Page 108 of The Most Perfect Wrong

I’m hard as hell, but that’s not why I’m here. I pull back and shut off the shower, grabbing a towel. I dry my face quickly before turning to her. Carefully, I bring the towel to her face, dabbing away the water. Then I move to her hair, wrapping the towel around it and giving it an awkward rub, causing her to smile. That smile—it’s like seeing the sun after a storm. I grin back, encouraged, and keep going, ruffling the towel over her head just to make her smile again. She does, so I continue.

Her eyes track me as I work, drying every part of her, my lips following the path of the towel, leaving soft kisses as I go. When I reach her wrist, though, I freeze. A faint bruise marks her skin,an obvious shadow of Brad’s grip. My jaw tightens, and I shut my eyes, forcing myself to breathe through the surge of anger.

Slowly, I raise her wrist to my lips, brushing a kiss over the mark as if I can erase it. She closes her eyes and I don’t linger. I can’t. Not without losing it.

I continue. I don’t know what she’s thinking—she looks almost lost, confused—but fuck, I don’t know what’s come over me either. I’m worshiping her, treating her like she’s my salvation. And maybe, in a way, she is.

When I left Beth, I couldn’t imagine feeling this way about anyone again. But Cooper—she’s filled an empty part of me with something pure and real. I kneel, drying each toe and then bringing a foot to my lips, kissing the top of it. A soft, broken laugh escapes her lips. The sound is everything—fragile, hopeful, raw. It feeds something deep inside me.

“Ryan,” she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to do this.”

I look up at her, my gaze meeting hers. “I want to.” My voice is steady, certain. Her hands comb through my hair as I slowly wrap the towel around her calf, dragging it upward, then repeating. When I reach her thighs, my breath catches, her bare pussy is right in front of me. My instincts roar to touch her, to taste her, but I shut them down. As tempting as it is, this isn’t about me—it’s about her. She’s trusting me with her pain, and I won’t ruin that by giving in to my urges.

I finish drying her, my hands steady despite the fire raging inside me, and press a kiss to her pubic bone. It’s not sexual—it’s reverent, a silent promise that I see all of her, and I’m here for more than just the physical.

Standing, I grip her hips and lift her effortlessly. She wraps around me, arms and legs clinging as if I’m her anchor.

I carry her to the bed and lay her down with care.

I’m still wet, my boxer briefs soaked. I let go, intending to dry off, but she clings to me, pulling me closer. Her lips find mine, her bottom lip sucking gently at mine before her tongue strokes in, coaxing me deeper. I collapse into the kiss, giving her all that I have.

She breaks our kiss, locking eyes with mine. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft, trembling. “No one has ever done something like this for me.” Her eyes search mine in disbelief, her hand gently stroking my cheek. “Ever.”

Her lips return to mine, urgent this time, her hips lifting into me. I meet her with the same intensity, my hand drifting to her tits as she tugs at my wet boxers. I peel them off and toss them aside. Our movements are slow, deliberate, each touch filled with unspoken appreciation.

God, I love her.

I’ve felt it building for days now, and I’m sure of it. I started falling for her a long time ago. She had me in that damn pool… I fell hard that night. The laughter, the connection, the magnetic pull between us—it was undeniable. We were high as kites, but what we shared was more than a physical attraction. Against all the odds—Beth, cancer, Brad, hurt, timing—we found each other.

My hand moves between her thighs, drawing a soft gasp from her lips that ignites something primal in me. God, she’s so wet. Her body arches into mine, her breath catching as I stroke her, and I feel the raw, unfiltered desire between us. She grips my shoulders, her nails digging in as if I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.

I push into her, slow and deliberate. As I fill her, a sense of completion washes over me—like she’s the missing piece to this fucking puzzle called life. I focus on her, the sounds of her moans, and the way my name falls from her lips as we come together. The moment is pure rapture, leaving me breathless.

A few minutes later, after cleaning up, we’re back in bed, her head resting on my chest. I debate whether to push her to talk, unsure if it’s the right time. Finally, I decide to try.

“Hey,” I say softly, breaking the silence.

She tilts her chin toward me but doesn’t speak.

“Tell me what happened. What did Brad say… What’d he do?”

She hesitates, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. Guilt stabs in my chest—I hate that I’m making her relive it, but I have to know.

She finally speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “He tried to get in my head. Said I was an average fuck, a whore—that you’d get bored of me. That you wouldn’t want me if you really knew what a slut I was…” Her voice cracks. “Stuff like that.”

“Coop, I would never.” The words rush out, my body recoiling, muscles tightening with anger.

She takes a shaky breath. “I started to believe him.” Her gaze drops as she rests her cheek on my chest. “It’s still there… gnawing at me. Like a voice in the back of my mind, whispering that if you actually knew me, you wouldn’t stay.”

“What do you mean if Iactually knew you?”

She doesn’t answer, her silence heavy.

“Babe,” I coax, keeping my tone gentle.

She sighs, rolling onto her back and pulling the sheet up to her chest. Her hands press together in a prayer, fingers touching her forehead. Eyes shut tight, she shakes her head slowly, like she’s trying to will the thoughts away.

“Babe,” I say again, softer this time, turning to my side to face her. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

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