The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(32)
“You can’t,” I insist, my voice barely audible. “It’s not fair to you.”
He brings his hands to my face, bending his knees to make his eyes level with mine.
“I love you, Lace,” he says simply. “And all the broken pieces of you are the missing pieces of me.”
I understood those words better than anything because I owned the broken parts of him too, claimed them a long time ago when he gave me his fractured soul.
His gaze burns into me before giving me a slight nod as he lifts me into his arms. I surrender my pieces to him as I wrap my arms loosely around his neck and let him carry me out of the room of broken dreams.
He carries me into the bathroom, sets me down on top of the vanity before taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips gently against mine.
“Hold tight,” he murmurs against my mouth. Shedding his leather jacket and hanging it on the door knob he rolls up his sleeves and crouches down alongside the bath tub. He runs the water, sticks out his hand to test the temperature before he turns back to me.
“Get undressed,” he says softly, crossing his arms against his chest as he waits for me to follow his instructions. I grabbed the hem of my shirt, work it over my head and drop it to the counter, sliding off to stand up and shimmy my shorts down my legs.
He turns around once the tub is full and closes the faucet. I strip down to nothing by the time he turns back to me, his eyes firmly planted on my face as he extends his hand.
“Come on, girl,” he urges as I take a step closer to him, dropping my hand into his. He holds me as I lift one leg over the wall of the bath tub and sink into the warm water. Lifting my eyes to his, I see the concern reflected in them. He gently pushed my shoulders back so I lean against the back of the tub. Running one hand over his face, he stares at the water for a moment, drawing a deep breath and reaches for the washcloth.
“Blackie,” I whisper, wrapping my hand around his wrist and forcing his eyes back to mine. “I’m okay,” I assure, feeling guilty for not rising up and masking my depression.
“I know you are,” he insists, leaning over the wall of the tub and pressing his mouth against mine.
His lips are soft as they work mine, slowly easing them open sliding his tongue over mine. I lift my wet hands to his face, dragging my fingers through his hair as I kiss him back, hoping my kiss calms the worry in his eyes.
“Lean back,” he murmurs against my mouth before easing back from me. He squirts some body wash into the cloth and lifts it to my neck, slowly soaping me up. Intimately, with the gentleness he buried beneath his steel exterior, he takes care of me, calming my thoughts and forcing me to relax.
I close my eyes as the merry-go-round ride of emotions I was on comes to a halt. He works the lukewarm washcloth over every inch of my body in silence, the only sounds heard are those of our breathing and the water lapping around my body.
After a while he stops washing me and my body feels the loss of his touch, forcing me to open my eyes and watch as he squeezes out the washcloth and drape it over the mouth of the faucet. He turns his eyes back to mine and tips his chin toward my hair.
“Do you want me to wash your hair?” He asks huskily.
I shake my head as he pulls the stopper from the tub and lets the water drain before he rises to his full height and grabs a towel from the rack on the wall. He spreads it wide as I stand up and step out of the tub and into his arms. He wraps the towel around me. I feel his large palms circle my body, through the thin cotton of the towel as he pats me down. I glance down, secure the towel to my body, tucking the edge just above my breasts while I watch him take a step back and hold out his hands.
Blackie leads me into our bedroom, drops my hands as we reach the edge of the bed and he pulls down the comforter. He glances over his shoulder at me and extends one hand to my breast, unraveling the towel from my body, before looking back toward our bed.
I climb in and he draws the blanket over my body, bending his head to kiss my forehead.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if he was telling me so or trying to convince himself.
“Lay down with me,” I plead, watching his Adam’s apple as he swallows. He hesitated for a moment, pulling back from me as he took a deep breath. “Please?”
He nods, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and bends down to undo his boots. I lift my head from the pillow and rest on my elbows, watching as he strips down to nothing but his boxer briefs. He palms his cock, pressing down on it as he tears his eyes away from me and walks around the bed. His body is a work of art—tattoos decorating every corded muscle on display. I watch him pull back the sheet and climb in beside me, turning on his side to face me before lifting his hand to trace a finger down my cheek.
“So damn pretty,” he rasps, reaching for me with his other hand, tucking me against him as he rolls onto his back. I lay my head against his chest. I peer at the tattoo covering his left pec, the music notes to our song dance across his skin, reminding me of that first dance he gave me and all the ones that followed when my mind betrayed me.
No matter how broken down I feel, or how tired I am from the war I battle internally, I rise up because this man gives me the confidence I need to beat my demons. Laying here, wrapped up in his arms, I’m reminded of the hope we’ve brought into one another’s lives and despite all the heartache we’ve endured, it’s our love that prevails. We’re stronger than our demons and we’ve survived the most lethal of temptations. We’ll rise because we have each other and nothing can stop us—we won’t let it.