Page 49 of Song of the Heart Scale
For several moments we remained locked together with her forehead pressed against mine, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room. Slowly, the world came back into focus. I felt her trembling in my arms as aftershocks rippled through her body.
I brushed my lips against her temple, tasting salt on her skin. “Are you alright?”
She nodded, not yet trusting her voice.
“Verdict?” I asked hoarsely.
She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded but clear. “There might be something monstrous about how good that felt,” she murmured.
I chuckled, the sound rumbling through my chest. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
Carefully, I lifted her from my lap and laid her back against the rumpled sheets. She winced slightly as her body settled into the mattress. I frowned, suddenly remembering her injuries. “I should've been more careful.” I inspected the scrape along her side, which now looked red and irritated.
“Don't you dare apologize,” she warned, reaching up to trace the line of my jaw. “That was exactly what I needed.”
I reached over to the basin on the nightstand, the water still warm enough for my purposes. I wrung out a fresh cloth and the excess water trickled down my wrist as I turned back to her. She lay sprawled across the bed, her body a landscape of shadows and moonlight, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before. I gestured for her to roll onto her back.
She complied without argument, watching me through half-lidded eyes as I approached with the damp cloth. I started with her face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from her brow, tracing the cloth along the curve of her cheekbone where the bruise still marred her skin.
“You don't have to do this,” she whispered, biting her lower lip, but she made no move to stop me.
“I know.”
I moved the cloth with deliberate gentleness down her neck, following the path my lips had taken earlier. Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin, still flushed from our exertions. When I reached the faint bruise blooming on her collarbone—my mark—I dabbed it with special care.
“Sorry about that,” I murmured, though I wasn't entirely apologetic.
A smile tugged at her lips. “No, you're not.”
“You're right,” I admitted, continuing my ministrations. “I'm not.”
The cloth traveled lower, across the swell of her breasts, cleaning away the evidence of our passion. She slightly shivered as the damp fabric circled each nipple, still sensitive from my earlier attentions. I took my time, mesmerized by the goosebumps that followed in the wake of the cloth.
When I reached her abdomen, I paused and dipped the cloth back into the basin to refresh it. The water rippled under my touch, catching fragments of moonlight as I wrung it out once more. Cat watched me, her expression unreadable in the half-light.
“Turn over,” I said softly.
She rolled onto her stomach, exposing the long scrape that ran along her side. I sucked in a breath—in the heat of our passion, I'd nearly forgotten how badly she'd been hurt. The angry red line stretched from just beneath her ribs almost to her hip, the skin around it bruised and tender.
“I should have been more careful,” I murmured, gently pressing the cloth to the wound.
She flinched slightly but then relaxed under my touch. “It doesn't hurt much anymore.”
“Liar,” I said, but there was no heat in my tone.
I lightly traced my fingers along the edges of the scrape, assessing the damage. The skin wasn't broken deeply, but the area was tender and the bruising had spread in watercolor patterns across her ribs. I dipped the cloth again, wringing it just enough that it wouldn't drip, and applied the lightest pressure I could manage.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded, her face half-buried in the pillow. Working methodically, I cleaned away the sweat and grime from our lovemaking, taking special care around the injured areas. The moonlight revealed more bruises than I'd initially noticed—aconstellation of them bloomed across her lower back and hip where she must have fallen during the fight.
“Thorne really did a number on you.” Anger flared at the thought of his hands on her.
“I did a number on him, too,” she reminded me, finally turning her head to meet my gaze. In the silvery light, pride flickered in her eyes.
I snorted. “Yes, you did,” I admitted. “Turn over again.” I dipped the cloth back in the basin and wrung it out before working the cloth in gentle circles across her abdomen and down between her thighs. I carefully watched her face as I tended to the most intimate parts of her, where the evidence of our passion still lingered. She tensed slightly at first, then relaxed, a soft sigh escaping her lips as I worked.
“I've never had anyone do this before,” she quietly admitted, her eyes following my movements.
