Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men #1)(81)

Catching my reaction, he frowned. “What?” When he looked down and saw the mark, he slapped his hand over it, covering the spot.

His faced jerked up, and he opened his mouth. I saw apology thick in his expression. On its tail came fear and revulsion.

I think the revulsion won out. He spun away from me, fell to his knees and slammed up the toilet seat. As he vomited, I turned away and covered my mouth. More tears fell. With trembling hands, I reached for the cup by the sink and filled it with water.

By the time he finished, I was sitting on the floor beside him, ready and waiting with a cup of water and toothbrush full of paste.

“Thank you.” He took the water first, swished it around in his mouth and spit. After a few more rounds of that, he began to scrub his teeth vigorously. And all the while, he kept his arm held over his chest, hiding the stain she’d left on him.

“I’ll get your shower water warm,” I offered, pushing to my feet and feeling robotic as I worked.

“Are you really going to stay in here while I shower?” He didn’t sound as if he wanted me to leave; he just sounded perplexed by the notion.

“I said I was going to clean you.” The truth was, I didn’t think I could be away from him right then.

Opening the door to the shower stall, I started the water, not caring how stray droplets coated my arms and began to soak my shirt. I held my knuckles under the stream until I had the temperature just right for Mason.

Behind me, he stood and put his cup and toothbrush away. When his pants hit the floor, I jumped.

Last month, I would’ve peeked. Heck, earlier that day, I would have looked. But I didn’t even want to now, and not because I was repulsed over the fact that he’d had his penis inside another woman only minutes ago.

I just couldn’t violate his privacy. He’d been violated enough for one night.

When I glanced back, my gaze landed on his face. “I suppose I can let you do this part by yourself.”

His eyes looked extra silver in the room’s fluorescent light. They focused on me, searching my face. With a silent nod, he stepped past me and shut himself inside the shower. The glass was opaque, so I could only see a blurry, peach outline of him through the door.

Leaving briefly to ransack his room and find some fresh clothes for him to wear, I tossed his Country Club uniform into his dirty clothes hamper and returned to the steamy bathroom, where the door hung partially open. I returned the TP bin in front of it and closed the toilet lid to sit and wait.

I swear, he soaped everything down three times. But that was okay with me. Whatever he had to do to make himself feel clean again was fine.

When the water shut off, I was there with a towel.

He looked surprised when he opened the door and saw me. With another muted, humble thank you, he took the terrycloth and dried himself before wrapping it around his waist.

I sat back down on the toilet seat and brought my knees up to my chest to loop my arms around my legs. “I feel like I’m the one who had to do that with her, like she tore down the most basic part of me and left the rest abused and cast off. I feel worthless and cheap, and…and used.”

He nodded once and slid his boxer briefs on under the towel. “Yeah, that pretty much covers what it does to you.”

I couldn’t help it; I began to cry again. Tears sprouted from my eyes and poured down my cheeks before I even realized they’d started. “And you’re okay with that?”

Covering his face with his hand, he whispered, “Reese,” on a choked rasp. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” I sobbed. “I’m the one who did this to you. It’s my fault you went through this tonight.”

His lashes flashed open. “No. God, no. You didn’t. Nothing was your fault.”

Dropping his towel, he knelt down in front of me. Against my will, I looked at his chest only to see he’d replaced his hickey with a huge red welt where he’d tried to scrub it off.

“I’m sorry.” He lunged sideways for his shirt.

Once he pulled it on, I reached out, grabbed two handfuls of cloth, and leaned toward him.

He tugged me off the commode and into his arms, where he held me in his lap on the floor of the bathroom.

“It’s okay,” he kept murmuring. “I swear to you, Reese. It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t even finish. As soon as she was done, I—”

“I don’t want details,” I screeched, horrified.

But, really. I hated Mrs. Garrison. Not only had she manipulated him into doing what she wanted; she’d messed with his head, toyed with his body, and prevented him from the only gratification he might’ve actually gotten from tonight.

I know, that was really messed up thinking. But I felt messed up.

“I’m sorry.” His face drained of color. When he tried to shift backward, I only sobbed harder and curled my fingers around handfuls of his soft cotton shirt to hug him tighter. Breathing in heavy drudges of the dryer-sheet-scented cloth, I clung to him, unable to stop bawling.

“It’s going to be okay.” He kissed my hair and stroked matted tangles free from the damp tresses.

I barked out an incredulous laugh. “Okay? I am so far from okay right now, I don’t even remember what okay feels like.”

He pressed his face against my neck. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I can’t…I can’t…Why the hell did you stay? You shouldn’t have stayed to see this.”