Page 704 of The Tempted

He turns around once the tub is full and closes the faucet. I strip down to nothing by the time he turns back to me, his eyes firmly planted on my face as he extends his hand.

“Come on, girl,” he urges as I take a step closer to him, dropping my hand into his. He holds me as I lift one leg over the wall of the bath tub and sink into the warm water. Lifting my eyes to his, I see the concern reflected in them. He gently pushed my shoulders back so I lean against the back of the tub. Running one hand over his face, he stares at the water for a moment, drawing a deep breath and reaches for the washcloth.

“Blackie,” I whisper, wrapping my hand around his wrist and forcing his eyes back to mine. “I’m okay,” I assure, feeling guilty for not rising up and masking my depression.

“I know you are,” he insists, leaning over the wall of the tub and pressing his mouth against mine.

His lips are soft as they work mine, slowly easing them open sliding his tongue over mine. I lift my wet hands to his face, dragging my fingers through his hair as I kiss him back, hoping my kiss calms the worry in his eyes.

“Lean back,” he murmurs against my mouth before easing back from me. He squirts some body wash into the cloth and lifts it to my neck, slowly soaping me up. Intimately, with the gentleness he buried beneath his steel exterior, he takes care of me, calming my thoughts and forcing me to relax.

I close my eyes as the merry-go-round ride of emotions I was on comes to a halt. He works the lukewarm washcloth over every inch of my body in silence, the only sounds heard are those of our breathing and the water lapping around my body.

After a while he stops washing me and my body feels the loss of his touch, forcing me to open my eyes and watch as he squeezes out the washcloth and drape it over the mouth of the faucet. He turns his eyes back to mine and tips his chin toward my hair.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asks huskily.

I shake my head as he pulls the stopper from the tub and lets the water drain before he rises to his full height and grabs a towel from the rack on the wall. He spreads it wide as I stand up and step out of the tub and into his arms. He wraps the towel around me. I feel his large palms circle my body, through the thin cotton of the towel as he pats me down. I glance down, secure the towel to my body, tucking the edge just above my breasts while I watch him take a step back and hold out his hands.

Blackie leads me into our bedroom, drops my hands as we reach the edge of the bed and he pulls down the comforter. He glances over his shoulder at me and extends one hand to my breast, unraveling the towel from my body, before looking back toward our bed.

I climb in and he draws the blanket over my body, bending his head to kiss my forehead.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if he was telling me so or trying to convince himself.

“Lay down with me,” I plead, watching his Adam’s apple as he swallows. He hesitated for a moment, pulling back from me as he took a deep breath. “Please?”

He nods, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and bends down to undo his boots. I lift my head from the pillow and rest on my elbows, watching as he strips down to nothing but his boxer briefs. He palms his cock, pressing down on it as he tears his eyes away from me and walks around the bed. His body is a work of art—tattoos decorating every corded muscle on display. I watch him pull back the sheet and climb in beside me, turning on his side to face me before lifting his hand to trace a finger down my cheek.

“So damn pretty,” he rasps, reaching for me with his other hand, tucking me against him as he rolls onto his back. I lay my head against his chest. I peer at the tattoo covering his left pec, the music notes to our song dance across his skin, reminding me of that first dance he gave me and all the ones that followed when my mind betrayed me.

No matter how broken down I feel, or how tired I am from the war I battle internally, I rise up because this man gives me the confidence I need to beat my demons. Laying here, wrapped up in his arms, I’m reminded of the hope we’ve brought into one another’s lives and despite all the heartache we’ve endured, it’s our love that prevails. We’re stronger than our demons and we’ve survived the most lethal of temptations. We’ll rise because we have each other and nothing can stop us—we won’t let it.

“I’ve had a bad day,” I confess, tracing my finger over the music notes.

“You want to tell me about it?” he asked softly, threading his fingers through my hair.

“I went by my dad’s today and Reina was glowing, talking about the baby and how she and my dad are already trying to decide on a name,” I pause, lifting my head from his chest to stare into his eyes. “She’s happy, so is he, and I look at them and I wonder how they’re not scared. I sound like a hypocrite because I don’t blame my father for my illness but the facts are there, Blackie. I’m bipolar because it runs in my family, because I inherited this from my father. I know he didn’t want this for me and that it kills him knowing I share his pain but then I think about the baby and wonder if it’s even crossed his mind that the child he’s about to have can be diagnosed too.”

I quietly watch as he absorbs my words and doesn’t respond.

“I’m not trying to dampen their happiness but I want to understand how they’re able to push away the fear and embrace the beauty of it…because I can’t. I tried putting myself in their shoes and thought about us having a baby and I don’t know if I could do that, if I could risk an innocent child the burden of my illness.”

He lifts his hand, brushing away the tears that slide down my cheek.

“I want kids,” I whisper. “I want to give you a whole house full of babies, but how selfish would that be of me?”

“Lace, you think for one second your father isn’t tormenting himself, asking himself those same questions? I don’t doubt he’s not consumed by that same fear but he’s got Reina there, hanging on to hope that their kid will be perfectly healthy. And if he’s not, then they’ll deal with it like every other parent deals with a child’s illness. Think about it, baby, there is no controlling what we’re handed. People who are healthy, who have no traces of illness in their genes have babies that are born with birth defects and sickness they never even heard of. It doesn’t make them bad parents, if anything it strengthens them, because it takes a special person to care for a sick kid, no matter what the illness.”

“So, if we had a baby, and she was like me—”

“We’d love her like we would if she wasn’t like you. We’d give her all we could because we’re those people…the ones that can’t be beat no matter how deep they’re dragged down. If our kid had any illness, bipolar or fuck, I don’t know, if she was born with a heart defect, that kid would have the best life we could ever give her because we didn’t give up on each other and there is no way in hell we’d give up on our baby.”

He cradles my face in his hands.

“Our baby could be perfect and grow up just fine, only to turn out like his dad…and then what? We let him rot? Or we drive his ass to rehab until he gets straight? We don’t get a choice in what we get…we grab it and hang on with all we have.”

“How do you do that?” I marvel, shaking my head as I stare back at him. “How do you always make it better for me? You’re always saving me, Blackie, and most of the time it’s from myself.”

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