Page 54 of Widow's Walk

I ease my grip and drop my forehead to her. She flinches, and it nearly sends me over the edge. But I stay there, breathing her in. Steadying us both.

Eventually, after several moments, our breath aligns.

Without withdrawing, I run my hands over her. Sliding up the back of her head, into her hair, then down to caress her neck and shoulders. Down her arms. Letting my touch say everything I can’t right now. Everything I won’t.

When I open my eyes, her eyes are open too, staring blankly. She’s retreating behind the wall again, but tonight I’m going to tear a piece of that wall down. Permanently.

I don’t say anything as I scoop her up, holding her protectively. She’s never felt so tiny in my arms. I carry her to the bathroom, set her gently on her feet, and turn on the tub. She doesn’t resist, and I don’t dare disturb the silence.

I know her strength, but I undress her like she’s breakable. Then I undress myself, my eyes never once straying from her beautifully broken features.

Once I’m satisfied with the water’s temperature, I lift her again and lower her into the steaming water. Then I sink in, bringing her back to my chest.

Minutes creep by as her body remains stiff. So, I just hold her. No demands. No expectations. Only patience and warmth.

Just when I think it’ll never happen, she melts back into me. Her body softens, and I keep my breath steady despite the victorious feeling bursting inside me.

When I begin running a soap bar over her silky skin, I do it slowly, reverently so. The scars on her back, ribs, and thighs…I study each one, touching them with care. No words.

Not tonight. I won’t ruin this with questions, threats, or promises of revenge. Just solace as I hold her until the water turns to room temperature.

When we leave the bath, we don’t speak. I wrap her in a towel and carry her to the bed. She doesn’t ask for anything. Doesn’t need to. Because I already know.

Every time we touch, we explode, coming together in a frenzy. Passion turns to hunger. Hunger turns to greed. Greed turns to dominance. Tonight, our gravitation is no less fervent. Our desire is no less parched. But I take my sweet time with her, and she lets me.

I sit on the edge of the bed with her still in my arms. Holding her for a few more moments, my nose pressed against her head, breathing her in. Her smell is so overpowering, I’m enslaved. She has no clue the possessive hold she has over me. I may be able to conquer her physically with pure brute and muscle. But she reaches places inside me that are unattainable. To everyone buther.

Dragging my lips across her forehead, I cup her delicate face, and she returns my gaze. Her eyes are pink with unshed tears and exhaustion. The pain is still evident, potent. I feel hopeless at this moment. I could give her anything in the world, but I can’t wipe away her past.

Searing my lips to hers, they move together. Our tongues meet in the middle, and we remain unhurried. Her arms curl around my neck, clinging to me like it’s the only thing that’ll keep her from finally shattering.

She’s pliant in my hands as I maneuver her to the bed, laying her down, covering her body with mine. All the while, she still holds onto me and kisses me so deeply, as if to make the rest of her world disappear.

The towels get tossed aside, and I rain down kisses on her face and neck. She has her eyes squeezed shut, but it’s okay. If I am going to get anywhere with Sinclair, I need to take smaller steps with her. Learn more patience.

So tonight, when I settle my hips between her legs and I slide into her, there’s no battle for dominance. No war between our bodies. We lay down our swords and surrender.

As I make languid, long thrusts, her nails dig into my back. But not in an animalistic way like she usually does. It’s to anchor herself to me. To hold onto me for dear life.

When I feel her mouth in my hair, and a hand snakes up my back to thread her fingers through it, I feel it. That shift. It’s faint, but it’s there. Proof that she’s still alive.

That no matter what they did to her, she survived.

And now, she’s mine.

Chapter twenty-one

Sinclair

It’s been days since the dinner from hell, followed by something more terrifying, but I still feel raw under my skin.

Like something foul I can’t quite scrub out.

Outwardly, I’m the same. Wandering the vast estate, looking for something to get into. Touching things I’m not supposed to, peeking into rooms I’m not supposed to be in, all the while wearing an unbothered smirk, throwing a wink at every mob puppy I pass.

But inwardly, I’m frayed. I’m still stuck in that tub with Blackwell’s arms around me, holding me like I’d fall apart if he didn’t. It was something I didn’t know I needed. It’s why I can’t let it ever happen again. I can’t let him get that close again.

I’m afraid of what I might say if I do.

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