Page 66 of Finding Her Panthers

“He is the protector. He didn’t protect.” He glances toward the door. “Promise me.”

“Yes, I promise,” I vow.

Blue opens the door and walks in purposefully. Crouching down in front of me, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulls me up, and hugs me fiercely. His hands palm my ass, slide them down my legs, pulling them around his back, surrounding me in his warmth and woodsy scent.

My startled eyes meet Ryker’s over his shoulder.

“Just wait,” Ryker says softly.

Blue doesn’t appear to have heard him. His hand lands on the back of my head, brushing gently down before finding his spot on the back of my neck.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Now I am.” I tuck my head into the crook of his neck and just enjoy being near him, being safe.

“Never again. Never again will you be in danger. Not if I can help it,” he swears.

I kiss the side of his neck, close my eyes, and let the tension cascade from my whole body.

***

I’m moving, still in the arms of Blue.

“You have a bit of blood on the corner of your mouth,” Ryker says dryly.

“Fuck off,” Jax responds. Sounds of flesh hitting flesh ring out. “The old man tasted like shit.” Chuckles come from all of them.

Too comfortable to open my eyes, I hear the car door shut and the voices of my mates and my brother fading. Reveling in the strong arms that surround me, I let myself drift back into sleep.

***

The next time I wake up, I’m in a large bed with black sheets and the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever had the luxury of sleeping on. I lazily open my eyes to see Blue watching me in a chair beside it, staring intently. He stiffens when I find him in the dark.

“Will you let me help you in the shower?” he whispers.

I simply nod.

He braces his arms on the side of the chair, pushing himself up. He’s wearing black track pants and nothing else. I rarely see him dressed in so little. His muscles bunch as he reaches in the bed and puts one arm under my knees and behind my back, scooping me out. He turns on the light in the bathroom, dimming it when I wince and close my eyes from the shock of it.

Sitting me on the counter, he opens the shower door and adjusts it, leaving me to admire the strong slope of his back. When he’s satisfied with the temperature, he walks back over to me.

I’m still in the same dirty clothes I left in. I eagerly lift my arms to allow him to pull my shirt off. He doesn’t pause when he snaps open my bra, drawing it down my arms and letting it fall to the ground. Supporting me, he works on the buttons of my jeans, pulling them down along with my underwear as I stand. They must have taken my socks and shoes before putting me to bed.

The second I am naked, he gathers me in his arms and steps into the shower, leaving his pants on. It doesn’t take long before we are both soaked.

He braces me against the wall and bends to pick up the body wash. Lathering his hands, he starts at my feet. He works his hands higher, thoroughly cleaning every inch, rubbing my legs gently, slowly, earning a moan from me and over my hips, circling towards my back, then to my stomach, paying particular attention to the bruising there. His fingertips circled the edges of them.

I smell like him. The soap must be his. This is his room. His bathroom. I love it. I don’t speak. I let the silence expand, wrapping us up in this magical bubble. I can sense he needs this. To touch me how he wants, clean me, remove any memory from my body of what I was put through. He can’t stop my thoughts, but he can do this.

I feel his eyes devouring the pleasure in my expression. My head is resting behind me, my eyes closed, a smile on my lips. But he demands my attention, so I give it. Once I am locked in his gaze, he adds more soap to his hands, runs them down my stomach, and palms my pussy. Not to give pleasure, even though that can’t be helped, but to cleanse me. Softly. Lovingly.

Standing, he slides his hands over my breasts, covering them, stroking. He then moves me under the spray, rinsing the suds. I find myself turned around to lean back on his powerful chest so he can wash my hair. I relish the sensation of his hard, slick chest.

When I am squeaky clean, I have to fight the urge to fall asleep. He towels me off, drying me thoroughly before slipping a shirt over my head. It reaches my knees and smells like him. I am placed back on the sink, but this time backward, staring at myself in the mirror. I am confused for a minute until he brings out a hairdryer and brush. I watch him as he concentrates on drying my hair and brushing it until it gleams, falling straight and silky down to my waist.

I have to fight to stop the tears that have pooled in my eyes. No one has ever brushed my hair. I would dream of my mom sitting behind me, talking about my day, lovingly brushing it. Blue just gave me one of the things I have always wished for and he doesn’t even know it.

I am picked up and taken back to the bed. Someone came in and changed the sheets while we were in the bathroom. They are the same shade of black, but I had left dirt on the other ones, and I can smell the dryer sheets.

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