Page 57 of Color of Love

Chapter 17

Justine awoke a few hours later, the room dark and silent. She was alone. She was surrounded by Blake’s scent, in his bed, but he wasn’t with her. She touched the space where he’d lain. The sheets were cool: he had been gone for a while. Maybe he couldn’t sleep and he’d gotten up, not wanting to wake her. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and decided to find him to make sure he was okay. She grabbed his hoodie from the floor, resisting the urge to bury her nose in the material, inhaling deeply, and instead slipped it over her head.

She stood up, her thighs and core aching. Her first time had been amazing, nothing at all like she’d thought it would be, all because of Blake. He had been so sweet and wonderful, making sure she was okay and sure of herself. Giving her pleasure and taking his own, hopefully he had enjoyed it as much as she had.

Would they do it again? Technically their agreement had been fulfilled: he had helped her lose her virginity, expertly, she might add. And he had opened up to her in their sessions now and was working on himself. Did they just end their personal relationship now? Did she even want to? The thought had a hollow feeling bloom in her chest. She couldn’t imagine not being able to kiss him whenever she wanted or never getting to sleep with him again. That one time didn’t feel like it was enough, she needed more.

She padded out of the room in search of Blake, crossing the landing but she only found the main bathroom and a spare room which had all his weights and workout gear. No wonder he’s so perfectly sculpted. A dreamy sigh escaped her as she pictured him, gloriously naked. He was a work of art. She had never been interested in muscles before, but she was a changed woman now.

She went downstairs and peeked into the living room. Penny was snuggled up in her blanket nest, chewing on a bedraggled stuffed toy. When she spotted Justine, she let out a little bark and Justine laughed. She went over to Penny, the fox’s tail bouncing happily the closer she got.

“Look how adorable you are, little lady,” Justine murmured as she tickled Penny’s cheeks. Penny chuffed at her in agreement and nibbled her hand gently, tickling her. Justine giggled and ruffled Penny’s bristly fur and then Penny turned back to her toy, which now Justine realized was a cuddly fox. She smirked.

“Daddy’s taken such good care of you, hasn’t he? Soft bed, lots of toys and yummy food too,” she cooed, trying to ignore the picture developing in her mind of Blake as a father. She needed to get rid of those thoughts immediately before her heart decided he could give her everything she wanted, he couldn’t.

She left Penny and continued to search but didn’t find Blake downstairs so went back to the bedroom. Maybe he’d been called into the station and decided not to wake her? She sat on the bed and crossed her legs. Should she call him to check? A noise from the adjoining bathroom drew her attention. She held her breath. Was she hearing things? Could someone have broken in and be hiding in there? Although the idea was ridiculous, a current of fear tickled the back of her neck. There was only one way to find out.

She tiptoed to the bathroom and paused outside to listen but heard nothing. She took a deep breath and swung the door open wide, patting the wall frantically for the light switch and flicking it on.

“Blake?”

He was sitting in the bathtub at one end, wearing only his sweatpants. His knees were pulled to his chest, his forehead resting on them, and his arms were wrapped around his legs. Her heart clenched at the sight of him.

“Blake, are you okay?” She took a step forward, but he didn’t move. She nibbled her lip, he must’ve had a bad dream or attack and got in the bath. In her research she had read that it was very common. The bath was considered a place of comfort for some, the cold ceramic, walled in on each side, but still able to see everything around you, it was safe.

She lifted her leg over the side and settled in the bottom right in front of him. She hissed as the coolness of the bath came into contact with her ass and bare thighs. Stupid, barely-there panties! She reached out and settled a hand over his, his skin so cold. He surprised her by grabbing onto her hand and squeezing tight. After a while, he lifted his head slightly, his eyes were glassy and unfocused, his complexion pale.

“She screamed all the way down.” The harsh rasp of his voice echoed around the room, jolting through the silence.

Her breath hitched—he was talking about the woman who committed suicide. This was a topic they hadn’t discussed in their sessions yet. She waited, not wanting to push him. She wanted him to tell her in his own way, in his own time. So she just sat in the bath with him, warming his hand with hers and supporting him however he needed.

“I dreamed that I was there again. Taking the call, deciding to help because I was the closest and I could get there quicker.”

More silence. Again she waited.

“But I couldn’t, I couldn’t help,” he whispered brokenly. A lump rose in her throat at the pain in his voice. All her training evaporated out of her head; for once she found herself at a loss, she didn’t know what to do to make him feel better.

“I hear her scream in my dreams, even when I’m awake.” He lifted his hand and scraped it through his hair, shakily. She inched closer, trying to keep him calm and warm.

“She screamed all the way down and then silence. I don’t know which was louder, that terrified scream or the resounding silence that followed. God, that silence…”

Suddenly he vaulted out of the tub and dashed to the toilet, throwing the lid back, he retched violently. She cried out and got up, standing behind him and she stroked his powerful back, uttering soothing words until he was finished. He flushed the toilet and pushed past her to brush his teeth, rinsing with mouthwash before facing her.

He ran his eyes over her body, a wicked gleam sparkling in their depths. His armor was back in place, gone was the vulnerable soul who needed help. Her body responded by readying itself. But her mind went on the defensive. She knew what he was doing, he’d felt weak and vulnerable in front of her and was trying to assert his masculinity to prove a point. Unfortunately, it was working.

“Let’s go back to bed,” his voice husky with promise.

“To sleep,” she replied, firmly. The wicked gleam dimmed slightly but he reluctantly agreed. They got back into bed and cuddled together. This peace she felt when she was in his arms was becoming addictive. But she didn’t sleep, and she didn’t think he did either. She spent the rest of the night worrying over him and overthinking that worry. Was she worried as a psychologist over her patient or was it something more than that? Was she too invested in him? She pushed that thought away but more slammed into her. Was she even skilled enough to help him? And would they continue sleeping together? It annoyed her that the last thought bothered her as much as the one before.

In the morning they dressed in silence. He offered to make her breakfast, but she declined. She wanted to get home and study more techniques, desperate to help him. He walked her to the door, kissed her cheek and it was like they both knew their agreement was complete, there would be nothing more.

So why did she feel like crying?

*

Although it had only been a few days since he’d seen her, it felt like a thousand years had passed for Blake. When his session with Justine finally came around it went far too quickly. She had been completely unaffected by seeing him: the consummate professional and that just pissed him off. Especially as he suddenly felt like an awkward teenager harboring a huge crush whenever he was around her. He needed to see her, had come up with a hundred different excuses to stop by but had chickened out every time.

Their agreement was done, but he wasn’t, not by a long shot. Their night together had been better than he could have imagined. It had felt so right having her around his place, it actually felt like a home for once. Blake, Justine and Penny made three. Having her around had relaxed him, for the most part, his mind drifting back to the little gasps of pleasure she made, the way she writhed against him and how good she felt in his arms. It had never been like that for him before.

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