Page 90 of Shattered Throne
I inhaled sharply as his fingers traced up my thigh, slow and deliberate. He watched my face the whole time, gauging my reaction, adjusting his touch based on every gasp and shiver. When he reached the edge of my underwear, he paused.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Yes."
He shifted the fabric aside.
The first touch made me gasp out loud. Xavier's free hand came up to cover my mouth, muffling the sound. His eyes never left mine as he stroked, explored, and found the rhythm that made my legs shake.
"Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "Quiet, remember?"
I bit down on his palm, using it to stifle the sounds I couldn't control. My back arched against the wall, my hips moving oftheir own accord, chasing his touch. He was relentless, building me higher and higher until I was trembling on the edge.
"Let go," he whispered. "I've got you."
I shattered.
The release crashed through me in waves, and I cried out against his hand, my teeth sinking into his flesh. He held me through it, his body pressed against mine, keeping me upright when my knees tried to give out.
When I finally came back to myself, I was sagging against the wall, breathing hard. Xavier's hand was still over my mouth, and when he pulled it away, I could see the indentations my teeth had left.
"Sorry," I managed.
He grinned. "Don't be. I liked it."
My legs were still unsteady as he led me to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, testing the temperature until steam began to curl through the air, then helped me out of my dress with careful hands.
We stepped under the water together.
Xavier washed me. Actually washed me—working shampoo through my hair, massaging my scalp with gentle fingers, rinsing the suds away. He soaped a washcloth and ran it over my shoulders, my back, my arms. Nothing rushed, nothing demanding. Just... care.
When was the last time someone had taken care of me?
I couldn't remember. Couldn't remember anyone ever treating me like something precious, something worth time and attention. I'd spent so long being the caretaker—for Zoe, for myself—that I'd forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end.
My throat tightened.
"Hey." Xavier's voice was soft. "You okay?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
He kissed my forehead, water streaming down both our faces, and I let myself lean into him. Let myself be held. Let myself, just for a moment, not be the strong one.
After the shower, he wrapped me in a towel and handed me one of his shirts. The cotton was soft and worn, falling to mid-thigh, carrying his scent. I slipped it on and breathed him in.
The small bedroom had a small bed. Barely big enough for two people, definitely not designed for comfortable sleep. But when we climbed under the covers, it didn't matter. Xavier pulled me close, arranging us until we fit together—my back to his chest, his arms wrapped around my waist, our legs tangled beneath the sheets.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath warm against my hair.
"More than okay."
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. I laced my fingers through his, holding on.
Outside, the ocean whispered against the shore. Inside, everything was warm and safe and quiet. I was wrapped in Xavier's arms, wearing his shirt, still tingling from his touch. My daughter was sleeping peacefully in the next room.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't worried about tomorrow. Wasn't calculating expenses or juggling schedules or bracing myself for the next disaster. I was just... here. Present. Content.
Everything was perfect.
