Page 40 of A Promise For Tomorrow

I’m trying to reel it in. Trying to control it. My hands shake as I tilt her head up to look at her lip. It is going to need stitches. Definitely way too deep and the blood is still having a hard time coagulating. I grab a wash cloth and gently wet it, pressing it to her lip.

“No. He didn’t have time. I spit blood in his face.” Although it comes out monotone, there is a hint of pride there. Her quick thinking definitely gave her the upper hand.

“This is going to need stitches, love. I’ll get you cleaned up and into fresh clothes. Lexi can stitch you up in the kitchen.”

She nods, removing the washcloth from my hand and holding it to her lower lip.

While she tends to the wound, I shampoo her hair, gently massaging her head and scanning her scalp with the tips of my fingers for any further lacerations. Seems okay.

“Anything else hurt?”

“No,” she clips.

Grabbing the detachable shower head, I rinse the suds from her purple locks before moving on to add conditioner. I leave it in, letting it work its magic on her thick strands while soaping up a loofah and cleaning her body. Madison uncurls, allowing me to clean her properly. Her body is still limp with exhaustion.

With legs like a newborn calf, she stands and walks herself beneath the spray to rinse out the conditioner. Suds from the body wash run down her beautiful breasts and over her stomach. After a bit of a struggle to remove my wet clothes, I finally reach out to her, clasping a hand behind her back. She reaches for the loofah, adding a bit of soap before scrubbing my body with it. Her eyes won’t reach mine, purely focused on the task at hand.

“That’s good, baby. Don’t worry about me. I’ll need anothershower after what I have planned for later,” I try to bite back a growl. That fucker is going to wish he never stepped foot in my club. Never laid a hand on what is mine.

And she is mine.

She always will be—even if it ends platonically, Madison will always be part of my syndicate and family.

Dainty hands replace the loofah, running up my chest to clasp my face. “I’m sorry, Liam. For earlier.”

Lacing my fingers through hers I bring them to my lips, kissing them. “Don’t worry about that now, baby. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

I reach behind her and turn the water off, grabbing two towels off the vanity. I secure one around my hips before bundling her in the other, helping her onto the bath mat.

Shock is always the result of moments like these. I’m so far past that feeling now, it no longer phases me. Madison has had her fair share, but this was different. She fought back and won. That hand to hand combat, that rush of adrenaline, it’s a lot to come down from. When you finally do, you end up crashing. I need to get her warmed up and in bed.

The chill of my bedroom hits us as we exit. She stands there by the bathroom door looking broken and lost. I dig through my drawers until I find a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring and one of my sweatshirts. I place them on the dresser and toss on a fresh pair of boxer briefs. The sensation of her eyes on my body has my anger easing and lust filtering in.

When I turn around to dress her, the white fluffy towel is now forgotten about on the floor. This goddess is standing with her hands on her hips, stark naked. Her pink nipples are pebbled and the bronze skin around them is dusted with goosebumps. Wet violet hair clings to her arms and over the swell of her breasts leaving water droplets dripping down the center of her chest. I want to lick each one, tracing my tongue over each nipple before climbing higher to lap the water at her neck. Mycock pulses, tenting my boxers which directs her gaze to the V at the elastic waistband.

I can’t.

Not now.

She needs her lip fixed and some rest.

“Liam…” I know that tone. God, I fucking love that tone. It’s sexy as hell and has my patience wearing thin. If I don’t change this ship's course soon, I’ll end up inside her the rest of the night.

Grabbing the thick navy blue sweatshirt, I hold it out in front of me.

“Arms up, love.”

Rejection clouds her eyes. She wants me. We have always helped each other through our tough moments by being as physically close as possible. Not being able to give her what she needs right now is killing me.

Her right hand grips the sweatshirt while her other retrieves the sweatpants on my dresser. She dresses quickly, shielding her perfect body from me before heading back into my en suite. Drawers slam open and closed as she searches around.

“I need a brush,” she snaps.

I reach around her to pull open the top drawer, handing her one.

She tugs at the handle, avoiding my skin touching hers. Anger courses through her as she aggressively combs through the knots. It sounds fucking painful—yet she hasn’t even flinched.

“Mad. It’s not that I don’t want to…” I say hesitantly.

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