Final Debt
Page 110

I repaid the favour, massaging his tense shoulders, his rigid spine, the knots in his lower back. I sluiced water over his bruises and cuts, willing the warmth to knit him back to whole.
My broken arm nullified any pressure I might’ve granted with my fingers, but I refused to let it hang uselessly by my side.
I forced every inch of me—parts unhurt and parts in pain—to heal him, love him, bring him back into the light.
Tugging his hair, I pulled his lips from mine.
His eyes narrowed but he didn’t speak.
Tracing his mouth with my fingertip, I smiled as he nipped me gently.
Dropping my touch from his face, down his throat and chest, I didn’t stop as my fingers traced muscles, dipping between his legs.
The moment my hand latched around his cock, a guttural growl tumbled from his lips. He reached for my cheeks, to kiss me, devour me, but I shook my head and dropped to my knees before him.
My broken arm rested on my thigh while my strong hand stroked him, encouraging his cock to swell and harden.
His stomach tensed, every muscle shadowed with need. His mouth fell open as his head fell back and he gripped the tiled wall for balance.
My attention fell to his stiffening erection. The fact his thoughts swam with desire pleased me so much. He gave me power over him. He let me take the memories and replace them with us.
Not only would we wash away whatever he’d committed tonight, but also the blood of the past, the unjust repayments of debts, and the dusty plains of Africa.
His cock fully swelled as his thoughts switched from self-preservation to sex.
I smiled, taking his long, thick length into my mouth.
His hand fell heavily on my head, fingers threading through my hair as I swallowed more of his cock, welcoming his musky heat onto my tongue.
I worshipped him, giving him everything that I was. My tongue swirled, teasing and adoring. His balls tightened, gathering closer to his body as I gave him what he needed.
He needed to know I was okay. That we both were. That he would find no judgement here. That he was loved just as deeply as before.
His hips pulsed in time with my bobbing head. My hand twisted and stroked, smearing saliva and shower water over his shaft. His hand gripped my hair harder then relaxed as if remembering to be gentle.
I didn’t want him to remember anything. I wanted him so far gone, so in lust and consumed by desire he let go completely.
I wanted to rule him.
My pace increased, my tongue danced, spearing the sensitive crown and swallowing the saltiness of pre-cum.
Slowly, his breathing changed from ragged and sad to tortured and turned on.
His fingers jerked my hair, granting pleasurable pain as his other hand slapped loudly against the wall behind me, slipping and sliding, holding himself up while his hips worked faster into my mouth.
My heart burst, knowing he’d finally found some relief from his thoughts.
I closed my eyes and let him use me. I let his groans slip into my heart. I let his tugs and thrusts fill my soul.
I didn’t know how long we stayed that way. Me at his feet and water raining all around but the tearful rage Jethro suffered finally faded, complex and unsolvable but faded nevertheless.
My jaw ached; my tongue throbbed.
However, I didn’t try to bring him to an orgasm. I only tried to keep him centred on me. Consumed by bliss and able to find happiness after a nightmare.
His hand suddenly left the wall, slinking with the one already in my hair. Looping fingers under my chin, he broke my mouth’s suction, pulling me away from his cock.
His gaze obliterated me with such love and affection, I couldn’t breathe.
“Nila…” His hands tucked under my arms, tugging me to my feet. “I need you.” His cock bounced against my lower belly as he hoisted me into his arms. He stumbled a little but kept me protected. His mouth captured mine, and for a blistering moment, he kissed me so damn hard, so damn feral, my core twisted with the beginnings of a release.
His tongue was magic, granting me the same gift I’d tried to grant him, ensuring all I thought about, all I needed was him.
Breathing hard, he tore his lips from mine and swayed weakly from the shower.
I didn’t say anything.
There were no appropriate words as he reached back to turn off the spray and grabbed a towel from the rail. Placing the fluffy towel over my body, he hoisted me higher and marched back into the bedroom.
A trail of dampness turned the green carpet almost black as he plopped me on my feet beside the bed and reverently placed the towel over my shoulders.
The dawn gave way to weak sunshine. In the ever-brightening light, the scars of our trials became more apparent. My skin looked like a mismatched carousel: the bruises of Daniel’s kick and punches. The scratches from glass and car carnage. The shower-drenched cast of my arm.
And Jethro.
His body held shadows and secrets of what he’d survived to get to me. His hair covered the injury on his temple. His skin, now it wasn’t cold from trauma, radiated heat with the fever he needed to break. The gruesome red wound in his side was no longer hidden. The puckered skin where stitches had come undone wept, needing a doctor and healing.
We each had our craters and defects from war.
But we would wear them with pride because we’d won.
And the moment our bodies had reconnected, I would find Flaw to help stop Jethro's fever. I would call a doctor to sew up his side. And I would hire the best team to ensure he had no long-term damages from the car accident in Africa.
Jethro’s lips twitched. “I love feeling your thoughts. I love knowing you want to heal me even while your body demands I take you first.”