Final Debt (Indebted #6)(113)

Jethro tore his lips away from mine, staring at me. In my hold, he slowly came alive, shedding the holocaust and returning to me. He fell forward, trapping me between the tile and his nakedness.

The moment our tongues met again, our hearts shouted louder and louder. The more our souls conversed, the more violent and awake he became.

“I miss him.”

“You can miss the man but not the monster.”

“I shouldn’t have hurt him.”

“He hurt you.”

“I should’ve been stronger to save you.”

“You did save me.”

He groaned as my hands shot into his hair, jerking hard. I didn’t want him spiralling into self-hatred. Cut wasn’t worth that. I’d set aside my hatred; I’d granted forgiveness. But I wouldn’t let Cut’s shadow ruin Jethro’s hard-earned future.

I touched him. “You saved my life. More than once.”

“I was almost too late.”

“But you weren’t. You made it.”

“I should’ve saved you the first time I saw you.”

“You did save me.”

“How?”

“You fell in love with me.”

His hands coasted up my sides, tearing at my drenched clothes. My hair plastered to my cheeks as his fingers tore at the neckline of my dress, ripping it down the centre.

Dropping to his knees, he yanked the material down my wet body until we stood naked under the steaming stream.

We hadn’t turned on any lights and the window barricaded the watery attempt at dawn. Our bodies were Braille as our fingers tracked and touched.

His skin glowed white in the grey morning. His eyes such a vibrant bright.

Standing, Jethro grabbed my hips and guided us under the spray. His mouth claimed mine—desperate, hungry.

We drank water and each other, kissing, always kissing. Touching, forever touching.

There was no soap, but his hands covered every inch of me, washing away the past, the murder, the last few hours.

I repaid the favour, massaging his tense shoulders, his rigid spine, the knots in his lower back. I sluiced water over his bruises and cuts, willing the warmth to knit him back to whole.

My broken arm nullified any pressure I might’ve granted with my fingers, but I refused to let it hang uselessly by my side.

I forced every inch of me—parts unhurt and parts in pain—to heal him, love him, bring him back into the light.

Tugging his hair, I pulled his lips from mine.

His eyes narrowed but he didn’t speak.

Tracing his mouth with my fingertip, I smiled as he nipped me gently.

Dropping my touch from his face, down his throat and chest, I didn’t stop as my fingers traced muscles, dipping between his legs.

The moment my hand latched around his cock, a guttural growl tumbled from his lips. He reached for my cheeks, to kiss me, devour me, but I shook my head and dropped to my knees before him.

My broken arm rested on my thigh while my strong hand stroked him, encouraging his cock to swell and harden.

His stomach tensed, every muscle shadowed with need. His mouth fell open as his head fell back and he gripped the tiled wall for balance.

My attention fell to his stiffening erection. The fact his thoughts swam with desire pleased me so much. He gave me power over him. He let me take the memories and replace them with us.

Not only would we wash away whatever he’d committed tonight, but also the blood of the past, the unjust repayments of debts, and the dusty plains of Africa.

His cock fully swelled as his thoughts switched from self-preservation to sex.

I smiled, taking his long, thick length into my mouth.

His hand fell heavily on my head, fingers threading through my hair as I swallowed more of his cock, welcoming his musky heat onto my tongue.

I worshipped him, giving him everything that I was. My tongue swirled, teasing and adoring. His balls tightened, gathering closer to his body as I gave him what he needed.

He needed to know I was okay. That we both were. That he would find no judgement here. That he was loved just as deeply as before.

His hips pulsed in time with my bobbing head. My hand twisted and stroked, smearing saliva and shower water over his shaft. His hand gripped my hair harder then relaxed as if remembering to be gentle.

I didn’t want him to remember anything. I wanted him so far gone, so in lust and consumed by desire he let go completely.

I wanted to rule him.

My pace increased, my tongue danced, spearing the sensitive crown and swallowing the saltiness of pre-cum.

Slowly, his breathing changed from ragged and sad to tortured and turned on.

His fingers jerked my hair, granting pleasurable pain as his other hand slapped loudly against the wall behind me, slipping and sliding, holding himself up while his hips worked faster into my mouth.

My heart burst, knowing he’d finally found some relief from his thoughts.

I closed my eyes and let him use me. I let his groans slip into my heart. I let his tugs and thrusts fill my soul.

I didn’t know how long we stayed that way. Me at his feet and water raining all around but the tearful rage Jethro suffered finally faded, complex and unsolvable but faded nevertheless.

My jaw ached; my tongue throbbed.

However, I didn’t try to bring him to an orgasm. I only tried to keep him centred on me. Consumed by bliss and able to find happiness after a nightmare.