Pretty Little Dreams (10 page)

“Thank you for doing this,” she whispers.

“Don’t thank me. I want to take care of you. I’m going to set you on the toilet while I get the water warm, okay?”

“Okay.”

The bathroom contains a large stand up shower. I pull the curtain back and see a bench, which will be helpful, since she can barely stand on her own. Fortunately, the shower is also big enough for five people. I twist the faucet on so the water can start warming up.

“Can you grab those bags and rubber bands off the sink?
We have to wrap my cast in them because I can’t get it wet.”

“Oh sure.”

I walk over and grab the bags and a towel while I’m at it. When I turn back towards her, I stop dead in my tracks and stare. She’s pulled the gown off her body and she’s naked. Usually the sight of her glorious body always takes my breath away, but this time, when I can’t breathe, and try not to gasp - it’s for an entirely different reason. She’s covered in more bruises and scratches than I can count – and they are located everywhere - from head to toe.

10.

KISSING THE PAIN AWAY

Olivia

L
uke’s gasp makes
me look up into his face. His gaze is roaming over my body from head to toe and I feel my skin turn red in embarrassment. A flush starts at my face and runs down my chest. I know I’m a horrid sight. The fall wasn’t kind to my body, and the bushes that broke my fall scratched or cut my body everywhere. I’m covered in scratches, bruises and there are quite a few bandages as well. Some of the bruises have started to heal, so my body is a plethora of colors from black, blue, and yellow. Aside from the hurts that mar my body, I’m sitting here in nothing but skin; I’m completely exposed. Not only physically, but emotionally. All of me laid bare for him to see.

I feel tainted on the inside.
No matter how much I tell myself that this isn’t my fault and that feeling this way only gives Deacon power, I can’t brush the thoughts from my mind as easily as I’d like. Can he tell that Deacon touched me? Does he know that I’m sure I was taken advantage of in my drug-induced state? Do I look different to him? Used somehow?

His eyes meet mine and I give him a timid smile, but I don’t move.
I’m terrified of his gaze. I’m afraid of what I’m unknowingly revealing to him. I feel cold heat in my chest and it bursts from me like a water balloon and runs down to my belly, covering me in fear. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? I couldn’t bear it. I hate that I need his help with bathing and letting him see me in this vulnerable position, but I trust him more than anyone. Before I can even second guess seeking his help, he pulls me up and presses my naked body against his fully clothed one. He holds me close, kisses the top of my head over and over while swaying us back and forth. Right then I realize he’s blaming himself for every single mark on my body, as if he’s personally responsible.

I grasp handfuls of his shirt at his back, reveling in the comfort he’s offering.
My arm hurts a little where my stitches are located, but his embrace and the soothing support it offers my spirit and mind, makes it not only manageable, but nearly imperceptible. I nuzzle my face into his chest and squeeze him to me. His scent – a combination of coffee, mint and a brisk, fall morning - make me feel whole. For a few moments, while swaying back and forth, I take deep gulps, letting the essence of him fill my soul. It nurtures me in so many ways. Eventually, I pull back and look him in the eyes. I want him to see their sincerity and pleading for agreement, when he takes in my words, “I’m fine. None of this is your fault.”

“I should have been there,” he whispers so softly, as if we are in a room full of people and he doesn’t want to be overheard.

“No, you shouldn’t have.
Being in a relationship doesn’t mean we stop living our lives. You have responsibilities, and so do I. You did nothing wrong, Luke. Nothing. It was just a day…up until then…a day like many others, and hopefully many more to come. Listen, if we are going to move on from this, you must stop blaming yourself.”

He doesn’t argue with me, but I know he doesn’t agree.
I feel his arms tighten around me a little more, and suddenly I feel a shift in my awareness. Out of nowhere, I’m extremely aware of how erotic it feels to be naked against him, even though he is fully dressed. Each breath he takes presses his chest against my breasts; the sway of our bodies creating a sweet friction. His tendency to shift his weight and leverage his one leg slightly between mine in a gesture of offering me increased support and steadiness, awakens me. A feeling I haven’t felt for weeks runs through me like a waterfall, and pools in my lower belly. I want him to help take the memories of Deacon away. My hands start moving like they have a mind of their own, and start running over his chest, feeling the hard muscles underneath his soft shirt. I lift my head and look at Luke’s lips. They are full and inviting, and I don’t think twice before I move my mouth towards his. I gently take his lower lip between both of my own and nibble.

