Page 43 of Sophie's Ruin
“Wait here,” I told Henry, leaving him propped on the vanity as I walked over to the shower and turned it on.
The soft hum of water filled the quiet as I thrust my hand into the stream, holding it there until I adjusted the temperature and made sure it was not scalding hot. When I turned around, Henry was watching me intently as if he were scared to take his eyes off me.
“You need to shower,” I said as I approached, stopping before him.
Slowly, I reached out and undid the buttons on his pants before tugging them down his hips. The blood-soaked garment dropped to the floor, and Henry stepped out of it, his chest heaving with a shuddering breath of relief. Wrapping my arm around his waist again, I led him to the shower. His steps were steadier now, but he still let me help him, which I appreciated because I still needed to be touching him to make sure he was real. I had to let go of him, though, when we reached the shower so he could step inside. He eased under the stream, hissing when the water hit cuts and bruises. Bracing his hands on the shower wall, he hung his head, letting the water plaster his hair to his face as it washed away the blood. It glided down his body likea river of crimson, pooling on the marble floor under his feet before swirling and disappearing down the drain.
I wished the water could wash away everything that had transpired, but I knew that what had happened to Henry would cling to his skin like a sticky residue for years to come. I wished I could take it all away, all the pain and suffering. Henry was strong; the tortures hadn’t broken him. The aftermath of what had happened wouldn’t break him either. Still, I wished I could bear the brunt of it, sparing him from it all. He was strong, but I wished he didn’t have to be. I wanted to be strong for both of us. Perhaps I was still a martyr, willing to suffer only for him.
“Get in,” he said softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
Relief crashed into me at the request, nearly knocking me off my feet. I’d planned on getting in when I’d first turned on the shower, but then had thought better of it, wondering if I should give him some space. Now he was asking me to join him, and I almost wept with joy. I would have given him space if he’d needed it, but it would have been torture because I didn’t need any space from him. We’d never be separated again if I could help it.
Henry lifted his face up into the stream and scrubbed it with his hands while I peeled my bloodstained clothes off my body. I stepped into the shower behind him and reached for the soap sitting on the shallow shelf carved into the marble wall. Gripping the lavender-scented bar with one hand, I reached up with my other hand and pressed my fingertips to Henry’s back to let him know I was about to wash him. He tensed but didn’t object as I began gliding the soap over his body, gently washing away blood and grime. I started with his neck and shoulders, which were taut and hard as stone but eventually relaxed as I massaged them lightly, carefully avoiding the tender welts and pink skin where the injuries were healing.
Working my way down, I washed the broad expanse of his back before moving lower, all the way to the soles of his feet. When I popped up in front of him, he braced his hands on the wall again, caging me in. My heart skipped a beat because I was now inches away from his face, which was still covered in small cuts but was no longer covered in blood, revealing the chiseled features underneath. Deep-blue eyes were fastened on me, as one side of Henry’s mouth turned up.
“Hi,” he said low.
I felt one corner of my lips turn up in response.
“Hi,” I breathed, getting lost in the depths of his gaze.
I wanted to close the distance between us and kiss every inch of his face, but I told myself to focus and finish washing him. Lowering my gaze to his throat, I ran my soapy hand over the column of his neck before sliding it to his chest. The sculpted muscles flexed as I washed his torso before moving lower. My throat dried at what I found below his navel, and my gaze darted back to Henry’s face. His eyes closed and his lips parted, he looked enraptured as I washed him. Still watching him closely, I wrapped my fingers around his hardness and glided my hand up and down his length, eliciting a full-body shudder and a harsh groan from him.
A low sound broke past my lips as arousal flooded me, pooling in my core. I remembered all too well what it felt like to have the thick hardness deep inside me, stretching me, bringing me to the edge. My restraint was slipping; I could feel it, but I refused to give in to the burning need in my blood. This was about Henry, not me, and he didn’t stop me as I kept moving lower down his body, washing his legs to the tips of his toes. When I rose back up, Henry’s eyes were still closed as he rested his forehead against mine, swallowing thickly.
