Page 48 of Dance Practice, Marooned: Part 2

My hands drop.

He grins.

“So straight to the shower then?” I giggle, soft and low.

His eyes soften. “You know, I can’t say I’ve heard you giggle before.”

My cheeks heat. “Well, we might actually get to know each other now that we’re not constantly living in survival mode.”

His eyes grow hungry.

“Not like that, you animal,” I laugh.

“Get your clothes off. It has been too long since I have been inside you.”

My brows shoot up.

“If you thought I wasn’t goin’ to fuck you slowly in that shower, you’re mistaken.”

Oh my.

I drop my clothes without thought.

Mostly over the thought of him fucking me slowly in the shower, but also because I have forgotten what it feels like to have hot water running over my body. I am more than a little excited.

“Tell me there is at least soap in there,” I say, putting my hands together as if praying.

“Found a new block of soap under the sink, and shampoo. No conditioner, but hey, it’s better than nothing.”

I squeal, unable to help it. “Oh my god! Let’s go!”

I don’t walk to the bathroom, I run.

I don’t know what to expect, but honestly, I actually don’t really care that much.

The bathroom is a step down and a stumble left from the captain’s quarters, barely wide enough for two bodies—so obviously, Ace has to angle his way in behind me, or he’ll block the damn door. The walls are metal, painted over with decades of grime that not even the purest bleach could ever lift, but Ace has scoured every surface that matters. There’s a cracked mirror, a metal sink that’s seen at least thirty years, and a shower head that’s more of a pipe with holes in it. But it’s clean, enough.

I flick on the light. It’s one of those naked bulbs that hums with effort, casting everything gold. Ace flips on the water and for a second both of us freeze, because the pipes rattle scarily loud, and then—like a miracle—water rolls out in a thick, glorious wave. For a second, I can’t move. I am so tired, so absolutely fucking exhausted, but the idea of stepping into that hot water makes me want to cry.

“After you,” Ace says, but his voice is different now. There’s a kind of gentleness in it that I haven’t heard for quite some time now.

I do not hesitate.

My clothes hit the ground, and I step into the shower. The water hits my skin and the first sound out of me is animal—a gasp, then a whimper. I lean my body into the spray, letting it hit my chest, my neck, my face, and for a second, I just stand there with my eyes closed as layers of salt, sand, and whatever else wash off and down into the drain.

There isn’t a single moment in my life where I ever would have thought I could die happy from a shower.

Ace steps in too, not bothering to admire the view—he just puts his hands on my waist and presses his forehead between my shoulder blades, like he needs to make sure I am real and here and not about to vanish. His moans sound basically the same as mine as the hot water washes over his skin. For what feels like hours, we just stand there, eyes closed, tangled in each other, letting the hot water wash over us.

“Holy shit,” I moan, half-laughing, “I forgot what hot water actually felt like.”

He grumbles something against my back. “If you want me to leave you alone with it, I can.”

We both know he isn’t going to do that.

Instead, he grabs a bar of soap and works it into a lather, then starts washing my skin in slow, careful circles. His hands are rough, but gentle. Tender, even. He works from my shoulders down my arms, every inch, every scar, even my hands, which he holds with more reverence than I know what to do with. I don’t know if it’s love, or just the relief of finally being safe for a second, but I could melt right here. When he turns me around, I let my head fall against his chest, just for a second, so the steam can fog up my brain and make it impossible to think.

Ace lifts my chin. “You good, darlin’?”