Page 144 of Stutter

She shakes her head but then stops. “He… gave me a sh-shower.”

That’s why her hair was wet and she smells different.

“I’m going to run you a bath, okay? All your same items from home are here. I just need to get this scent off you.”

“I st-st-stink?”

“No, little bird. Not like you’re dirty. You just don’t smell like yourself. I love you… but I can’t…” I swallow thickly, “I can’t stand it. I didn’t allow myself to think anything negative while we were trying to get to you, but Amourette… once you were in my arms, all I could think was everything negative because you didn’t smell like home. And if I could do justonething for my mind to stop racing, is smell you, will you please allow me that sense of peace?”

She nods, big brown eyes wide in understanding. “You smell like blood.”

I laugh, letting more tears fall because fuck, she’s so beautiful it makes my heart hurt. “I guess, if you’re okay with it, I’ll run you a bath and then shower myself. Yes?”

“D-don’t leave mm-me alone, p-please.”

My heart breaks and I have to clear my throat. “Never again. I’ll shower while you bathe, then I’ll have you sit in the living room with Maverick and Jonas while I hook you up to an IV so you can rest while I make us something to eat.”

“Oh..kay.”

Relief floods me and I get to work.

I can rest later.

There are new bruises on her wrists that Maverick didn’t place there, bruises on her hips not caused by Jonas gripping her to tight, and the mark on the back of her neck now scaring, is from taking something I did place there.

The primal urge to replace them all with my own bruises and marks and reclaim her as mine is all-consuming and so fucking necessary.

I want to consume this woman with everything that I am and erase every rotten memory she’s ever been given and take them all for myself. I will work every fucking day to make sure this never happens again. I think of everything any of us could have done differently, but it’s just as Maverick said; they took their opportunity. The only one they’ve had for months.

I step into the shower, washing myself until the water runs clear down the drain then wash my hair and my body. My muscles ache, and the warmth of the water feels fucking fantastic, but my mind is still on the woman waiting for me in the porcelain tub next to me.

It takes me no time to dry myself, wrapping the towel around my waist, immediately going to the tub and kneeling beside it to make myself useful. I have the washcloth in my hand, wet and lathered with her favorite body wash, asking her to turn so I can get her back and shoulders before moving to her front.

Small little sighs escape her the further down I go, and the man in me awakens. I was trying not to push, to be as professional as possible but with each little moan, my dick weeps with need to be inside of her, to feel her wrapped around me, feel her body pressed against mine as God intended. I’m taken aback when she places my hand between her thighs, and I have to bite my lip to keep in my moan. “Putain, Amourette.”

“Daddy…”

I am a weak, weak man. “Oui?”Yes?

“Fais-moi me sentir mieux ? S’il te plaît? Aide-moi à oublier.”Make me feel better? Please? Help me forget.

“Putain, Amourette, j’essaie d’être un homme bien.”Fuck, Amourette, I’m trying to be a good man.I let the washclothfall from my fingertips to the bottom of the tub, letting my middle finger slip into her heat.

“I need…”

“What is it you need, Little Love?”

Her moan is raspy, but it doesn’t stop her from saying, “My daddy.”

Christ, this is possibly how I’ll die. Buried between her thighs with a discernable look of pleasure on my face and not a fuck given. Without another word I withdraw my finger, and I do the only sane thing, the thing that makes me feel like myself, which is never denying her my love, and reach down to hook her knees over one thick forearm, slide the other behind her back and stand with her in my arms, heading straight to the bed, losing my towel in the process.

Her still damp legs fall open, the pink heaven between her thighs glistening with arousal and moisture from her bath and my head dips to taste her succulent cunt, groaning when her arousal touches my taste buds.

Home.

Her back arches and her thighs pull up on their own accord to accommodate the span of my broad shoulders and every breathy sigh sends shivers down my spine. I lap and suckle at the engorged bud, plunging two fingers deep into her tight channel, drinking every drop of delicious cream that leaves her.

I am nothing but a devout man worshipping at the shrine between her legs, a heathen begging for a mere morsel of her divinity. Everything about her is nothing less than sacred to me.

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