Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Porter stepped close, accepting me into a light embrace as he worked the clasp of my bra free. One more piece of the wall came down. I was safe in my own bathroom, with the love of my life. He undid my fly, helping me out of my pants and underwear, until I stood fully naked in front of him. For some reason, the act of undressing lent me more energy. I felt like I could see again, like climbing into bed wasn’t so urgent.
He slipped out of his own shirt, throwing it down to mix with my discarded items. Testing the water, he found it to his liking. Frowning, he rose to examine my shoulder. I could feel the whisper of gentle fingertips along my bruised arm. Then he pressed his lips to it, and the pain vanished.
Without speaking a word, he helped me into the tub. The water was hot, so hot that it chased away the nightmares. I sat slowly, immersing myself inch by inch until my entire lower half was submerged in the blissful heat. Porter kissed my knuckles, smiling encouragingly before reaching for the bodywash.
He drizzled soap on a loofah and began washing me. Up one arm and down the next, he scrubbed in gentle circles, scooping water up to wash the suds away. He encouraged me to lean forward, drawing the sponge up and down my back. It felt so good. He was being so tender, such a stark contrast to my brother.
“Did you drink?” I heard myself ask. Even though I knew he was sober, I wanted to hear it in his own words.
“I went to a meeting,” he said, inching one of my feet above the surface.
I lay back, allowing him to continue. As he rubbed the loofah over the sole of my foot, I felt a sob growing in the back of my throat. I let it out, releasing all the tension I had been carrying. He stripped his jeans off, flinging his boxers and his socks onto the back of the toilet, and sloshed into the tub beside me.
There wasn’t enough room for the two of us. My hips squeezed painfully against the sides. Water spilled over the rim, soaking the bathmat. I didn’t care. I circled my arms around his neck and cried into his naked chest. He just held me, smoothing damp hair from my eyes.
“It was awful,” I said finally. He didn’t respond, just listened. I spilled the entire story, from the altercation in the entryway to the desperate flight through the city. I relived the parked car behind the 7-Eleven and the gunshots on the second floor.
When I was done, he laughed. The sound was both jarring and refreshing, as if maybe the event hadn’t been so traumatic. “You are such a badass,” he replied, pulling me in for a kiss.
I found myself grinning. After all I had been through, I didn’t feel like a badass. I felt like a flower that had been crushed beneath someone’s shoe and peeled off the sidewalk. But from his point of view—no, from any point of view—I had saved myself. I had saved everyone in the treatment center, and I had probably saved George as well. I fell into the kiss with renewed vigor.
One arm was crushed beneath the weight of my body, submerged in the tub. With the other, I pulled him closer. He slid his palm down the curve of my spine, lighting a fire deep in my core. Suddenly, falling asleep wasn’t so important; it had been replaced at the top of the food chain by something even more primal.
He cupped my rear end, trying to bring me around on top of him. My knee hit the side of the tub, blocked by the porcelain wall. I flinched. There was no room to maneuver, and I wanted desperately to drape myself all over him.
“Let’s get out,” I breathed, hauling myself to my feet.
He watched me land safely outside the tub before following. I grabbed a towel, running it down my body superficially before flinging it over to him. As he dispensed with the worst of the runoff, I pulled the bathroom door open and raced to the bed. He joined me in a moment, and we fell down together, laughing.
Now that we had room to move, he climbed on top of me, stretching my arms out. He kissed me hungrily, first on my lips, then my jaw, and then my neck. I felt my body awakening to the new sensations, growing in power like a rosebud in the sun. I arched up to encourage him, to stretch my spine and press my chest into his. He took the invitation, kissing his way down to my breasts.
I sighed at the first brush of his tongue against my flesh. All thoughts of George vanished, replaced by a hunger that had only one cure. Porter found my nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth. He slipped one arm under the curve of my back, giving him leverage to work his magic. I spread my legs automatically, yearning for him at the center of my being.