Page 74 of Citadel

When I’m done washing, Cole goes down to the creek to wash up too. I watch him as he splashes water on himself, soaps up, and rinses off.

It’s pitch-dark out in the woods outside of the light from the campfire, but he has his flashlight set on a rock to provide some limited illumination. I gaze at the lines of his body. The curve of his broad shoulders and biceps. The length of his back. The thickness of his thighs.

He’s got some hair on his chest and under his arms. And more trailing under the waistband of his pants. When he finishes washing, he takes his straight-edged razor and runs it over his jaw and scalp, shaving off a few days’ worth of growth.

A clench of feeling tightens in my belly as I watch him. It’s not lust. Not exactly. It’s more like ownership. Possessiveness. Watching him go through the intimate task triggered it, and now it won’t go away.

He splashes more water over his face and head afterward. He doesn’t appear aware that I’m watching him so closely.

He rubs at his right shoulder. Then rolls that same shoulder. Stretches his arm forward and back, his face tensing up briefly.

He’s sore. His shoulder is bothering him.

I’m hit with the sudden vision of hanging over the river two years ago, held up by nothing but the strength of his right arm.

All the feelings come back to me, like they’re happening again. Fear. Panic. Helplessness. The unyielding grip of his big hand.

That bone-deep, undeniable knowledge that he was never going to let me go.

I choke on the feelings. He glances back at the sound, then frowns in concern as I get up and walk over to where he’s kneeling.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Something is. You look—” His frown deepens. He touches my cheek with his fingertips.

“Is your shoulder hurting?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.” I reach over with both hands and rub him there, feeling the clench of his muscles, the shape of his bones. “Does it hurt?”

“A little. It’s nothing.” Despite his words, he releases a thick exhale when I deepen the caress into a massage.

“It does hurt. You should have told me it bothers you.” I move around his body so I can reach his shoulder from behind, getting a better position for the massage.

“It’s fine.” He lets out another of those groans, his eyes falling shut for a few seconds. “Shit, baby. You don’t have to— Oh fuck.”

“You injured it because of me.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did. Tell me the truth. It never bothered you until you dislocated it two years ago when you hauled me up from that cliff.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” I’m not particularly skilled at this activity, but I knead his tight muscles as best I can. It seems to be working if his visceral reactions are anything to go by. “You were holding my entire weight with your one hand, your one shoulder.”

“You’re so tiny—”

“Don’t even try to say that. I’m not big, but I’m an entire human being, and you were holding all of me with nothing more than your grip.” I lean over to kiss the back of his neck. Then his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“No way in fuck would I ever drop you.” A new kind of tension is growing in his body—one I really like. One that deepens that clench in my belly and evokes a new one in my pussy.

“I know that. I knew it then, and I know it now.” I kiss the side of his jaw, sliding my hand down his arm until I can twine my fingers with his. “You were never going to let me go.”

He tightens his hand on mine. Then straightens without warning and swings me up into his arms, carrying me over to the dwindling fire. We’re briefly interrupted with logistics as he grabs the blanket and spreads it out onto the ground, but then he lowers me onto it and moves over me, pressing into me as he finds my lips in a hungry kiss.

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