Page 155 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Sex is my emotional shield.

One that I need to stop wielding if I want to be treated as an equal.

“Ignore my wayward cock,” the big man croons when his erection nudges my hip. The strain in his voice matches the agony in my heart. “He knows better, but still lives in hope like a madman.”

My hands flare with the desire to stroke his studded length.

I could offer him the same reprieve from reality he’s just granted me.

Nadia’s voice echoes around my skull.

Time and space doesn’t include hand jobs.

It doesn’t specifically preclude them either...

“Rinse,” my husband orders.

Blinking to clear my dirty thoughts, I tilt my head back to fill my mouth with water while he relieves me of my toothbrush. After swirling the warm liquid around, I spit it out. Embarrassment should be taking hold, right now, but this isn’t the first time we’ve shared a shower. Between Lazarus and Slash, I’ve likely spent more time under the spray with a partner than I have alone.

Sad but true.

Once I’m suds free, my husband turns off the water. “Gonna dry you off now, wife, then I’m changin’ your bandage.”

“No.” Although my legs are shaking from standing too long, I grip his wrist to stop him from leading me out of the glass cubicle. “You’ve done enough... I can take it from here.”

“Nice try,” he retorts with a smirk.

I crinkle my forehead. “Huh?”

“Lazarus told me what you said to him last night...”

“I don’t know what you mean.” My frown deepens as I run through my conversations the previous evening. Slash speedily dries off, then he gently tugs me out of the shower alcove. “My stitches?”

“You called yourself gross.”

My stomach drops. “Oh.”

“Yeah... oh.” After wrapping a towel around my torso, Slash beckons me to bend over. He makes quick of blotting my wet hair, then securing my terry-towel wrap around the damp locks. Once he has retrieved the first aid kit I used to remove his stitches last night from the bathroom vanity, he closes the door and orders, “Brace yourself against the basin.”

The hardness in his gaze alerts me that I’m not going to win the argument I’m contemplating. It’s been month since he looked at me with his brand of fierce protectiveness. Understanding that I’m beat, secretly thrilled that my wild husband is no longer handling me with kid gloves, I do as he instructed. Cold porcelain against my backside makes me shiver, but I’m thankfully for the support it offers so I can take some of the weight off my feet. My stamina is close to zero. Back-to-back surgeries have drained me of energy reserves and the stress of the past year has caught up with me at the same time.

I can’t return to exercise until I get the all-clear at my six-week check-up.

For now, daily walks with Garrett will have to suffice.

My stomach grumbles.

A reminder that, exhausted or not, I need to get out of my head and get on with my day.

“Gonna feed you real soon, wife.”

Seemingly indifferent to his nakedness, Slash kneels before me. I hold my breath as he carefully inches the sticky part of the bandage away from my skin. Exposing the c-section incision, I am privy to the sight of his trembling fingers touching my mottled and still swollen belly with reverence. His touch is light. Somehow it feels like he’s drawing a blade over my skin.

Slash’s denial of Garrett and his absence during my pregnancy shattered my soul.

“Missed out on so much,” he rasps. His chin is close to his chest, hiding his expression from my searching gaze. A mixture of anger and regret floods me as Slash admits, “By my own choice... which is the worst fuckin’ part of the entire thing.”

“I understand why you had to stay away.” I brush my palm over the uninjured side of his head. It’s a silent offer of forgiveness for a sin that should’ve been a deal breaker in our relationship. “And that’s the only reason I haven’t cut you loose for deserting me like you did.”

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