Page 12 of Dominate
“Don’t feel bad about that.” I move across the room to her and crook my finger under her chin to force her eyes up to mine. “Don’t you dare feel bad about putting Sophia first. I hate that you hid such a big part of your life from me, but don’t think for one second that I’m upset by the time you spend with her. If my father would have dedicated himself to us fifty percent of the time when we were kids, it would have been loads better than what we got.”
Her head tilts as her eyes shine with tears. “But your dad is here now, Gareth. After the way I spoke to him at the hospital, that has to say something, right?”
I nod and glance out toward the door where I can hear Vi and Freya’s voices wafting up the stairs. “I guess.”
My eyes catch sight of a photo of Sloan and Sophia up on the bookshelf by the door and I smile. It is the kind of photo a happy parent has with their child. Sophia’s arms are wrenched tightly around Sloan’s neck, and Sloan’s arms are hugging her daughter so close that their cheeks are pressed together as they smile into the camera. They look like a perfect mother-daughter pair. Probably how Vi and our mum would have looked at similar ages.
The pain that image evokes forces me to change my line of thought. “Show me your room.” I move out the door, needing some space from thoughts about either of my parents.
Sloan closes the door and walks me down the hall, past a bathroom, and into her large master suite. It has an attached loo with a big glass shower and wooden bench inside. Without a word, I pull my shirt off and stride toward where she stands in front of the bathroom door.
“What are you doing?” Sloan asks, her voice tight with surprise.
“I need a shower.” I toss the shirt on the floor and point to the area behind her.
She looks around nervously and makes a move to leave. “Okay, I’ll, um…give you some privacy.”
I hook her by the arm again and murmur softly, “Will you shower with me?”
Her eyes lift up to me warily. “Gareth, you’re concussed. I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I exhale heavily and utter the only thing I can. The truth. “I don’t want to be apart from you right now, Sloan.”
We undress quietly in her bright white bathroom. I can’t help but drink in the image of her naked form in front of me as she turns the water on and steam begins filling the room. She’s so beautiful. Tall and curvy, natural and unblemished. She’s how she’s always been, but somehow different now.
A shocking image of her stomach swollen with a child pummels me out of nowhere. And just when I think it’s going to totally freak me out and bring my guard up, it does the opposite.
Without pause, I step up behind her and wrap my hands around her waist, pulling her bare back against my bare front. I drop soft kisses on her shoulder and up to her neck. She shakes her head and turns in my arms, stepping backwards and pulling me under the hot rainfall showerhead. She clasps her hands around my neck, and I pull her hips to my body and close my eyes as her hard nipples brush against my chest.
Through the stream of water running down over us, I open my eyes and bring my fingertips up, lightly touching the bruise around her cheek. “How badly does it hurt?”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t.”
“You’re lying.”
She nods.
My heart sinks. “Sloan.”
“Don’t, Gareth.” She angles her face up to drop a soft kiss on my chin.
I pull away. “Don’t apologise for putting you in danger? Don’t apologise for how much worse this all could have been? I can’t not think about it. Seeing Sophia’s room. That picture of you with her, smiling and happy and completely innocent. It kills me that I almost took that away from her. How old is Sophia?”
“She’s seven,” Sloan answers, swallowing nervously.
“I was eight when my mum died. That shit sticks with you forever.”
She grabs my face in her hands and pins me with a firm look. “I’m fine. Sophia’s fine. You’re fine. Please stop this.”
She lets go of my face and turns to grab a bottle of shampoo. Squirting a huge amount in her hand, she brings it up to my hair and begins lathering my strands. “Just let me take care of you right now.”
My grim expression softens.
“Let me,” she pleads again and turns me so the backs of my legs press against the wooden bench. “Not because I’m in control, but because we both need this.”
She presses her hands on my shoulders, so I sit down and allow her to finish lathering me. She scores her nails all over my scalp, careful to stay away from my bandage, and my entire body hums to life. At the hospital, I was groggy and cloudy feeling. It felt like every step I took was in thick mud, slowing me down, trying to pull me into darkness. But right now, I feel good. Having Sloan’s hands on me is incredible and invigorating. It washes away my stress and anxiety so all that’s left is desire.
“Sloan,” I moan, my head tipping back as she rubs the soap down my hard shoulders and arms. She works her hands over my chest, my abs, my sides, my thighs, massaging all my aching muscles with firm, pressured strokes. The right strokes. The kind of strokes that she knew I needed the day we first met.
