Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“You’re going to see my scars,” she whispers against my chest. She sounds so sad about that, and it makes my heart catch. “And I’m too tired to do anything about it.”
“You’re going to see mine too.” I kiss the top of her head as I work on her leggings and underwear, and she frowns at me, not understanding. “We can share scar stories later.”
I whip my shirt over my head and make quick work of my jeans and boxer briefs before leading her into the hot stream, where she groans as if it’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her life.
“So good,” she says as her shoulders sag, and I grab a cloth and soap and begin to work it over her.
She leans one hand on the tile, keeping herself standing as I wash her skin, from neck to toe. Her eyes are heavy lidded as she watches me, as they dip to the scars that run across my lower abdomen and down my right leg.
Blinking rapidly, her eyes move up to mine again, and she reaches up to cup my cheek.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Don’t worry about me.”
But seeing the concern and care in her beautiful blue eyes does something to my heart. It rolls in my chest as she swallows hard and looks down again.
“I need to get your back and wash your hair, baby. Are you okay with turning around?”
I see the little scars on her upper arms from the barbed wire that she told me about before, and it’s already fueled my agitation that she was hurt this way. But I know I’m going to have to keep the fury under control that seeing her back will bring. I haven’t even laid eyes on it yet, and I’m already pissed as fuck for her.
She nods stiffly and turns around, and I can’t contain the quick inhale through my nose at the sight before me. Jesus fucking Christ.
“I’m fine,” she says, echoing my own words, as she stares at the tile wall in front of her, and I know in this instant that I would gladly spend the rest of my life in prison if I could only have the opportunity to tear her father apart with my bare hands.
I’m not fine. I’m not fucking fine at all.
Her back is a crisscross pattern of deep scars, from the tops of her shoulders down to her butt and upper thighs. Some scars are smaller, like he took a razor blade and made tiny little cuts.
But there are many places that look like she was whipped, over and over again, and as I wash over her skin, the soapy water sluices through the scars like they’re riverbeds.
I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from growling.
When the soap is gone, I take my time washing her hair and then conditioning it before I turn off the water and grab a towel from the warmer.
“You didn’t wash,” she says softly, leaning against me.
“I had a shower a few hours ago.” I kiss her nose before I get to work drying her and then wrapping her in the towel, and then, to her surprise, I set her on the vanity. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, sir.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Now you’re just trying to turn me on.”
Not that she even has to try. I’m permanently hard whenever she’s around.
She smirks as I hurry out of the room and quickly swing into the closet to grab some gym shorts for me and a T-shirt for her, and then rush down the hall to where my sister used to stay and find her spare blow-dryer, then back to my girl, only to find her falling asleep sitting up.
“Hold on, sweetheart. I’m going to blow your hair dry so you don’t have to sleep on it wet.”
“Wow, you should have asked me out five years ago. This is princess treatment right here.”
“First of all, this is the bare minimum. Second of all, yeah. I should have.”
She offers me a small smile when I flip the dryer on and get to work on her long dark hair. She watches me with droopy eyes as I work my fingers through the wet strands, the hot air swirling around us. Her strands are thick and feel like silk in my fingers, and when it’s finally dry, she’s so damn sleepy, she’s leaning her forehead against my chest.
For all I know, she might be asleep.
Setting the dryer aside, I lift Darby in my arms and set her on the edge of the bed, grab the T-shirt I tossed on it earlier, and quickly pull it over her head before discarding the damp towel.
“I don’t need panties,” she says as she lets me help her scoot under the covers, and I join her, keeping the shorts on, even though I usually sleep nude.