A soft groan of contentment comes out of Luke’s mouth, and now I couldn’t stop myself, even if I tried.
His encouragement prompts me to capture his mouth with my own. I take control of our kiss by wrapping my arms around his neck, running my fingers from one hand up the back of his head, gripping his head with my good hand, and pressing him closer to me. I let my tongue and lips speak for me in their actions--not words--making sure he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I pour my love and need through each movement, and when he groans again, I capture it against my mouth.

He pulls away from me breathless, and his eyes are overflowing with lust and longing, no doubt mirroring mine.
“Let’s get you in the shower.” His voice is raspy and sounds sexy. It makes me feel complete feminine satisfaction knowing that I affected him that way.

Right now, the last thing I want to do is get in the shower, but my need to feel like me again, and to wipe the last traces of Deacon off of me is overwhelming.
As much as I want and need to go further with Luke, I feel tainted; contaminated, impure. Before we can go any further¸ I need to be unsullied, unblemished. Clean. Will it ever be possible?

I immediately push that thought from my mind and instead watch him place the shower chair under the water.
Once he has it secure, he turns back around and starts securing the plastic bags and rubber bands over my cast.

“We should probably put one over my stitches too.
I know the bandage is there, but they said not to get them wet for a couple days.”

“Good idea.”

He puts a bag around the bandage on my arm and then helps me get under the water and settled onto the chair.

I let out a sigh.
The warm water is soothing and comforting and feels amazing on my skin, and I feel like it’s already washing the last few weeks away. It’s healing some part of me with each drop. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of warmth that runs over me in continuous waves. I open my eyes to see Luke rolling his sleeves up. When they are above his elbows, he grabs the soap, lathering it up between his hands. As I realize his intentions, my eyes meet his and I smile, encouraging his thoughts. I love that he wants to take care of me, and the truth is I need it too – on more than one level.

Reaching in to trail his hands over my shoulders requires a longer stretch anticipated and I notice that his sleeve and shift begin to get wet.
He mumbles, “Forget this,” and before I can blink, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m coming in with you, it will make this easier.”

My mouth instantly waters and I almost laugh at the feeling.
With all the seriousness I can muster, I manage to say, “Yes, that’s a good idea. I don’t want you to get soaked or for your clothes to be ruined.”

I watch him like a starved animal.
I swear it’s like everything starts moving in slow motion. I see the buttons of his shirt come apart one by one, each accomplishment revealing his flesh, inch by stunning inch. I want to touch and taste him. Feel him beneath my fingers; watch his muscles move. He’s barely undressed and already I feel warmth between my legs. When he starts to unzip his pants, my mouth goes dry. I feel like I’m ready to combust, and he’s completely oblivious to the effect he’s having on me.

I continue to observe with unashamed fascination as he slides his jeans and boxers down his legs, at the same time toeing off his shoes, and lastly lifts his legs one by one to remove his socks.
When he’s standing before me, I practically dissect him. Beginning at the tips of his toes, my eyes move to his muscled calves and thighs, and stop at the juncture of his thighs. My own body aches in response at the sight of his. I miss him with a physical desperation that shows itself in the tightening of my stomach, the hardening and pronouncement of my nipples, and the quickening of my breath.

I advance my gaze to his hard abs, chiseled chest, strong neck, full lips, and then meet his glorious blue eyes.
He’s looking right at me and I feel not the slightest hint of embarrassment that he was standing there, silently encouraging my exploration. I wonder when he perceived that task turned to pleasure, and oblivion became interest and desire. Hopefully, the water helped mask any drool that may have escaped my mouth. His eyes reveal longing and lust - the curve of his lips show amusement. I clear my throat and tip my head back in the water, trying to distract myself.