“I need to wash your hair,” I told him, my voice low and husky.
He pulled away then and opened his eyes. They were darker now, sending a shiver of anticipation through me. His hungry gaze stayed on me as he slowly lowered to his knees and clasped my hips. Desire pulsed between my thighs as I felt his breath on my flushed skin. I wanted to give in to it so badly, but I resisted. I would follow Henry’s lead and feed his desires, not my own. His dark lashes swept down as he lowered his head—a cue for me to wash his hair. I lathered up the silky strands, massaging his scalp until a sigh of contentment left him.
“You can get up and wash the soap out,” I instructed, ignoring the dryness in my throat.
Henry obeyed, but not before planting a soft kiss below my belly button. I sucked in air as another wave of raw lust rolled through me. I knew he could smell my desire, but he seemed impervious to it save for his eyes, which were almost entirely black when he rose to his feet. He proceeded to rinse the soap out of his hair, while I quickly washed myself.
When the streams gliding down our bodies ran clear and not red anymore, Henry turned the water off and stepped out of the shower while I remained behind, wringing out my hair. He handed me a towel, a predatory gleam invading his gaze as it roamed over my naked form. Our eyes locked, and it felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe until Henry eventually looked away, grabbing a towel for himself from the nearby cabinet. I watched his muscles bunch and shift as he dried himself off, dabbing the towel over the healing wounds before draping it around his hips. I wrapped my own towel around myself and followed him out of the bathroom, my damp feet pattering on the cool stone floor.
Henry headed for the dresser, his large frame bathed in the soft yellow glow of the lamp on the bedside table. My brows pinched as I followed after him, telling myself not to be disappointed that he was going to get dressed. He was undoubtedly exhausted after everything he’d been through. Itwas selfish of me to expect anything… Henry stopped abruptly by the foot of the bed and turned around to face me. I halted before him, clutching the towel to my chest.
The air between us became charged as we stared at each other, unmoving, barely breathing. My gaze fastened on him, I could see the bruises on his face fading away, the cuts healing, his strongly defined features slowly returning to near-flawless perfection. The rest of his body was trying to catch up, I noticed, lowering my gaze to his hard chest, but the lacerations there were deeper, taking longer to heal. I took a breath, swallowing to relieve the tightness in my throat. My fingers itched to reach for Henry, to pull him to me. My lips tingled, yearning for his kisses, but I held myself back. He’d been through so much. I would wait for him to come to me. I would not be selfish and take. I would only give. When he was ready for it.
“You need to rest,” I said, but the words came out more as a question than a statement, and I chided myself in my head. I really didn’t want to push him.
“I needyou,” Henry rasped, raw emotion in his broken voice.
My legs became weak with relief. He wanted me. Now. I didn’t have to wait any longer to feel his body on mine.
“Anything you need, I’m yours,” I told him, looking into his dark eyes. I knew the same molten heat had also invaded my gaze.
A harsh exhale of relief left him, as if he’d needed the confirmation.
“Anything?” he asked, low and thick.
“Anything,” I breathed, unwrapping the towel from around my chest and letting it drop to the floor.
Any blue remaining in his eyes instantly gave way to black. His hungry gaze became all-consuming as he slowly drank in my naked body. I shivered at the intensity of his stare, feeling every part of me coming alive with sparks of desire. They skitteredover my skin like tiny bursts of lightning, making it flush and sensitive. My pulse quickened, my breathing coming in short, rapid pants, as Henry’s eyes lifted back to my face. His gaze was raw and pleading. I’d wanted him to come to me and now he had, asking me to make the next move without saying anything at all.
I stepped into him, his fresh and woodsy scent enveloping me. It went straight to my head, driving me wild. I’d gotten him back. He was right here in front of me. Waiting for me to touch him. So I did. Lifting my hand up, I gently pressed my fingertips to his chest. He shuddered, covering my hand with his to press my palm more flat against his skin. His other hand went up and he dragged his fingers down my cheek, his eyes following the movement.
