Page 83 of Touch of Hate
He cups my cheek, gazing deep into my eyes. “Your first and only.”
A sweet, pleasurable warmth spreads through me while he strokes my cheek, staring into the confines of my soul.
“My first and only,” I agree, and I mean every word with every part of me. “It’s always been you, Ren. And it always will be.”
His slow, sure smile tells me it was the right thing to say.
21
REN
Nothing in the world has ever been as important as what I’m doing now, crouched in the tub before the woman I worship, cleaning the remnant of my cum and her juices from her pussy as gently as possible after taking it for the first time. The first of many. My dick twitches at the thought and comes damn close to convincing me the next time is here and now.
At least I can say I made it into heaven one time in my life since I know I won’t be going there when I die. Taking Scarlet’s virginity, owning and worshiping her, broke something inside me while also fusing the warped pieces back together.
There is no way to describe the effect it had over me. I am her first, last, and call me a selfish bastard, but nothing makes me happier than knowing it will only ever be me who had her.
But no, not now. First, I need to care for her. The fact of her being mine extends past the freedom to claim her body. It’s a responsibility. It means making sure she has everything she needs, and right now, that’s the gentlest touch against flesh I made sore. I ignore the warm water hitting my shoulders and back, the hair dripping in my face, in favor of washing her most private places.
Rather, places private to everyone in the world except me. She’ll keep nothing from me now, not ever again.
I stand when I’ve finished and set the washcloth aside in favor of drawing her into the protective circle of my arms. “Sex won’t always hurt between us, once you become accustomed to it,” I promise, my lips brushing the halo of blond hair sticking to her forehead.
She has never been more precious to me. Nothing ever has.
“Even if it did, I wouldn’t care.” She has a knack for saying exactly what I need to hear. Then again, she was made for me.
I look down at her heart-shaped face and sparkling blue eyes seeking out comfort. I’m so lost in my own thoughts I’ve neglected her and that won’t do.
“This is much better than taking a cold shower alone,” I whisper, almost laughing. I can’t even count the number of cold showers I’ve taken in my life.
“Hmm?” Scarlet’s voice is soft and a little dazed, like she’s still caught up in the whole post-sex haze, her cheek resting against my chest while steam billows around us.
I can’t pretend I’m not glad. It’s gratifying as hell, being the man who took her to those heights. Finally.
She’s mine, all of her.
She’ll never look at another man, knowing what I can do to her. And she will never forget what happened today, not as long as she lives.
It was good for her, and that’s all I wanted. For her not to look back in regret, the way so many people do when they remember their first time. She’s not some random woman to me. She’s worth so much more than that.
“It’s nicer taking a shower with you than it is to punish myself with icy water, so I’ll stop wanting you so much.” I run the soapy cloth over her back in slow circles—probably too slow, come to think of it.
At this rate, we’ll run out of hot water, but I can’t bring myself to rush. Not when I finally have everything I’ve ever asked for.
“You did that?” She pushes away from my chest until there’s room to look up at me. Bewilderment flickers in her eyes. “People take literal cold showers? I thought that was a myth.”
“I do—or I did.” I correct myself. Not anymore. Not now.
I have her, completely, and I intend to make the most of that from now on. Of course, I won’t be taking her again for a few days, but once she’s acclimated to sex, I’ll do whatever I can to satisfy my appetite for her.
She leans against me again, and I continue washing her while the hot water holds out. It’s the thought of the icy needles hitting her that keeps me moving when I’d really like to make her suck me off. Note to self: see what, if anything, can be done about upgrading the water heater.
As it turns out, the shower begins to run cool, so I turn off the taps. She shivers, rubbing her arms to warm herself while I reach for one of the towels waiting on the edge of the sink. I wrap her in it, tightening it around her.
“Go out to the kitchen so you can dry off by the stove.”
She wastes no time—the sound of her happy groan once she’s in the warm kitchen makes me laugh before I join her, drying off as I do. I’m less worried about the cold, but Scarlet is fragile. I don’t want her to go without anything.