Page 15 of Ruthless Possession
Matthew works shampoo through my hair, his fingers thorough and unhurried. Trenton soaps my back, his palms moving in slow circles, cataloging every inch. The water runs hot. The world outside doesn't exist.
"Turn," Matthew says.
I face him. For just a second I feel exposed, not physically, but in some other way I can't name. Like every lonely night is written on my skin.
He doesn't look away.
"What's this?" Trenton's fingers stop on my outer thigh. He's found the scar. A pale crescent, still slightly raised.
"Playground," I explain. "Last month." Trenton's jaw is tight. He's not looking at the scar anymore, but at me, and his expression is hard. It's a look I recognize, a quiet fury he turns on himself when he feels he's failed to protect us. An expression that I recognize, the same look he used to get in high school when Jason Cooper put his hands on me. Controlled fury. Directed inward.
I reach up. Cup his face. Make him look at me properly.
"You were exactly where you needed to be," I tell him.
His eyes hold mine for a long beat.
"Not anymore," Matthew says, low and fierce. His hands resume their movement through my hair, but his voice doesn't soften. "Never again."
I let the water sluice over me, watching as it cascades down my body and swirls toward the drain. My skin glows pink in the steamy bathroom, sensitive from their touch, their mouths, their possession. After six months, my body feels newly legible to me, each nerve ending relearned.
"Let me," Matthew says, taking the loofah from my hand. He works methodically, covering every inch of me with lavender soap. Trenton watches from against the shower wall.
The weight of their attention is a physical pressure, warm and heavy and perfect. I've missed this most of all, the way they see me. All of me.
"We should eat," I say, though food is the furthest thing from my mind.
"Later," Trenton cuts in, his voice rough. "We've waited six months for this, Morgan. Nothing else matters right now."
Matthew's hands are still on my waist. "You're not hungry?"
I turn to face him, water dripping from my hair, my skin. "I'm starving. But not for food."
The sound that escapes him is somewhere between a groan and a laugh. He presses his forehead to mine, the water beating down on both of us.
"I love you," he says, simple and direct. "God, I love you."
Trenton moves then, stepping into the spray again.
"What are you doing?" I laugh, but he's already crowding me back against the tile, his mouth finding mine.
"Couldn't wait," he murmurs against my lips. "Too far away."
We stumble out of the shower eventually, drying each other with exaggerated care. Matthew's eyes track every movement of my hands as I rub the towel through my hair. Trenton's fingers trace the water droplets still clinging to my spine.
The bedroom is dark now, the sunset long gone, replaced by moonlight streaming through our windows. Our windows. The thought still sends a little thrill through me.
"I kept your things," I tell them as I pull on one of Trenton's t-shirts from the dresser. It hangs to mid-thigh, smelling like cedar and him. "Your favorite clothes. Your books. Even that ridiculous stuffed bear Matthew won at the fair."
Matthew's face softens. "You kept the bear?"
"It's on the shelf in the living room," I admit. "Right next to that framed photo of us at the beach."
Trenton pulls on a pair of sweatpants, his hair still damp. "You were building our life here while we were gone."
I move to the bed, watching as they follow. "I was trying to make it feel like home for when you came back. Even if it wasn't finished."
"It was always home," Matthew says, joining me. "Because you were here."
