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When I’m finished, I take her hand and rub my come all over her, ending at her pussy to bring her to orgasm once more. She arches her back and I see how that line forms between her brows as she squeezes out every drop of pleasure from me. My little convict is greedy too.
We eventually move to the bathroom where I run the shower, and we step into the large stall.
“This is getting to be a habit,” she comments as I shampoo her hair.
“One I like. We’ll have to color your hair.”
Her smile fades. “Why?”
I look down at her, eyebrows raised. “It’s a little recognizable, don’t you think?”
“They’re dead. The Hoxton brothers are dead.”
“We don’t know how much Girard or Augustus know. I’m not taking any chances.”
She considers, then nods.
“I’ll arrange everything. We’ll move Wren, which, by the way, you shouldn’t have told her you’d be there, and you know that.”
“She’ll be more comfortable if I am. She’s my priority, Zeke. I won’t fail her again.”
“Do you remember what you told me last night?” I ask her, turning her so I can wash her back. “About howwhat ifscan kill you?” I lean close to her ear. “Take your own advice. What your father did is not your fault.”
She turns, puts her hands on my shoulders. “No more than what yours did to Zoë is yours.”
Her saying Zoë’s name takes me a minute.
“Turn around,” she says.
She picks up the body wash and I turn my back to her. In a way, hearing Blue say Zoë’s name puts some distance between me and this dark secret, this history I never talk about. My sister whom I never mention. It makes her human again. Not just the victim of a monster. I don’t want her memory to be associated with his but it's what I’ve been doing ever since I found out the truth. Zoë deserves better. She deserves to be remembered for who she was, not for the victim he made of her.
“Who was Draca St. James? What’s his story?” Blue asks.
“That’s very old and not very pretty. It dates back to the 1600s.” I turn to face her. “I’ll tell you sometime.” I switch off the water and grab a towel to dry her off gently, wrapping it around her before draping one low around my hips. I follow Blue out.
“Is Isabelle’s tattoo from the marking ceremony?” she asks.
I nod.
“So, your brother did that to her?”
I nod again.
“Did she want it?” I don’t comment. She snorts.
“They’re very much in love,” I tell her.
“Were they always very much in love?”
“Love takes time,” I say, wanting to defend my brother.
She rolls her eyes, shifts her gaze to her reflection and finger combs her hair. “I’m going to miss the blue.”
“You can dye it again once this is over.” We both pause when I say this because it’s the first time either of us has mentioned a future. Something beyond Girard and her father, a life after the danger, once she’s safe and free.
Free.
“Tell me about the marking ceremony,” she says before I can go too far down that rabbit hole.
