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Henri’s energy was overpowering, all-consuming.
But mine billowed too.
Hot and stinging, sharp and cutting.
I might not have watched, but my body held remnants.
I couldn’t help him.
Not yet.
Not until Victor’s horrid touch was gone.
Keeping a careful eye on Henri as he folded over the vanity, dug his elbows into the bench, and buried his face into quaking hands, I stripped out of my black lingerie and stepped into the shower.
As cold water became hot and the bliss of cleanliness helped soothe my jagged pieces, I never took my gaze off Henri.
The more seconds that ticked past, the more he shook.
The entire bathroom filled with his pain.
By the time I finished and wrapped myself in a towel, he crashed past me fully clothed and stood beneath burning water.
Holding his face to the gushing shower, he tore off his sodden shirt, unzipped his drenched pants, and coated every inch of his body in soap.
And then, he scrubbed.
And scrubbed.
His fingernails left tracks over his skin, welts and lashes as if he could scratch out the horrors inside him.
He pumped his Viagra-forced erection as if he could delete all traces of tonight.
He washed every inch.
Again and again.
Crazed and jerky.
Backing away, I hugged my towel as his motions turned manic. Desperate.
Closer and closer to that edge.
Nearer and nearer to the end.
Until finally, with a gasp and a grunt, he fell to his knees…
…and broke.
Chapter Twenty-Four
………………………….
Henri
HER EYES.
Her stare.
