Ruin & Rule

I hated that he kept apologizing. None of this was his fault. It didn’t make sense for him to carry so much guilt over something he had no control. And to be honest, I hated his apologies. They kept all the wrongs he’d done in the forefront of our minds. I’d already forgiven him.

I want to move forward, not backward.

I wanted to fold to my knees and hug him hard. I wanted to tell him in actions rather than words that his regret and self-hatred weren’t needed anymore.

But suddenly it was over.

His arms were gone.

His retreating back was a farewell as he disappeared into the bathroom.

He’s still hiding so much. It’s killing him inside.

Tentatively, I followed him.

I found him already standing beneath streaming water, his hands splayed on the tiled shower wall, his perfectly formed ass tense and unyielding. The muscles on either side of his spine were locked with emotions he refused to share.

Slinking into the spray, I pressed a kiss against his spine and molded my body against his. He sighed, the tension in his body dissolving droplet by droplet down the drain.

“I love you, Buttercup,” he whispered.

My heart thundered.

The first time he’d said it since this mess started unwinding.

It should’ve been a beginning.

So why does it sound like a good-bye?

“I love you, too, Art. So much.”

Silently, he turned in my arms. With green eyes blocking me from seeing his secrets, he reached for the body wash and lathered his hands. With a gentle touch, he cupped my breasts, sliding his soapy, bubbly hands down my stomach, across my hips—one scarred and one inked—and dipping to my ass.

His fingers traced my crack. A smile teased his mouth. “Better make sure there’s no sand left in there.”

I laughed quietly, allowing him to wash me in his hypnotic, slow way.

He never rushed, never demanded more. The unhurried tenderness turned my bones to molten and my heart wept in gratefulness.

Finally, once I was clean, he let me go. Throwing his head back into the spray, I bent forward and pumped a generous amount of body wash into my palms.

He jolted as I placed them on his strong, broad chest.

His jaw clenched as I returned the honor, sliding my hands beneath his arms, lathering bubbles in the slight happy trail leading to his cock.

I adored him just as he’d done me, never rushing, never demanding.

When I got to his crack, my fingers disappeared between strong muscles, and he froze. His cock jumped hot and hard against my thigh.

“Damn, Cleo. Stop.”

I shook my head, pressing my fingers farther. I’d only meant to wash this part of him free from sand, but I was drunk on touching him. Drunk on knowing he was mine. I wanted to touch him where no one else had. I wanted to give him pleasure.

I found his weak spot.

Art, my brawny sexy broody boy, was ticklish.

“Stop that!”

“Never!” I giggled, hooking my fingers behind his knee, where I’d somehow found out he was ticklish.

“Goddammit, Cleo. Stop!”

He jerked away, bumping both of us off the couch and onto the carpet. We rolled together, his long legs bashing into the coffee table.

The smash of a glass sounded over our struggle.

“Uh-oh. Now you’ve done it,” I said, pinning him to the floor and straddling him.

His green eyes glowed, his large hands gripping my twelve-year-old hips. “You’re gonna be in serious trouble, Buttercup.”

I knew then that he was mine.

I just had to grow some boobs to make him notice me.

“I’m already in serious trouble, Art.”

I sighed as the memory ended.

The unlocking of my past was coming faster. More and more flashbacks, which all included him. Each memory was out of sync, the timeline all messed up, the journeys and tribulations hidden until they unlocked, but I loved them all equally.

Sure, I would’ve preferred them in order, but I liked it like this. A surprise—a treat.

Arthur grabbed my wrist, jerking my fingers free and pinning my hands above my head.

In a wet glide, part from the shower and part from being wet all the time around him, he nudged my knees apart and guided his erection inside me.

The joining made us both groan, our mouths opening wide as rain fell all around us.

I was bruised. I was sore.

Yet I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This wasn’t sex—it was an affirmation of everything we’d found and survived.

Arthur thrust possessively, rocking deep and true.

My orgasm arrived soft as a petal and just as delicate. The gentle waves giving me a release without draining my body of its last dregs of energy.

Arthur came three thrusts later, his teeth capturing my throat as he spurted inside.

No words were exchanged as we rinsed off and stepped from the spray.

No words were needed as we dried off and left our damp towels on the floor.

Every step I took toward the bed showed me just how tired I was.

And by the time Arthur pulled back the quilt and beckoned me into its comforting embrace, my muscles decided their time of work was done and they would go no further.

I moaned as my body snuggled into the warm bed.

Arthur climbed in beside me, his bulk granting contented happiness at the thought of sleeping side by side.

I sighed with bone-deep satisfaction as a long arm snaked around my middle, pulling my damp, warm skin against his nakedness.

Locked together like perfect yin and yang, we fell asleep with our heartbeats whirring in sync.