Page 117 of Eyes Like Angel
Sin begets sin; love begets a guilty pinpointed to a conscious notion to where I should be cautious, not in an obligated, loveless way, in a way I shouldn’t ruffle her feathers or rupture her existence to a brink of annihilating her sanity. I wasn’t cautious to other ladies before she came into my life. Other ladies whined but handled themselves in a haughty fashion, suspecting that replacing me with another man or a look alike would make them “stronger”.
But with a woman like Eva, taken all my titles and fortune—the son of CEO, spoiled brat, a rich asshole—can melt within seconds. I wasn’t a rich brat; I was slowly becoming more humanized, more humble and noble and careful within precision, not wanting to fright her.
She winced again, drawing a hiss like a little kitten.
Smoothing her skin with an exfoliator, she withdrew and tucked her arm, twisted her upper frame, avoiding my touch.
I need to calm her down before she freaks and goes ballistic.
Still cornered, not letting the drops poked her; she embraced herself, her limbs convulsively shaken and whimpering through her teeth bitten on her bottom lip.
What caused her to have this fear from water?
It explained why she was wearing gloves. She’s afraid of her burnt scars on her whole hands might be burning again, shuddering in terror.
I understood why.
And yet…her scars remained a mystery.
Setting the water temperature to a warm setting, I strode, shielded her from a running shower sprinkled on my backside, as I watched her cornering onto the wall like a little spider. She was cute spider, her long brownish-black hair; her loose waves soaked and got stuck to her frame like glue, reminding me of a mermaid standing for the first time as she stepped onto the sand. Her curtain bangs framed to her horrified face, eyeing me with a subtle shiver, legs tucked in, avoiding the water.
My head dipped to kiss on her rosy lips.
“Trust me, my beloved angel,” I cooed, my voice rumbled with care and love, my hand held the scrub. “I’ll help you. Don’t run from me.”
For once, she didn’t run out towards the door, which I was relieved, but she’s not moving.
When I approached closer, my hand outstretched with a scrubber. “Clean me first, if you want. And I’ll do the same. It’s like in the Bible where this girl washed Jesus’ feet. What was her name again?”
She gulped. “Mary Magdalene,” she answered.
A heart beat stirred in a deep, wrenching motion.
“I’ll be here,” I reminded her repeatedly. “Keep talking to me about the Bible. Tell me everything you know. Pretend I’m your guardian angel. Think of me as one…”
While she talked, mumbling all the facts she possessed, I felt her fingers traced on me. It was tingling yet soft and cautious.
She seized the scrubber and scrubbed on my upper back, where spotted the tattoo across, marked in red ink:UNBROKEN.
Her words faded when she spotted it, andher spare hand traced, glided over the inked words, then my spine—her touch provoked a tingling sensation ignited me.
“It’s beautiful,” she commented in a low whisper, continuing back to scrubbing.
Without her knowing, my cheeks blushed, convincing myself it was a steaming shower had my reaction flushed.
“Want me to do it?” I asked, suggested in taking turns on cleaning.
Finally, after moments, she gave in, and I scrubbed her back. Carefully, I proceeded with a scrubber and raked it gingerly on her backside. Her head threw back, sighing aloud, the rest of her brownish-black locks drenched; her scalp ran through until the hair tips at the end.
When I lathered the shampoo on her head, she sighed heavily, her mind and her anxiety ceased.
She took turns to scrub my locks, which I have never done with anyone. Eva was the first in everything. My first real kiss, my first real embrace, my first gentle touches and a calm tone I settled for her to gain trust and security.
I softly looked at her; a smile crept on my face, praising her that she did a wonderful job.
“Good job,” I praised her, repeated over and over.
When we both rinsed, she didn’t feel tense anymore.
