Page 45 of To Save Him

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

THE BEADS OF water hitting and sliding down his chest weren’t what had my attention.  It was, instead, the tattoo.

Thehugetattoo I’d avoided looking at.  Until now.

Brandon stood under the water, letting the shower wash over his beautiful body.  The idea had been just a little water play with the intent of exploring wherever the hell this was all going, but I was entranced at the moment.

There was a huge design/ picture all in black that looked like an eagle or a hawk spreading its wings over his chest, but above that was lettering—a hard-to-read script—and I wanted to know what it said.  I finally deciphered it:  “What Doesn’t Kill Me.”

I felt a shiver as I realized that was what Gabriel’s one and only tattoo had said—and it had been in the same spot on his body.  What did that even mean?

“Penny for your thoughts, they say.”

No way was I going to tell Brandon what I was thinking.  Talking about my dead son while in the shower with my young lover seemed really wrong.  It would have definitely ruined the mood.  I began thinking about earlier, how I’d been screaming and yelling at him and all the shit in the yard before we’d come inside and had our cathartic moment.  “I’m sorry about how I was acting earlier tonight.”  I reached over and grabbed the soap.

But the thought of washing myself anywhere gave me pause.  I might not have been in bad shape, but I had a good eighteen years on Brandon.  My body had seen better days.  My stomach was flat enough and had only a few stretch marks, but my breasts weren’t as perky as they had been in my twenties.  I had a few lines in my face too.  My hair I had no idea about because I went to my beautician once a month and let her do her thing.  I figured the less I knew, the better.

Anyway, the point was that I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.  Not yet.  I felt far too vulnerable on the inside.  I didn’t dare add to my feelings of insecurity and uncertainty.  I rubbed the soap in my hands while Brandon replied.  “You already apologized.  It’s done.  And besides…”

Yes, besides.  If I hadn’t been such a fucking bitch, chances were we wouldn’t be standing in the bathtub together at that precise moment.  Would it have ever happened?  Knowing then that we’d both had strange feelings about one another, I thought the possibility existed, but had I not been such a raving cunt, I might not have felt the need to apologize or explain myself.

I probably never would have told him about the lust I’d been straining to contain had I not been so motivated to tell him where my brain was.

I nodded, but I wasn’t looking in his eyes.  I was intent on that white bar in my hands, rotating it until it created a rich lather against my palms.  I took my sudsy right hand and touched it tentatively to his chest, about the point where the bird’s beak hooked between his pecs.  I began making a swirling motion, moving farther out as I made new circles, and I realized then that he was semi-hard.

Oh.  I’d need to take care of that soon.

It dawned on me then how much had changed since Brandon had entered my life.  For the longest time, I’d written off my sex life, assuming that part of me was done, but now that was all awakened inside me once more.  I smiled, thinking about that, and got closer to Brandon.  God…I wanted to ask him about that tattoo—aboutGabriel’stattoo—but now was clearly not the time.

Oh, Gabriel.

There wentmyhard on.

I was staring at the tattoo.  He had others I’d have to check out at a later date, but I was focused on the big one at the moment.  “You sure you’re okay with this?  I can’t help but feel like I’ve—”

It happened quickly then.  I suppose Brandon was tired of hearing my hesitation.  He’d already reconciled himself with the fact that we were different ages.  He’d made his peace with it.  For some reason, it was harder for me to accept, and I think it was because my oldest child had been one of his good friends.  It also weighed on my mind because of the position I’d put him in.  It felt strange…like an abuse of the situation.  What was that charge people in “positions of power” got busted on all the time?  Or was it “positions of trust”?  I only knew that Brandon very well could have felt like he had to do my bidding or risk losing his shelter.

But the way he slammed me against the shower wall and kissed me hard, his growing erection pressing into my belly convinced me that the doubt was all in my head.  He was all in and he was more than all right with the situation.

My hands were trapped between our bodies, still grasping the white bar of soap, as his tongue assured me that he wanted me as much as I wanted him.  His enthusiasm was, in fact, quite contagious, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d looked forward to physical contact this eagerly.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d enjoyed sex.  It had been far too long, and I was pretty sure the last few times Mel and I had been together years ago had felt obligatory rather than loving or excited.

Why the hell was my mind goingthere?

Brandon’s roughness yanked me back to the here and now and I responded.  I wriggled my hands out from between us, still maintaining a firm hold on the soap, and I slid my sudsy hands around to his back.  I swirled the bar around, landing on his ass for a moment before sliding back up.  I felt chilly out of the contact of the stream of hot water falling out of the showerhead, but the heat from his body counteracted the effects.

When he stopped kissing me, his hands still holding my cheeks, he looked me in the eyes.  My God, he was beautiful, his dark wet hair clinging to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks, his ebony eyes convincing me that I’d never encounter another soul so sincere.  “I am more than okay with this, Kimberly.”

That hard on helped assure me.

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