Page 75 of The Sound of Silence

Iknew she had a story, knew it most likely contained violence, but never did I imagine the horrors she’d been through. I was sure she’d only scratched the surface of what he did to her. As she spoke, it was all I could do to keep the rage out of my voice when I whispered words of comfort. I meant what I said—I wanted to kill the mother fucker. Every time she said his name, I wanted to punch something. Knowing a monster like him had not only harmed her but touched her in the most intimate ways—he’d been inside her—brought a crippling pain to my chest. He deserved a long, slow, and painful death.

However, my wrath wasn’t what she needed right now. Gianna, my beautifully broken Gianna, needed to know what it felt like to be loved and cherished.

I saw a lump move down her throat as if she were attempting to swallow her nerves. I reached for her hand, intent on bringing it up to cover my heart and offer words of assurances, but when I saw her gaze flit to where my grip held her tiny wrist, I froze. My hand looked so big wrapped around her delicate bones. I wondered if it looked this small in her husband’s grasp—wondered why he didn’t care enough to consider it, deciding to use her as a punching bag instead.

I took a cautious step closer and held her gaze. Her eyes were indecisive, and I had a fleeting thought she might throw me out. Not wanting to give her another second of hesitation, I released her hand, walked over to her closet, and began rifling through her clothing in search of a robe of some kind.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m looking for a bathrobe. Do you have one?”

“Um, yeah. It’s hanging on the hook behind the bedroom door.”

Turning in the direction she pointed, I crossed the room in a few short strides to retrieve the thin, terrycloth robe.

“Please get undressed and put this on. When you’re ready, meet me in the bathroom.”

One of her eyebrows quirked up in confusion, but I didn’t answer any of the unspoken questions. Exiting the bedroom, I headed into the bathroom. Once there, I turned the faucet on over the old-fashioned clawfoot tub and adjusted it until the temperature was suitable for a bath. On the counter next to the sink, I spotted a basket full of colorful, chalky looking balls. Recognizing them as bath bombs from the years I’d shared an apartment with my sister, I grabbed one and dropped it into the now half-full tub. Little fizzies floated to the surface of the water, and a sweet vanilla-strawberry scent began to fill the air. A few minutes later, Gianna came into the bathroom just as I’d asked, wearing nothing but her robe.

“I’m not sure what you have planned but I don’t think both of us can fit in the tub,” she remarked wryly. Although she kept her tone light, I could see the apprehension in her eyes.

“Wearen’t taking a bath. You are. Turn around.”

Slowly, she turned until she was facing the tub and her back was to me. Gliding my hands up her arms, I lightly squeezed her shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension I felt in them. Leaning in, I nudged her head to the side so I could trail kisses up the side of her neck. As I did, I slid my fingers under the lapels of her robe until it slid down her shoulders. She let out a little gasp.

“Derek, I—”

“Shhh…trust me.” I pushed the robe down past her elbows until it ended up in a pool near her feet. “Climb into the tub, Sparky. Let me take care of you.”

She took a hesitant step into the water, testing the temperature with her toes before getting all the way in. Watching her uncertain movements made me realize I’d never really studied a woman as I always seemed to study her. She was different in the most indescribable ways. She unraveled a part of me, altering me in a way that could never be undone. My mouth went dry, and my dick throbbed. Seeing her naked like this was almost too much. It killed me not to touch her, to keep my hands from running over her smooth curves and tight ass, but it wasn’t the right time. I’d made a promise—no sex. I’d keep that promise, even if it destroyed me.

She wrapped her arms around her sides, appearing self-conscious for a moment before lowering herself into the water and positioning her body, so her back was to me. Once she was comfortably seated, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and scrolled through Spotify for a suitable playlist. I wanted something calming yet sensual at the same time. After settling on something I thought would be appropriate, I glanced around the surfaces in the bathroom.

“Do you have any candles around here?” I asked.

“Um, yeah. There are a couple under the kitchen sink. I bought them over the winter after we had a power outage.”

I quickly went to retrieve the candles. I had no idea where she kept anything else in the kitchen and had to rummage through the drawers for a few minutes before I could locate a book of matches. On impulse, I decided to lug one of the kitchen chairs into the bathroom. It would be better than kneeling on the floor for an indefinite time.

I paused when I felt a draft. The window on the other side of the table was cracked open, allowing the cool night air to flow into the room. Angling around the table, I quickly closed it, not wanting Gianna to catch a chill when she got out of the tub.

When I returned to the bathroom, I lit the candles, then positioned the chair by the edge of the tub and sat down. Gianna turned to give me a curious, yet almost angst-ridden, look.

“For someone who said no sex, you’re certainly doing a good job setting the mood,” she murmured.

“I don’t need sex to be happy.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” she scoffed.

I chuckled and reached for the loofa sponge she had hanging off the showerhead.

“Okay, fine. I’ll admit, I want inside you more than anything. How could I not? But honestly, I feel like sex is just a formality for the true intimacy we already have. I’m satisfied being with you, regardless. What can I say? I guess I’m an old-fashioned guy.”

I squeezed body wash into the sponge, worked it into a lather, and spread it over her back and shoulders. Using one finger, I traced a line down her back, sliding over the slight notches of her spine.

“Or maybe it’s the boy scout in you.”

“Nah. I’ve always been kind of a hopeless romantic. My sister says I get it from my dad. It might sound crazy, but I could never understand today’s swipe-based dating scene,” I mused, working my thumb around her shoulder blade to smooth out a knot of tension. “None of the girls I dated were honest about their relationship goals. They were either allergic to commitment, having one eye on the next swipe, or they wanted to get married after the first date. There was never any in-between. Modern dating is a hot mess, in my opinion.”

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