Page 73 of Puppy Love

A pair of familiar legs slide on either side of me. Cam’s bare body grazes against my back, and I shudder at the contact. Her hands find my hair and travel through the bloody tangled mess, scrubbing gently along the way. My eyes stay closed, absorbing every moment, every second of her touch. Images flash through my mind. That dog. Reese. His motionless, whimpering body. My head falls into my hands, my shoulders shaking as a weak sob slips out.

“You’re okay,” Cam says softly, continuing to stroke my hair. “You’re okay.”

She reaches for the soap, pumping it generously into her hand before running her fingers back through my hair, scrubbing the scalp tediously but gently.

With care.

I’ve never been cared for. Not to say nobody cares about me. I’ve just never been taken care of. I’ve never shattered into pieces and let someone else put me together. Not my parents, not Ruthie. Not Mallory.

“I’m going to rinse it out now, okay?” Cam asks. I nod, parting my lips to speak but nothing comes out. She helps me stand and turns my back toward the shower head. Warm water streams down my face, the suds washing backward out of my thick hair. Cam runs her fingers through it, making sure every sud, every bubble washes out. Then, she reaches for the loofah.

She lathers it up with soap that smells like sweet mint and eucalyptus, then presses it carefully to my body. I wince, for a second. I don’t know why. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels unnatural to have someone doing this for me. It feels unnatural for her to be seeing me like this.

The loofah glides across my skin, the rough beige sponge scrubbing gentle circles around me. Cam’s sure to be careful as she glides over the hammerhead, though the healing process has moved along nicely and the peeling is almost gone.

I look down at her finally, letting her eyes meet mine. God, she’s beautiful. And I’m a complete disheveled wreck.

“One to ten,” I ask weakly. “How good am I being compared to your regular clients?”

I force a smile, and I can tell by her reaction that it isn’t really a smile at all. It feels more like a grimace. But Cam offers me her own fake grin, her eyes dropping down to the loofah gliding across my chest.

“Eight,” she says softly. Her eyes flick up. “You’re a little dirtier than most.”

I let out a chuckle that isn’t forced but isn’t genuine either. It’s both, in a way. Neither, in another. My hand cups the back of her waist, gently pulling her close to me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my gaze dropping to the floor. I watch suds slide down the ribbed fiberglass and into the drain. “I know what you meant earlier. And I shouldn’t have shown up—”

“Don’t.” Cam shakes her head. “Don’t talk about that right now. Please.”

I look up, her eyes giving me a subtle, silent plea.

I nod.

“Okay.”

Cam sets the loofah on the side of the tub, then steps forward, closer to me. Her arms snake around my waist, and I look down at her for anything that may be a distraction. From Reese, from the contract. All of it.

Her blonde hair is dark in the shower. The true beauty of her eyes is hidden by the low lighting, but I know what really lies inside. Her thick brown lashes clump together, little drops sitting on their tips which shake as she blinks. Water pools in the curve of her lips, and her tongue peeks out to clear it.

16She is the most beautiful distraction ever created. My hands cradle the back of her neck, my thumb tracing her jaw. Cam’s breath hitches, and I lean in to press our mouths together.

Her lips are wet and soft. Full and warm.

Everything about them is perfect. A perfect distraction. She pulls back.

“Violet, you’re not—” She swallows, her hands tightening around my waist. “You’re not in a good state of mind. We shouldn’t—”

“If you aren’t comfortable, I don’t want to,” I say, the shower raining down on us in warm, steaming patter. My eyes search through Cam’s, scanning her face for anything. Anything that isn’t pity. Anything that shows understanding for the fact that I need a distraction. She pauses, looking at me carefully. Then, she leans back in, pressing her lips to mine.

“I want to.”

Cam’s fingers glide delicately across my back.

There’s no haste in her movement. No desperation. Her lips travel down my neck, rain drops hitting my back softly. Cam’s knees bend, her lips traveling lower down my body now. She kisses the tops of my breasts, then between them. Her lips journey down my ribcage slowly, like a stroll on the beach, soaking in every inch. My body tenses when she meets my hip and sucks the skin gently between her teeth. But she doesn’t try to leave a bruise. She kisses it like it’s a butterfly’s wing, careful not to break it. I swallow, tilting my head back into the shower.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asks. Her knees are against the stained floor of the tub, her eyes looking up at me with concern, but also with desire. I bite my bottom lip and nod my head.

“I want you.”

---