Page 113 of Love Thief

I finish my toilet business, and he moves behind me as I wash my hands, removing my sleep shorts and strappy top. Fully caught up in his attention, I let him move my body around and lead me into the shower.

“Let me wash you?” he asks tenderly, care and compassion oozing from him, his eyes pleading with me.

He starts at my feet and washes me fully, talking all the while, trying to convey how sorry he is. How he’s hated himself for not being strong enough to come. How his weakness paralysed him, led him to believe if he came it would trigger some catastrophic event. He talks about the shock of the night I told him, his expression haunted by the memory. Looking up at me from under his lashes, his expression imploring me to forgive him.

“The things I said to you that night.”

I put my finger on his lips and shake my head, but he moves my finger after kissing it.

“No, I need to tell you everything, no more maybes. I need you to be clear on where I am. I need you to be clear on what I’ve done.”

I nod at him as he continues to care for me. It’s as if caring will cleanse us. My apprehension is going through the roof. What will he say? Will it change how I feel about him? What I’ve continued to feel about him regardless of his presence. My mind is set, my confidence in myself and my babies is high. It would take alot to change that.

“I’ve loved you since I was thirteen years old, probably before that if I really think about it. To say you don’t know how to love is the most ridiculous thing I could have ever said. You fill my life and everyone else’s with love. You have a queue of people trying to get involved with you, to feel the warmth of your affection and friendship.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I tell him. “Grace, Lauren, and Becky couldn’t do enough to try to get rid of me.”

“I’m talking about real people, not false friends who only wanted you on their terms. They couldn’t handle it when they got a load of the real you. But the people who love you, because of the real you, the wild, crazy, full on Evie Greystone, the wilder the better—they see it. They see you. They want it all. And you, I know you love hard and big, Evie. So fucking big, you are full throttle with everyone, no holding back. I had to fight the crowds at times to get to you.”

He starts to list people—Marshall, all the Greystones, The Purcells…—then he stops, saying, “I hope Xan and I are at the top of that list. Well, at least near Bug and Eamonn. Anywhere near those two and I know we’re home and dry.”

He smiles up at me and I touch his face, my fingertips skimming his beautiful bone structure. My palm caressing his cheek, moving down his body, following the water trail as it drips off his body, and he looks good enough to eat. My brain glosses over his words as a primal pull pulses out of me.

“Fuck,” he breaths out staring into my eyes, desire burning out from within. He moves to stand, my name a whisper on his lips, touches my oversensitive breasts, and I push them into his hands as he kisses me. His hands trace over my wet body and down between my legs. I’m even wetter there,

“Evie, is it okay?” He can hardly get any words out.

My hands travel up to his neck, and I can feel his pulse pounding under my palm as I pull him towards me, my lips waiting to be devoured by him.

“Yes, yes,” I murmur, and move my head back so he can kiss my neck, see my answering heart beat. He moves me gently round, pulling my back to his front, and rubs his body against mine, coating my skin with his scent. I’m pushing backwards onto his hard cock, standing tall, so ready.

“I’m so fucking hard, I’ll try and go slow, Kitten, I?—”

He’s losing the power of speech as his brain has moved to other matters. He slips in from behind and starts to move, gently, holding me, moving my hands to the shower wall so he can caress and massage my breasts.

“These are amazing, so fucking full.” Plucking at my nipples, he groans as I clamp my muscles onto him. He starts to move in and out, harder thrusts, longer strokes. I’m arching my back pushing onto him. He becomes erratic, moving faster and harder.

We’re both totally consumed with the feeling as he holds my head and pushes in again and again. My body is on fire, his hands burning a trail. I can feel him move his hand to my clit, applying delicious pressure, my blood flow centred as the heat travels from the tips of my toes.

I call out, his body responding to my voice, holding me hard to him, and I shout as I come, my body convulsing with pleasure. He nips at my neck as I feel him swell and let go, me tightening and releasing, throbbing for him, holding him deep inside.

We can’t speak, neither one of us says a word. Our bodies have spoken, conversed in a language only they understand. His breathing evens out as the water continues to patter against our skin. The noise soothing me.

“Oh God, did I hurt the babies?” he asks, getting his voice back, holding my tummy.

I shake my head laughing. “You can’t hurt them. In fact, sex is good. Anything good for me is good for them,” I say, grinning up at him.

I feel as high as a kite. My endorphins must really have taken hold. I feel loved, worshipped, and I don’t think I have ever felt as connected to another human being in my life. It’s as if we’ve been bound, our red string trapping us together.

We resume our shower, washing each other, talking softly, touching constantly. He tells me about Grace and Lauren. How he didn’t have sex with them—ever—or anyone else while we were apart. How they had pounced on him when he was asleep (or passed out), and when he woke from a dream, they had him in their mouths. I stutter at that, trying to block out those images. He tells me about the phone, how he never got my messages, how Grace had kept them all on a server. I can see his face, the torture, as he scrubs his hand over his head and neck.

“I wish I could take it all back.” He slumps a bit, and looks into my eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry, Evie.” His voice cracking, he looks like he might break down.

I look at him with clear eyes. My voice is confident and true. “I know what you did, what you’d done with them. I knew what it would have been like. I knew all that when I was sending you messages, right up until the other day when Xan came home. If I didn’t want you to be here with me, I would have made that known. This,” I point between us, “is what I want. And this will be the last time either one of those women are mentioned between you and I.”

He kisses me with awe and devotion shining in his eyes. I pull back, forcing him to look me in my eyes. “They didn’t know you, they didn’t want you, they wanted the rock star, the party boy, the money, the fame. I don’t. I don’t care if you never play another gig in your life. I want you, Kellen. I love you, Marcus Henry James Kellen Russell. I’ve made my decision. No looking back, only forward, whatever that means for us.”

He continues to look at my face in wonder. He’s touching my stomach, which has come to life under the heat of his palm. Kneeling in front of us, watching his sons move around, he rests his forehead on me then kisses them.

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