This powerful man who kills without hesitation kneels before me.
Broken.
By me.
I reach down and tilt his chin up until he's looking at me. His blue eyes find mine and I recognize the same sadness and regret that mirrors my own.
"I'm sorry," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I should have?—"
I press a single finger to his lips. I shake my head and don't say anything. Because I can't make any words right now without crying, and if I start crying, then he'll want to comfort me.
And if he tries to comfort me, it'll just remind me of how much I forced him just now to hurt me.
I can't do that.
So, I reach down, take his hand in mine, turn around, and lead him into the shower until we're both encased under the hot stinging spray.
I lean into Anatoly's chest as he pulls me closer to his body. Warmth blossoms between us, and I feel his fingers combing through my hair. I keep my eyes downcast.
Crimson ribbons start seeping into the water swirling around our feet.
I take a deep shuddering breath. This is everything that I've wanted. Truly wanted. And yet the moment I had it, I tried so desperately to push it away.
I kiss his chest, and feel him shiver in response. His large hands cover my body, and slowly but gently scrub away the blood that's beginning to dry.
Crimson gives way to pink. Pink fades away until the water runs clear.
And Anatoly continues to wash away the final remnants of my past. I continue to kiss his chest. Every kiss gets just a little bit higher until I'm standing on my toes. Then, I finally look up at him and see the hurt in his blue eyes.
"I know you did what you did for me," I whisper. "And I'm sorry that I said those things."
"There's nothing for you to be sorry for," he tells me, his voice low and raw. He pulls me even closer and I gasp at the contact of skin kissing skin. His body is warm against mine despite the water that cascades down around us. He traces the line of my jaw with his thumb and asks, "How can I make it up to you?"
I look at him, searching those piercing blue eyes that saw through every layer of protection I built around myself. "Am I your wife?" I ask. "Yours to hold and protect forever?"
"Yes," he says without hesitation. "Always."
"Then make love to me like I’m your wife."
48
ANATOLY
I benddown and gingerly kiss Indigo. Her lips are soft and warm against mine, and for a heartbeat, she seems hesitant, almost as if she wasn't expecting me to do so.
My heart falters, wondering if I've misunderstood what she wanted.
But then her lips open further and she starts kissing me back.
Relief floods through me. I cradle her face in my hands, feeling the warmth of her skin under my palms.
The water cascades around us, steam rising to envelop us in our own private world. Her hands find my shoulders and her fingers press into my skin as she pulls herself closer to me.
I kiss her slowly and reverently. My tongue traces the shape of her mouth and commits it to memory while hers darts forth to entwine with mine. The roughness of moments earlier is all but forgotten.
Now, all that exists between us is a tenderness that neither of us prepared for but both of us desperately needs.
I want her to feel the promise in this kiss—that I will be her husband in every way that matters. That I will protect her. That I will never let anyone hurt her again.