I swear I hear a chuckle, prompting me to open my eyes, and when I do, I’m startled to see him right in front of me.
Since I’m sitting and he’s standing, it makes for a rather interesting display. I smile and look up at him, his grin is ear-to-ear and I laugh. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

I shake my head and quit talking when his soap covered hands once again start running over my collar bone, shoulders and down my arms, carefully avoiding the wrapped part of my arm. “Raise your arms over your head.” I do, and he even gets my armpits with the soap. As his hands go over my chest and stomach, he bends closer and lower, paying special attention to every mark and bruise. My breath catches when his activity abruptly ceases and he lowers himself to his knees. He is no longer looking at me, but appears to be analyzing my body with glassy, glazed over eyes. I start to reach out to touch his face in comfort, but freeze as he leans toward me and places his lips against my skin, gently kissing the worst bruise on my good arm. He leaves his lips there a moment and then I see his eyes move to the next mark and he kisses that too. He takes his time, lovingly touching and kissing every spot. It doesn’t matter how small it is, he gives it attention. He even kisses the scratches on my knees and the few bruises and scrapes on my legs.

When a tear falls down his cheek, silent tears of my own immediately match his.
He looks up at me when a sob catches in my throat that I can’t disguise. If I wasn’t already sitting, I would fall over at the look in his eyes. Outrage. Sadness. Desperation. Guilt. Compassion. Love. He cups the side of my face, brushes his fingers over my cheek, and then kisses my tears away too. “I love you, Livvie.”

I take his head and cradle it to my chest.
I run my fingers through his hair and let my tears continue to fall. “I love you too,” I whisper.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“You didn’t. You make me feel loved.”

He gives me a soft smile and then it changes to a smirk as he grabs the soap again.
His hands run over and under my breasts, holding them in his hands for a moment, making my breath catch. I know he’s trying to change the heaviness in the air around us. The bastard even brushes his thumbs over my nipples and chuckles when they pucker immediately in response. I indulge his efforts.

“You’re an ass.”

“Hush.”

He continues the cleansing of my body, over my hips, down my legs, even washing between my toes.
He moves behind me to get my back, and then wraps his arm across my chest, “Hold on to my arm angel.” His hand tucks under one of my arms and he pulls me up a little bit and I brace my weight against his arm. It’s a good thing too because when his other arm touches the area between my legs I almost fall right then and there. “I’m just being thorough. We want to make sure we get everywhere.”

All I can manage is an “Mmm hmm.” It isn’t only his hand between my legs, it’s also the feel of his hardness pressed against my ass.
I can feel that this is affecting his body as much as it is mine, making my need for him triple. My breathing starts getting crazy, but once again, my thoughts are stopped in their tracks when he sits me back down. I barely resist a groan in protest.

“I’m going to wash your hair for you.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can do that much.”

“I know you can, I want to.”

“Okay, then.”

His hands in my hair stop all protests.
I don’t know what it is about someone else massaging and touching my scalp that feels so amazing, but it does. I practically whimper, “Okay, I’m pretty sure I would be fine with you doing this every day.”

Luke chuckles, “Oh yeah?
So, you don’t want to do it yourself anymore?”

“Nope.
No idea what I was thinking. I’m pretty sure we are going to need to take all future showers together for this very reason.”

“Mmm, I can get on board with that.”

I sigh, happy in the feeling of contentment that washes over me. Luke’s mere presence makes me feel safe and secure, but this type of spoiling and generosity engages a keen sense of protection and love. I have so much to work through physically and emotionally, but Luke has no idea how much he’s helping. He’s the perfect medicine for my mental and physical wounds.

When he finishes, he shuts off the water and reaches for a towel.
He removes the plastic coverings he placed over my arm and leg as he dries me off, then dries himself. He tosses the towel over his shoulder, reaches down, and picks me up, holding me close to his body, taking care to avoid contact with the worst of my wounds and bruises. I capture his lips again in another kiss.

I want more.
I know he was going to be distant, not wanting to start anything that he doesn’t think I want to finish, but he couldn’t be more wrong. I want to be with him. I need to feel him against me and know that he is with me in mind and body.

I increase the pressure of my kiss.
He swiftly moves across the bathroom floor and sets me down gently on my hospital bed and before he can choose his next move, I caress his face and make my intentions clear by pulling him closer to my body. He comes willingly and I press my breasts into his solid chest. The contact makes me gasp into his mouth. Luke keeps things gentle initially by holding my face still in his hands, like I’m a breakable china doll. But I’m not. I don’t want him to treat me like something that’s been broken. I don’t want to be treated differently, not by him.