.

“Keep doing that and in a second you’ll be too occupied to think.” He threatens lightheartedly.

I look up at him and smile, always shocked by the depth and fire staring back at me.

“I was thinking about unicorns,” I say smiling.

“Unicorns?” he repeats back at me, and I can’t help but smile.

“Unicorns,” I say, now outright grinning at his confusion.

“You are always so unexpected, love,” he muses. “Why unicorns?”

“I was thinking about home—my parents’ home—” I quickly correct myself, “and how my bedroom always felt like home even though my parent’s house didn’t.”

“And this relates to unicorns how?” he inquires, and I can hear the smile in his tone.

“I had a unicorn duvet when I was little. I was so proud of myself for decorating my own room, so naturally everything was bright and colorful, especially when I went through a unicorn phase. My family teased me all the time about it, joking that the colors were blinding them, but my parents hated it most of all, saying it was gaudy and clashed with the rest of the house.”

“Hard to picture your parents disapproving of anything you do,” he jokes, and I smile, my head still resting on his chest and my hand still tracing along his stomach.

“Oh, not just my parents though, my brothers, their friends, literally anyone who saw it made a point to make fun of me, but I refused to get rid of that duvet. It was still there last year when I visited.”

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