Page 110 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
“Hey,” I said, touching his cheek. “I know things were bad last night. But we’ll get through this, right?”
“You shouldn’t be standing,” he said gruffly.
It wasn’t the reassurance I’d been hoping for, but at least he cared. I let him maneuver me onto the couch. I also let him serve me the lunch he’d had delivered from his restaurant, without helping clean up afterward. Then I lay down for Bailey’s nap with her. He tucked us both into his bed, settling the blanket around us before shutting off the light and closing the door. Throughout it all, he barely said a word to me.
No, things weren’t great between us, but they would get better.
After the nap Colin insisted I lie down on the sofa while Bailey played in front of me. Since I was, in fact, tired, I allowed
him to coddle me. Besides, about the only time he talked to me was to tell me to eat or sit or lie down, so I figured I might as well encourage him with my obedience. I wished he’d open up to me, but that wouldn’t be Colin.
Oh, I figured he’d crack one of these days. I’d learned that much, at least, from our drama about Rick. He kept quiet, but if I waited long enough, he’d be the one to bring it up. That’s what I told myself.
Like that night I’d been sick in my apartment, he even put Bailey down for bed.
I lay across the hall, listening to him read Goodnight Moon. There was murmuring back and forth and a song. Then he trekked down the stairs and back up, for a glass of water was my guess. And so forth.
Late, past Bailey’s normal bedtime routine, Colin came into our bedroom.
“Ready to shower?” he asked.
I raised my eyebrows, amused. “Are you telling me I stink?”
“You’ll need help,” he said as he walked into his closet.
Hmm, help in the shower. I did need one, and bonus—we’d be naked. I desperately needed to reconnect with Colin, and sex was the one way that had always worked. My head kind of hurt, and my body rather ached, but I could do this. It would be worth it, not to have Colin holding himself so still and tense whenever I was near.
He came out of the closet wearing only boxers. He pulled me off the bed and undressed me, reminding me of that night in my apartment. That night he had kissed every bruise. Would he now? I had plenty of bruises in all kinds of interesting places. And if I didn’t, I’d fake it.
Colin held my hand as I stepped into the shower; then he came in after me. He didn’t take off his boxers, though. He just walked right in and soaked them through.
He gently soaped me, starting at my neck and working down my back, down my legs and then up my front. His blunt fingers ran the soap between my legs and then up to my breasts, reminiscent of our last time in the shower together. My body remembered, getting hot and wet. That had been good, if a little too acrobatic for my current physical state. We would just have to move slower, maybe find a nice position that involved sitting completely still.
I slid my hand down to the wet fabric of his boxers and gripped his cock. He moved my hand away.
“You don’t want me?” I pouted. It was a game.
He shook his head. “Not now.”
And then it wasn’t. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t always have to want sex.”
I narrowed my gaze to his erection, covered in wet cloth but obvious. “I think you do.”
“I said I don’t.”
“Then why did you come in here with me?” I asked, honestly confused.
“You had a concussion. You might be unsteady and slip.”
“Fine,” I said. “So this isn’t about sex. You’re mad at me. I know you’re mad. Can we just talk about it?”
He turned off the water. Cold air sucked into the stall, pebbling my skin. “Christ,” I said.
Colin stepped from the shower and helped me out. Then he tossed a towel in my arms and stalked out, still dripping water, his wet boxers sagging from his hips.
Okay, I supposed we were done talking. I dried off and put on one of my oversize sleep shirts. The bed was plush and warm and wonderful. I’d wanted to wait for him, I’d wanted to fix this, but I fell asleep.
