Page 33 of Tender Wild

Water sluiced through his hair, carrying away conditioner and the last traces of dried blood. Miguel’s thumbs traced the hinge of his jaw.

“I keep seeing his face,” Jared admitted suddenly. “When I close my eyes.”

Miguel’s hands stilled. “That doesn’t go away quickly.”

“Does it ever?”

“No.” The honesty in that single syllable hung between them. “But you learn to live with it.”

His mate reached for the body wash, his soapy hands moving across Jared’s shoulders, down his arms, and across his chest, careful around each bruise—cleaning away the last traces of the night’s violence. Each touch lingered, half-practical, half-something else.

“Scared the shit out of me tonight,” Miguel murmured, palms skimming over bruises with extra gentleness, as if he could erase them through sheer force of will.

“Scared myself too.” The admission slipped out before Jared could stop it. He leaned back, allowing Miguel to take some of his weight.

Miguel’s arms encircled him from behind, careful to avoid the worst marks. “Anyone ever take care of you before?”

Jared shook his head. “Not like this.”

“Turn.” Jared complied, facing Miguel for the first time since he'd entered the shower. Water streamed down his mate’s face, catching in his eyelashes, tracing the scars on his cheeks. For a moment, they just looked at each other, water streaming between them, steam rising in lazy curls.

Then Miguel pulled him close, arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace. Jared melted against him.

His lips found Jared’s, tasting of mint and whiskey. The kiss deepened, tongues sliding together as water cascaded over them both. Heat bloomed between them, different from the steam enveloping their bodies.

“You’re beautiful,” Miguel murmured against his mouth, hands gliding over wet skin.

Jared laughed softly. “Says the guy who looks like he was carved from marble.”

Miguel’s thumb traced the bruise on Jared’s jaw, eyes darkening. “Marble doesn't bruise.”

“Neither does it bite,” Jared countered, pressing his lips to the scar on Miguel’s collarbone.

A hitch in Miguel’s breath, followed by a low growl that vibrated against Jared’s chest. “Shower’s getting cold.”

Strong arms reached past him to turn off the water, leaving them dripping in sudden quiet. Miguel guided him out, grabbing a fluffy white towel from the rack. Rather than handing it over, he draped it around Jared’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Let me,” Miguel said, voice rough as he began to dry Jared’s hair with gentle motions.

The soft cotton absorbed water from his skin as Miguel worked methodically down his body. Every touch lingered, careful around each bruise, each scrape. When the towel brushed over particularly tender spots, Jared winced.

“Sorry,” Miguel murmured, easing the pressure.

“Worth it,” Jared replied, watching droplets trace paths down Miguel’s chest, catching on scars before continuing their journey. “You’re still wet.”

Miguel shrugged. “You first.”

The tenderness in those simple actions, drying between his fingers, behind his ears, the hollow of his back, felt more intimate than any kiss. Miguel knelt to dry Jared’s legs, looking up through damp lashes, his expression unguarded. The position should have felt submissive, but Miguel somehow made it look like claiming.

“Getting the royal treatment here,” Jared quipped, trying to mask how deeply the care affected him.

Miguel’s mouth quirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” Jared ran his fingers through Miguel’s wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

“Turn,” Miguel commanded softly.

Jared did, feeling strangely vulnerable with his back to his mate. The towel traced his shoulders, down his spine, across the small of his back. When Miguel’s lips followed the same path, Jared’s breath caught in his throat.

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