Page 140 of The Pucking Wrong Man

She lifted her gaze, ferociously shaking her head. “It’s not that. I just feel so sad for you. Picturing you as a little boy, seeing your mother like that. I wish I had known. I would have never?—”

Fuck, she was sad for me.

I peppered her faces with kisses, my tongue dragging along her tears and snatching each one. “Don’t cry. It’s just something I need to fucking get over...but while I do…”

“I won’t make any eggs,” she said wryly, some of her spunk returning.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, and she squeezed me for another long moment. The smell of eggs and bacon still filled the air, but now it was mixed with the scent of her shampoo, grounding me in the present.

Anastasia gently pushed away. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m sure my trigger list is a mile long. We should probably go over it sometime,” she joked.

I nodded seriously, obsessing over every detail of her face as I took her in.

“I’m going to go shower,” I told her, feeling calmer, but still wanting to wash off the ghosts of the past that seemed to be lingering on my skin.

She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “Okay.”

“Thanks for breakfast,” I murmured as I walked out, unable to not at least thank her for her work.

Anastasia was throwing the eggs in the trash as I left the room.

I stood in the shower, my hands against the wall, the rain shower head peltering my skin with scalding hot water. The blistering temperature was helping to block out the past...a little.

The shower door opened behind me, and I stiffened.

Anastasia hissed as she stepped into the water, reaching her arm around me to lower the temperature.

A second later, her arms were wrapped around my chest, and I groaned because her touch felt so good.

I don’t know why I thought that a shower was what I needed. What I needed was Anastasia.

Always.

Her lips brushed against my skin and my head fell back. She didn’t usually instigate things with us, she preferred for me to take the lead. I was fine with that, but this was good. So good.

I moaned as her hands caressed my chest, sliding down my abs and taking a moment to trace each one. She was a little obsessed with my abs. Which was fine.

I was obsessed with everything about her body.

“Turn around,” she murmured, and without thinking I did, immediately finding her beautiful eyes, her lashes beaded with water drops.

Fuck. I loved her. I lowered my head to kiss her, and then her gaze dropped...to my dick.

Whoops.

I’d forgotten about that surprise I’d been keeping under wraps—making excuses every time she wanted to do something for me after I’d made her ride my face for an hour. It was also why I’d shoved my dick in her mouth the other night at the arena—not that her mouth was a good place for a fresh tattoo either, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“What happened to your dick?” she gasped in a horror filled voice, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

“Surprise…” I said bashfully, taking a step away to give her the full shot...now that the cat was out of the bag.

She was speechless. That was a good thing, right. Dickmatized, so to speak?

“Is that a tattoo?” she asked shakily once she’d recovered the ability to speak.

It was indeed a tattoo. That picture I’d taken of my blood-streaked dick right after I’d taken her virginity...I’d had my tattoo artist replicate it. All the drops and striations of where her blood had stained my dick were now immortalized forever on my skin.

Since that was the most life-changing night of my entire existence—and hers was the only pussy I was going to have for the rest of my life—it only seemed fitting.

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