Page 54 of The Heir
I wish I could tell myself I'm being dramatic. I wish I could tell myself it's okay, it'll all be okay, but the fact that Roman betrayed us—my jaw clenches at the thought—and handed us directly over to Ella? It proves that Ican'tpromise myself anything. I can't promise myself safety.
My mind races with fear and anxiety as I watch the water circle the drain. It's a disgusting brownish gray, but my skin is starting to feel a bit better. Plopping another handful of cheap shampoo onto the crown of my head, I scrub my scalp vigorously. If I can't wash her out of my brain, I can at least wash that god-awful place off of my body. That's enough, isn't it? I think it has to be enough.
The water runs cold, but I can barely feel it. My hair clings to the back of my neck. It's matted but clean. Clean enough.
"Love?" Dante calls, gently knocking on the bathroom door. "Are you alright?"
I can't answer.
"I'm coming in." He jiggles the handle, but I locked the door. I hear him huff a sigh. "Melody, darling, can you please let me in?"
The bathroom is small enough for me to reach over and unhook the latch. I still can't speak, though. I don't know why. I wish I could say something, anything, to make the concerned look drop from his face. He's such a beautiful man. Sometimes, I wonder why the hell he choseme. Some small town piece of trash from Illinois who can't control herself.
My stomach rolls, and I double over—Dante rushes into the chilly stream of water, holdingme up.
"Sweetest love, what's wrong? Tell me, what are you feeling? What are you thinking?" He slips a wet tendril of hair behind my ear. "What can I do to make it better?"
"What if everything goes wrong?" I whisper, barely audible above the hiss of the shower. "What if we don't do this right—and our kid suffers for it? What if I'm a bad mom? What if Ella makes this baby an orphan?"
"Oh, love," Dante murmurs, pulling my soaking wet body against his. "I promise you that won't happen. I'll deliver Ella to your feet, hogtied and gagged, if that's what it takes."
"It might," I sniffle out a giggle. "It would make me feel better, anyway."
"Then I'll do it." He grasps my shoulders and pushes me back, gazing directly into my eyes. "I promise, love. I'll do it."
My heart swells with pure, unconditional love at his words. As if overtaken by a particularly amorous ghost, I launch myself at my beautiful, amazing, compassionate husband. He gasps around my lips but quickly recovers. His hands trail down to the small of my back, pulling me in close. He tastes fresh, and his tongue invades my mouth, eliciting a low groan from deep in my belly.
"I missed you so much, Melody," he whispers in my ear before kissing a line down my neck. "I missed yourgorgeous face. I missed your beautiful eyes. I missed touching you—holding you, and feeling every inch of you pressed against me."
"I missed you, too," I manage to squeak out. A shiver zips down my spine, and his touch feels electric. God, I missed him. I missed him so much. Not just because he fucks me like a goddess, but that surely doesn't hurt. I missed every sneaky smirk; I missed every gentle touch. I missed every groggy kiss before he falls asleep. I missed the way he grumbles during his dreams. "God, I missed you. I love you, Dante. I love you."
"I love you, Melody. I love you more than I ever knew possible." He pulls back, and I stare into those hauntingly beautiful green eyes. I hope our baby gets his eyes. "I can't believe you're pregnant."
"Wanna make sure it sticks?" I give him a lopsided grin.
"Do—are you sure? Are you ready?" His cock stands at attention, tenting his ridiculous hospital gown.
"Please, babe?" I whine. "Take that thing off—you're overdressed."
"Yes, ma'am." He rips at the flimsy ties and tosses the (drenched) garment to the floor with asplat.
For the first time in however long, I get to see him. All of him. Every painstakingly detailed tattoo, every flexed muscle, every tiny freckle that decorates his skin like the stars decorate the nighttime sky. The scruffy beardis new, but I'm not complaining. It makes him look… less polished. More rugged. It suits him.
I run my hand through the coarse hairs of his beard. "Keep this, will you?"
"Anything for you, darling." He nuzzles the crook of my neck with his nose, inhaling deeply. "God, I missed your smell."
"My smell?" I giggle. "Babe, I just showered."
"I know. But under the cheap soap, there's you."
Primal desire heats between my legs. I may not be the most eloquent woman, but I find myself wanting to try. Dante always knows what to say to make me feel at ease—and ready to climb him like a goddamn tree. "My good boy."
He stiffens against me, his cock even harder. "What did you say?"
"I called you my good boy, babe. Isn't that what you are?" I slip my hands around his waist and pull him tight. He sinks his teeth into my shoulder and lets out a pained moan.
"I am," he groans. "Please, love, let me show you."
