Page 154 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Steam from the hot water fogs up the mirror quickly, allowing me the plausible deniability needed to excuse my avoidance of my reflection as I strip out of the t-shirt I wore to bed. Stepping out of the reusable period knickers my best friend swears are God’s gift to post-partum women, I chuck my discarded clothing into the hamper that continuously empties itself without any effort on my part.

I am beyond lucky to have the support system I do.

Crystal is the perfect mother-in-law. Efficient and effective, she bustles around the edges of my life, making everything better without drawing any attention to her efforts. Without her and Nadia, I would be floundering worse than I am. They have stepped up, no questions asked, nothing expected in return, when I needed them most.

I’m excited to have my in-laws living next door once I move into my new home. Now, I need to talk Nadia into taking the guest room I’ve had her decorate so I can keep her close too. It’s already awkward for her to be under the same roof as Sander after their break-up. My best friend won’t stay at Slash’s after I leave. I know she stayed here for me, yet she rebuffs me every time I offer her a permanent space in my house.

Nadia is a force of nature.

She lives by her own moral code and refuses to bend to any will but her own.

I’ll work out how to tame her, how to make her want to live with me.... eventually.

Making a mental note to organise a thank you gift for both women, I adjust the water temperature with a small flick of the tap, then step under the heavy torrent. As much as I hate being naked right now, I enjoy the sanctuary of my morning shower. So much so, that I’ve started taking a quick moment to rinse off in the evening as well.

There’s something about warm water cascading over me that makes me feel safer.

Eyes shut, I lift my face toward the downpour pounding from the expensive shower head.

“What the fuck!” I exclaim when a big arm circles my waist and pulls me into a hard body. With my back pressed to a wide chest and a stainless-steel adorned erection pushing against the small of my back, my brain quickly fills in the details I can’t visualise with my eyes closed. “Holy hell, Slash... come on. This is the opposite of space.”

“Nah,” the big man drawls. He gathers my hair on the top my head, then squirts shampoo on the wet locks. I bite back a moan when his strong fingers begin to massage my scalp. “This is exactly the right amount’a space. Big enough to allow me to take care of you... small enough to thwart your escape.”

“Arguing with you is almost as bad as debating Hunter.”

“So, give up, duchess...”

“I... you... ah.” A low groan escapes my mouth as my husband directs me back under the spray, then works his fingers into the tight muscles at the base of my skull. “Damn, that feels good.”

“Let me look after you, baby.” His murmured demand is delivered in a velvety smooth voice. The silky promise of a break from the stress I’m under is alluring. My only problem is the cost that comes with it—what does he want in exchange for this naked shower massage? As if he can read my mind, Slash tells me, “No pressure. No expectations. The only thing I want out of this is permission to touch you, so I can wash you.”

“Carter.” The magic coming from his fingers causes me to purr his legal name. Rallying the few functioning braincells I have left, I stammer through my objections, “We shouldn’t be this close. I’m healing. You’re recovering. Plus... I’m...” After dragging in a deep breath, I blurt out, “I’m bleeding and I will be for weeks.”

“A little blood doesn’t scare me,” he retorts.

“But—”

“No more buts.” Slash takes hold of my hips and urges me a step forward. “Hands on the wall, baby.” With mindless autonomy, I follow his instruction. “Spread those legs a little wider.” My body complies before my brain has comprehended his request. “Concentrate on holdin’ yourself upright... I’ll take care of everythin’ else.”

The restless despondency that’s been hunting me recedes as I cede to my husband’s dominance. I keep my eyes closed to block out everything but his touch. Whenever my mind attempts to side-track me with reminders of all of my troubles, his gentle caresses pull my attention back to his ministrations.

Long fingers rinse my hair, then work in the conditioner.

Calloused palms covered in body wash cleanse my skin.

I’m handed my toothbrush, and I move it around my mouth out of habit.

Taking infinite care, Slash is dedicated to his mission. He doesn’t neglect an inch of skin or a lock of hair in his quest to free me from the grit that metaphorically covers me. His hands skim my intimate areas with a precision that hovers between disciplined and sensual. My breath hitches in my chest as I fight my response to his touch when he drags his fingertips over my clit with more pressure than necessary.

My husband makes a low growling sound as I unthinkingly clench my thighs around his hand. We pretend like it didn’t happen—that I’m not giving mixed signals and he isn’t as turned on as I am. I am caught in two minds, wanting this to end, but also wishing it could last forever.

The latter wins out.

I know it’s in my head, however, the relief that barrels through me as my husband washes me from head to toe is real. It’s like he instinctually understands how close to the edge I’ve been teetering, and somehow innately understands what I need to be pulled back from the abyss. Edging me toward the precipice, without acknowledging how ridiculous it is for me to feel remotely horny when my body is healing, and my head is a mess.

Turns out Lazarus is right.

When the going gets tough, I deflect.

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