Page 72 of The Verdict

“Turn.” The order was much softer this time.Weaker.He didn’t want to talk about his loss anymore.

He took my shoulders and helped me move, my hip brushing against the thickness of him at the front of his pants. When I faced him, my peaked nipples grazed his wet shirt with every breath, and I had to bite into my tongue to stop my swelling moan.

Water hit the top of my head, his hand coaxing it through my hair. I tried not to move. To breathe. To let him see just how close I was to crumbling under his touch.

“Rhys…” I didn’t even realize his name had slipped out until he froze. His fingers. His breath. I peeled my eyes open, the flush in my cheeks deepening. I was afraid I’d punctured the moment, until his stare came into focus—a gaze of bright blue wildfire, ready to consume everything in sight.

And it set my want and my courage on fire. “Will you wash me?”

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut, and his jaw shifted like he tried to bite through his tongue so it wouldn’t betray him.

“Please.”

His nostrils flared.Pleasewas all it took.Needing himwas all it took. He grabbed the cloth from the ledge and, like with the shampoo, filled it with body wash and lathered it until his hands were covered in suds.

“Turn.”

I complied, and I wasn’t sure if the hand on my shoulder was to steady me or himself as he pressed the cloth to my back,carefully soaping every inch down to my ass. His hand moved to my waist as he worked along each leg. My heart skipped every time he got close to where I ached—where the shower masked how wet I was for him. But Rhys was careful not to bring the cloth too high. Too careful. The kind of careful you are when you’re so close to having what you want.

I let out a whimper when his grip on my hip tightened, and he rose up again behind me. I turned without instruction this time, letting the water rinse my back and giving him a full view of my front.

His eyes were focused. Intent. As though there was a gun held to his head.

He started in the center of my chest and worked out to my shoulder. The pressure was firm. Not hard, but more like tense. Carefully, the cloth made its way to other places. My breasts. My hips. It washed every curve until my skin sung with a low-grade pleasure.

Rhys fought himself with every stroke, but especially over the spots he wanted to linger and explore. There, I heard the heaviness enter his breath. The unsteady rise of his chest. And the soft sounds of appreciation that escaped his lips without restraint.

“Why won’t you tell me the truth, Merritt?” he asked low, gliding the cloth back to the center of my chest, holding it there like it was a safe zone.

I sighed deep and heavy. Was it a complicated question? Or was it the simplest one of all?

I was trying to protect him.

“The truth…” I placed my hand on his wrist, waiting for his eyes to find mine. Then I drew his hand back and took the cloth from his hold, slowly wringing the suds into his open palm before dropping the cloth to the floor.

“Merritt—” My name turned into a hiss ofsteam as I put his hand to my breast. He looked like giving into this would kill him… and he’d happily die for it.

“I have nightmares,” I confessed, giving him the truth that mattered. “Nightmares about that day—that moment.”

His jaw worked furiously as he rasped, “It’s my fault.”

I felt the pressure against my hand, the rising tide of his retreat.

“I have nightmares about that moment not because I was afraid of dying, but because I was afraid of losing you.” I shivered, vulnerability bringing a new sensation to my body. “I left that morning because I didn’t want to put you at risk, and when you found me at the beach house—when the way Mercury looked at you…” My throat bobbed. “I don’t have nightmares about my attack, Rhys. I have nightmares that I lose you because of it.”

It was foolish. He wasn’t even mine, and yet I dreamed about losing him. But whether or not it made sense—whether or not it was rational or logical—it was the truth. I wanted to put an end to my past, but more than that, I wanted to protect him from it at all costs.

“Fuck,”he swore softly, but his intent to pull away disappeared. His hand cupped and kneaded my breast, his fingers instantly finding their hold on my nipple, rubbing and plucking it the way I needed.

Eyes closed, my hand reached out and searched for his free one.

“The truth is, I shouldn’t want you, Rhys, but I do.” I pretended like the world didn’t exist—like the only thing that existed was what was happening in the warmth of this shower. I pretended like whatever truths I told didn’t have the power to hurt or harm but only to heal. “I need you.”

I pressed his other hand to my stomach and then pushed it lower. His rough curse of defeat was as welcome as the push ofhis fingers through my folds, centering exactly where I needed him.

“Please, Rhys.” I forced my eyes up to his, knowing they were wide and drenched with lust. “Please, help me.”

My breath caught on the ragged edges of his when his thumb circled and pressed on my clit, and I melted into a collection of whimpers and wetness and want.

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