Page 95 of Haunted

“Get in the shower, baby. I’m right behind you.”

She nods, and I’m grateful she complies so easily, because I need a minute to myself.

After she’s safely behind the foggy glass door of the shower, I put my hands on my hips and glare down at the bulge in my jeans. The stupid fucker picks the worst time to stand at attention. I close my eyes and try to think of shit that’ll deflate my dick. I bring up a mental picture of Mom in her bathing suit, then think about the time Ella puked all over my chest when she got drunk for the first time. I shudder as I even remember the time I walked in on my parents fucking on the washing machine when all of us kids were supposed to be spending the night at a friend’s house.

My dick goes down, but not enough, because I can still see Jules in the background of any image I conjure up. She’s in my every fucking thought, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to make that go away.

Releasing a sigh, I remove my jeans and pray like fuck I don’t scare Jules when I climb in the shower with a hard-on. I slide the glass door back just wide enough for me to step inside and close it behind me. Her eyes are wide as she takes in my naked body and damned if my dick isn’t back to full mass again in seconds. When her eyes land on my hard cock and the piercing at the end, her eyebrows rise, and her mouth forms an O before she squeaks out an “Oh!”

“Baby,” I call. “Eyes up here.”

Her gaze lingers for a moment, but when my cock jumps of its own accord from having her eyes on it, that same gaze flies to my face. The pink in her cheeks has darkened, giving her a sweet, innocent look that I can’t help but love.

“It’s unavoidable in this situation.” I tell her something she has to already know, but I still feel the need to say.

“I know.”

Her smile is soft, but it fucking sucks because it doesn’tcompletely reach her eyes. She turns away from me and grabs the sponge and body wash. When I notice her hands shaking as she tries to open the bottle, I step forward and take them both from her. She glances at me over her shoulder as I squirt the cucumber-melon-scented body wash on the sponge. When I place the bottle back on the shelf in front of her, she faces forward again. Without her telling me, I know she wants me to bathe her.

I gather her hair in my hand and put it over her shoulder, then starting on her neck, I rub the sponge in circles. I work down her arms to her fingertips then move on to her back. Squatting, I move the sponge over her ass and down her legs. I keep it platonic.

I stand, and I’m getting ready to hand the sponge to her so she can do her front, but she spins in place, keeping her arms to her sides, silently giving me permission to do it for her.

Our eyes lock together as I lift the sponge to her collarbone and slowly make my way across her upper chest then down over her breasts. Her breath hitches and her pupils dilate when it scrapes across her nipples. My cock jerks in reaction to her small show of pleasure.

I move down her stomach, her waist, then gently over her hips. I get to my knees and work my way down her thighs. With her right in front of me, I become weak and my eyes zero in on the brunette curls in front of me. Her legs are closed, but there’s a gap between her thighs, and I see the pink lips of her sex peeking out. Feeling like a bastard, I drop my eyes from the tempting sight.

When I bring the sponge back up her legs, I bypass her pussy, not wanting to torture myself and figuring she can take care of that part, but her hand stops me. I jerk my gaze to hers to see her biting her lip again, uncertainty and pure desperation in her eyes.

“Please,” she whispers brokenly. “I need to wash his touch off me.”

Indecision wars within me. This is wrong. It doesn’t feel right to do what she’s asking of me, I shouldn’t touch her after what Theo did to her, but I understand her need to rid herself of all reminders of him.

When a single tear slides down her cheek and she widens her legs a few inches, I can’tnotdo what she’s asking. I pull in a lungful of air and it whooshes out in a rush.

I look back down and move the sponge between her legs. Her body jolts once, but other than that she stands still. Her hand is still on mine, helping guide me, and it makes me feel fractionally better knowing I’m not doing this alone. I make sure it’s only the sponge touching her and not my fingers. This is only to clean her, nothing more.

Her free hand grips my shoulder as her other hand puts pressure on mine. She works the sponge back and forth over her sensitive flesh in almost a frantic movement. She applies even more pressure, and I frown, because I know it can’t be comfortable. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and at first I think she’s enjoying the friction and she’s moaning in pleasure, but when I look up at face, her eyes are closed, and her expression is twisted into a mask of pain.

When I try to pull the sponge away, her grip on my hand tightens and her movements become frenzied.

“Jules.” I call her name, my throat tight at seeing her anguish. Her eyes remain closed, so I call her name again and put a stop to both of our hands. “Jules. Look at me.” I strengthen my voice.

Her eyes spring open and the amount of despair in their depths would bring me to my knees if I wasn’t already on them.

“I just need it to go away,” she cries, and tries to force my hand to move again.

I stand and take the sponge away from her, dropping it to the shower floor.

“Stop it, baby. You’re fucking killing me here.” And she is. I can’t fucking stand her hurting herself to try to get rid of the feeling of his hands on her. It makes me want to scream bloody murder and find Theo and beat the shit out of him until there’s no part of him that’s recognizable.

I cup her cheeks and bring her face toward me, planting a soft kiss against her trembling lips.

“He’ll never touch you again. Never come near you again.” I pull back so she can see the truth on my face. “I swear, Jules. Never fucking again.”

Her arms band around my neck and she plasters her chest to mine. My arms go around her slim waist, and I bring her in tighter. I can feel her erratic heartbeat against my chest and the slight tremors in her body. Her silent cries shred pieces of my soul.

I don’t know how long I hold her. Time doesn’t matter. The only thing that does is making her feel safe again and taking away her pain and heartache. I’d do anything to take her anguish upon myself. I try my damndest to absorb it into my body and give her my warmth and my strength.

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