Page 62 of At Your Mercy
“That’s it. Just let me take care of you,” I murmured, low enough that the spray almost swallowed it. My fingers slid down his arms, his chest, over his stomach, until he was clean and sighing faintly, the sound small but real.
When I was sure neither of us had anything left to wash away, I turned the water off and guided him carefully out of the shower. He swayed a little, blinking like the world had tilted. I caught him with a hand at his waist. “Easy,” I said, steadying him. “I’ve got you.”
The towels were rougher than I liked, but I wrapped one around him anyway, using another to blot at his pale hair. He shivered at the chill of the air. I rubbed him down, slow and thorough, until his skin warmed beneath the fabric.
“Sit,” I told him, nudging him toward the edge of the bed after leading him into the bedroom. I crouched in front of the dresser, pulling drawers open until I found what I wanted—a soft gray pair of sweats and a loose, faded band tee that smelled like him.
I dressed him piece by piece, sliding the sweats up his long legs, tugging the shirt over his damp hair. He let me, fingers barely lifting to help. Something about it broke me a little—that he trusted me enough to let me do this, to handle him like something precious.
Once he was warm and dry, I pulled him into bed with me, settling him against my chest. He curled close without hesitation, his damp hair sticking to my throat, his breath steadying with every minute that passed.
I grabbed my phone, thumbing open a food delivery app. My stomach was a hollow pit, but this wasn’t about me. I scrolled, choosing something easy and comforting—soup, bread, and some tea. Something to fill him up without effort.
While it loaded, I stroked my fingers through his hair, down his back, over the thin cotton stretched across him. I didn’t carethat I was still in wet jeans and nothing else. I just wanted him there, in my arms, tethered to me.
And as I listened to his breathing, felt the fragile weight of him against me, something possessive threaded tight through my chest. Whatever this was between us, however fucked up, I couldn’t deny it.
He was mine.
* * *
The knock on the door jolted me out of the haze I’d been sinking into. Ro stirred against me but didn’t lift his head. I pressed a kiss to his damp hair. “Stay here, I’ll be back in just a minute,” I whispered, easing him onto the pillows before sliding off the bed.
The delivery guy barely had time to mumble a greeting before I’d taken the bags and shut the door. I set everything on the counter, unpacking containers onto plates and bowls.
By the time I carried it over, he was watching me with half-lidded eyes, curled small in the nest of blankets. “Here we go. Brought you something,” I said softly, settling beside him. I held the spoon out, steam curling from the soup. “Eat a little for me.”
His lips parted, and he accepted the first spoonful, slow, like he wasn’t sure he remembered how. I fed him bite after bite, coaxing him with murmurs, brushing stray droplets from his chin with my thumb. When he managed half the soup, I pressed the mug of tea into his hands and drew him back against my chest.
He sighed then, a sound that was looser, easier than before. His body seemed to melt into me, and for the first time since I’d found him on the shower floor, I felt some of the tension bleed out of him.
For a while, it was enough just to hold him, to feel his warmth seep into me. But eventually, the question that had been sitting heavily in my chest refused to stay swallowed down.
“Ro,” I said, low and steady. He hummed faintly, not opening his eyes. I hesitated, then pressed on. “What happened tonight?”
He stiffened, the muscles beneath my hand tightening. Silence stretched. I thought for a second he might shut me out again.
But then his lashes fluttered, his voice rough when it came. “I was at Elias’s.” A pause. “I looked at his computer.”
My chest clenched. “And?”
His breath hitched. “There was a lot. I took pictures of most of it.” He shook his head, gaze unfocused. “I… Can I just show you? I really don’t want to talk about it.”
I pulled him tighter against me, swallowing down the raw ache that rose in my throat. “Of course. I think I left your phone in the bathroom. Do you mind if I go get it?”
His expression looked pained, but he nodded. “Can… can you look at it in there? Please? The code’s 6703.”
My brow furrowed, confused at his request. “Yeah, sure.” Maybe he didn’t want to be tempted to look at whatever had fucked his head up? That was understandable. Still, something felt off about it.
I pressed a kiss to his temple before slipping out of bed. The apartment was dark and quiet, every step padded with that heavy hush that always comes after a storm.
The bathroom light glared in my eyes when I flipped it on. His phone sat where I’d set it earlier on the counter, screen black. I picked it up, thumb hovering.
6703. I entered it, and the screen opened without hesitation.
Photos. The most recent file was already queued in the gallery.
I tapped it open.
