Page 15 of Desecrated Saints
Eli nods, smirking.
“Fuck’s sake. Just get in.”
I turn away as the door clicks shut, then his heat is at my back. Slender, heavily scarred arms wrap around my waist. We stand in silence for the longest time, surrounded by steam and the scent of fruity body wash.
“Did they send you in here to sort me out?”
Eli bites down on my shoulder in response.
“I’m fine. You should all stop worrying so much.”
Spinning me around to face him, Eli’s eyes bore into me. I wonder if he can taste my lies, if they weigh on his tongue like the acrid flavour of smoke. I study his body, weirdly relieved to find it the same. Some things haven’t changed.
The burn scars still cover his entire torso, thick and gnarly like tree bark. Running my hand over the fresh cuts on his bicep instead, I ask a silent question. They can’t be more than a week old and they’re deep; brutally so. His dark eyes answer me, laden with secrets.
“Phoenix says you haven’t spoken to him in months.”
A head tilt, as if to say so what?
“You had a life before me. Why did you shut down and walk away when I was gone? You were all alone. Hurting yourself. Struggling. I want to know why.”
With water clinging to his impossibly thick eyelashes, his eyes scrape all the way down my skeletal frame. With the briefest whisper of his fingertips, Eli traces the shiny, healed scars that mark my left hip. Remnants of a time long passed, and the eternal promise we sealed in blood.
Donec mors nos separaverit.
“Until death do us part,” I whisper.
Eli offers me a sinister smile, his thumb caressing the precise knife marks made by his hand. I find his own matching scars, tracing each word to answer my question.
I get it, better than anyone. Existing is not the same thing as living. We’ve survived without each other, but lost all that we had in the chasm that separated us. Death didn’t part us. Life did.
“The girl you loved is gone, Eli. She didn’t make it out alive.”
Cupping my cheeks, he wipes the curtain of falling tears aside. His raspy voice still refuses to make an appearance, but he doesn’t need to speak for me to know exactly what he’s thinking.
“We can’t play this game. I’m not worth it.”
Turning off the shower, Eli raises his eyebrows and steps out for me to follow. I’m engulfed in a thick towel, disappointed that he didn’t bend me over and show me exactly what he’s thinking in that complicated brain of his. My core clenches at the thought.
Jesus, Brooke.
Chill the fuck out.
After so long apart, my sex drive is going crazy. Drying off with the soft cloud of brushed cotton, I wrestle with my libido and emerge to find Eli waiting with an electric razor in his hand.
“What are you doing?”
He gestures towards my soaking wet hair.
“Oh, the haircut. We didn’t get a chance to do it before my brain decided to go cuckoo.” I fist handfuls of long, blonde hair. “Just get rid of it all.”
Taking a seat on the closed toilet lid, Eli grabs me by the hips and deposits me in his lap. He plugs the razor in and frowns while attaching the correct blades. Excitement runs down my spine at his crooked smile.
“Do your worst.”
Eli sends his agreement in a toe-curling kiss that has me slick between the legs all over again. I close my eyes, holding my breath as the razor meets my scalp. He works slowly and methodically, his fingers tilting my head every few seconds. His throbbing erection presses up against me the entire time.
It feels like an eternity has passed by the time Eli finishes. He clicks off the soft vibrating of the razor and presses a kiss to my temple, signalling his approval. I find him watching me with so much intelligence it makes me want to run away screaming.