Page 36 of What We Broke

His body is only inches away from mine as he reaches behind me and swings the door closed. He moves closer, forcing me to step backward until I hit the wall and his arms are boxing me in.

“Say it again,” he demands.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to hold his gaze and repeat it. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” My voice comes out strained, my eyes welling up, my bottom lip trembling. “It’s been hard,” I croak. “And I’m not coping,” I admit. “But tonight, that wasn’t what I was doing. I don’t think like that anymore.”

“But you did?” he whispers. I half-shrug, allowing a tear to fall. “And you don’t now?”

The word doesn’t even have a chance to leave my mouth. Jesse slams his lips to mine, capturing my broken whimper.

I know better than to kiss him back. We are the messiest and ugliest versions of ourselves, and nothing good will come of it. But there is no end in sight. Our hearts continue to break, and I need my husband.

“Come here,” he suggests.

I start to pull back, but he just grabs my hand and leads the way. I haven’t slept in the bed or next to Jesse since Lola died—I truly don’t even know if I can.

He surprises me when he detours to our en suite bathroom.

Still half dressed, Jesse leans into the shower and turns it on. The water runs as he turns to face me.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Jesse slowly and methodically takes all my clothes off. My shirt and jacket come off first. He gets down on one knee and removes the socks from my feet.

My body prickles in awareness at his proximity to the lower part of me, and when he begins to undo the buttons on my pants, my half-hard bulge is difficult to hide.

Steam fills the bathroom as Jesse drags my pants down my legs and helps me step out of them.

I’m completely naked now.

Extending his arm, he checks the water temperature and then leads me under the spray.

The next thing he does is so quintessentially Jesse, it shouldn’t surprise me.

Still with his jeans on, he follows me into the shower and proceeds to wash me. He starts off with my hair, washing and rinsing the unruly mess. His pants are saturated now, but he just continues to soap up my body from head to toe.

He’s on his knees now, and my length is rock solid, my body only having one single response when it comes to Jesse’s touch.

With water rivulets running down his face, he looks up at me, his hair wet, his eyelashes glistening, and a longing in his gaze that makes my dick jolt.

When his hand stalls at my groin, I grab his wrist and position it on my cock.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, instead wrapping his soap-covered hand around me and immediately gliding it up and down.

My head falls back into the spray and a small groan leaves my mouth as my climax threatens to approach all too quickly. It’s been too long and my body is starved for his touch more than I need a release.

His hands alternate between caressing and squeezing, and I keep my eyes closed and revel in the moment.

A hand grips my hip and spins me around, and I move for him or with him, at this point, I don’t care. Placing my palms on the tiled wall, I hang my head low, the water running through my hair and down my face.

I stifle a whimper when he pulls my cheeks apart and runs a digit along my taint.

Dancing up and down my crease, his finger teases my hole. When he slips it inside, I hold my breath and press my forehead to the cool tiles.

My cock is painfully hard, but the sadistic part of my personality refuses to touch myself. I welcome the torture just as much as I welcome his touch.

The silence between us is loud, and the recklessness of what we’re doing is even louder.

This isn’t smart; it isn’t even stupid—it’s dangerous.

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