Page 84 of Mace
“Take a shower with me,” he says.
“Okay,” I agree, feeling drunk on the emotions rolling through me.
He leads me into the bathroom off the main bedroom, and my heart flutters endlessly in my chest. The cubicle is wide enough that it should fit us both inside.
As soon as the door is shut, he begins to undress me, pulling my top off and unhooking my bra. A tendril of nerves works through me as I stand in front of him completely bare, but it only lasts a fleeting second. The look in his eyes tells me I have nothing to worry about. He is completely into whatever he’s seeing, and now, I’m desperate to see more of him.
My movements are not as graceful as I unbutton his shirt and shove it off his shoulders. He’s wearing a white undershirt beneath it, and my finger skim over his belly as I pull it over his head. His bare chest is covered in tattoos, artwork that spans every inch of his skin. It’s exquisite, but it doesn’t hide the marks.
My stomach twists, the happy fluttering vanishing as I realise they’re a mix of burns and scars. It’s a roadmap of torture he suffered in his life, and most of them look old.
Pain spreads through my chest as his fingers ghost across my cheek.
“Who did this to you?” I demand, the horror lacing my tone impossible to hide.
“It doesn’t matter.”
I lift my gaze to his. “It matters to me.”
He kisses me, and I melt into him, unable to stop mybody’s reaction. No, I can’t let him distract me with his mouth. I press my hand to his chest and pull away from his lips. “Mace?”
The breath he blows out is partly frustrated but also hints at other emotions I can’t discern. “My mum. Some of the guys she brought around. Some dickhead in foster care.” I run my fingers over a white mark on his hip that appears bigger than the other scars. “That was three years ago.” He grabs my wrist before I can touch it again. “I don’t want to live in the past, Maylie.”
I understand that. I’m not a fan of my own either.
“I’m sorry,” I say, for both bringing up a painful memory and for what was done to him. “But I want to take care of you, Mace.”
“No one’s ever wanted to take care of me.”
“Me neither,” I say, “so let’s just take care of each other.”
“Fuck,” he mutters before crashing his mouth to mine.
Both of us frantically tear at the remaining clothing we’re wearing, our hands roaming over each other’s bodies like we’re possessed.
I can tell it takes monumental effort for him to release me long enough to turn on the shower, and while he’s messing with the dials, I trace a finger over his tattoos.
“Do they have meanings?”
“Some of them. I got a lot when I first joined the club. I guess it was my way of leaving my old life behind.” He points to a date on his arm—‘23.02.11’.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the date Maggie fostered me. She saved me from fuck knows what fate.”
My throat clogs with emotion as I think about Mace asa young boy and what he must’ve faced. “I hate that you went through that,” I tell him, my fingers trailing over the ink.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. Every single thing that has happened in my life led to this moment.”
“To the disaster I’ve brought to your door?”
“No, Maylie. To you. And that disaster ain’t just yours. It’s mine now too.”
I shake my head as he holds me in his arms, our naked bodies pressing together. I feel his cock against my belly, and my body thrums with need again, but this is important to talk about.
“I don’t expect you to fix my problems.”
“Your shit is my shit now. Get used to me fixing it. Come on, let’s get clean so you can get some rest.”