Page 70 of Shattered Veil

Obliterated.

Exploding inside of her with a final thrust and a gritty moan into her neck, I was forced to let my grip on her hair go to steady myself with a smack of my palm on the wall.

Our exhausted breaths rose above the water as we came down. We stood up straight. Cassie turned in my arms, lazily lacing hers around my neck, and kissed me deeply. We rotated so I was fully beneath the shower, I tilted my head back to allow the water to run through my hair, and, without saying a word, Cassie reached to the inset shelf on her right that I hadn’t even noticed previously. Grabbing a circular, squat, brown bottle that I assumed was shower gel, she squirted a generous amount into her left palm, returned it to the shelf, and rubbed her hands together to create a lather.

The vanilla scent swarmed me as she placed her hands on my chest. I felt my lips pull up into a deliriously contented smile, and she cleaned me slowly. She took great care, lingering especially over my arms and tracing the outlines of my tattoos, and stopped completely when she knelt before me and rubbed at the color on my thighs. I ushered her back upward with a gentle touch to her face, she returned to me, and between light brushes of our lips, I asked if I could return the gesture and wash her, as well.

Her nose skimmed mine as she shook her head, mentioning that she had already done so before I joined her, and upon the remark that her skin was turning pruny, we made a leisurely descent for the bedroom.

We sufficiently dried and dressed ourselves, me in the undergarments I had kicked to the floor and Cassie in just a pair of navy boyshorts that I more than approved of. I used her toothbrush. We had a brief, altogether playful argument regarding her belief that I needed to apply lotion to slow the formation of worry wrinkles on my forehead. I inevitably allowed her to smooth said moisturizer over my face.

It was beautifully comfortable, and the gratified upturn of my lips remained as I lay with her under the sheets. We rested face to face, her eyes closed as I toyed with her damp hair, running my fingers through the strands softly as if I were searching for tangles to tame.

Because I knew that she was yet to be asleep and the thought had crossed my mind, I murmured:

“I have a confession to make.”

Her right eyebrow flickered upward for a split second, but she seemed entirely unconcerned with her eyelids still shut as she responded, “Mmm?”

“I may have left you a…rather uncouth voicemail.”

Cassie finally looked at me, amused. “Did you now?”

“Mhm.”

“And what, exactly, was uncouth?”

My hand had stroked to the ends of her hair, and I started again by her temple. “Can I preface with the fact that I left it while I was concerned that you had gone missing?”

A corner of her mouth pulled up in sympathy. “Yes, you can. Go on.”

I drew in a long breath, and then let it out as I admitted with an upward inflection, “I was telling you that I was at your house?”

“Mmm.”

“And talking about how you hadn’t called.”

“Right.”

“And that your shift had ended a while ago.”

“That’s all ringing a bell.”

“And that if you didn’t get home within fifteen minutes, I’d come to find you.” I paused, squeezing my eyes shut as I ended with, “And that if you weren’t actually in danger, I’d kill you myself.”

Upon repeating it, the words sounded…bad. Controlling, even. I opened one of my eyes to peek at her reaction, and Cassie giggled in a girlish fashion that made all my concerns fly right out of the room, through the hallway, past Skylar, beyond the chair that was forcefully shoved underneath her front door’s knob, and into the abyss.

“Oh, that’s so unlike you,” she sarcastically sighed as she caught her breath. “So unlike you to be rude and snappy when you’re stressed.”

“Am I known to be rude and snappy when I’m stressed?” I repeated her words back to her.

“Mhm.” Her gaze sparkled as she said, “That’s James Turner energy, for sure.”

I scoffed, “James Turner energy?”

“Oh, yeah.” Cassie quipped, “Even if I had gone missing, I have a feeling you’d have shown up wherever I was in about ten seconds flat, though…you do tend to show up, don’t you?”

What had meant to be a casual, offhanded joke hit me square in the chest. My delight in our banter was whisked away, and my swallow through the lump in my throat was audible.

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