Page 88 of A Sweet Destruction

She just hummed in assent as I helped her to the lip of the bath, resting on it. I grabbed her lotion, the rich, warm scent of it reminding me of home.

Esme stopped me when she realized my intention, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Esme,” I said, letting my tone convey exactly what I meant. She said I could take care of her, and this was part of it. I needed some way to get my hands on her, to make sure that she wasn’t flinching in pain when I touched her back or her stomach or her hands or any part of her that had been broken and bent under my weight, no matter how long ago.

With a heavy sigh, Esme turned her grip from distancing to steadying, simply using the connection between us to make sure she didn’t fall backwards.

Good.

I slowly worked the lotion into her skin, making sure that every part of her received some sort of attention. Well, not every part, the darker part of my mind reminded me. If I was ever that goddamn lucky, I would be sure to take just as much care.

For now, I focused on massaging the cream into her calves, working my way up her legs. Everything else around me was drowned out, my focus solely on her skin as I watched the lotion absorb.

It wasn’t until a soft gasp left her lips, right as my thumb swept over the inside of her thigh, that I remembered that this was real and not a figment of my imagination.

I moved to her arms, needing something to do other than ask her if it was alright if I’d pushed my hand higher. Luckily for me, running lotion over our Mark was an effective distraction.

I’d always thought the Mark looked terrifying on me, a beast capable of killing you in seconds. At the beginning, my niece and nephew had agreed, flinching away from me if I reached for them with the hand that borne the head of the snake.

On Esme, I suddenly understood why snakes were seen as beautiful, god-like in some parts of Vir.

Though it pained me beyond belief, by the time I moved all the way down both arms, I carefully passed her the lotion. For a moment, she looked down at my hand with an expression of hers I happened to recognize, though I wish I hadn’t.

Disappointment.

The second her fingers closed around the tube of lotion, I pressed up to stand, needing to get out of that room. I didn’t close the door behind me, just so she could see that I wasn’t leaving.

The plush bed and low light suddenly looked far too romantic, as did the silky pajamas that Esme had folded neatly on the edge of the bed. I passed them to her blindly, then moved to turn down the bed.

I turned to her the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, now dressed. She stepped towards me hesitantly, waiting for my next instruction.

“You need to rest.” Esme chuckled in response. Rest was not something we were often afforded. I picked her book off the bedside table, one she’d carried with her for a few weeks but I was pretty sure she hadn’t started. “In you go,” I said, lifting my chin towards the bed.

If either of us acknowledged how different this felt, the moment would be ruined.

“I’ll be back in a second. I better see you in there and comfortable when I get back,” I said, keeping my voice as normal as I could while the Bond was doing its level best to drive me insane.

I kept it together until I closed the door to the bathroom behind me, at which point I promptly fell forward, barely catching myself from breaking my own nose on the stone countertop.

Changing faster than I had in my life, I made it back out of the bathroom with some of my control wrestled back in.

Esme had listened and was sat up with her glasses sat primly on the bridge of her nose and the book open in her lap. Her hair was pushed behind her, leaving only a few short strands falling in front of her shoulders.

An image I’d seen thousands of times, just not when I was expected to lay down right next to her. It was easier to set aside burgeoning thoughts when she was across the room, coldly ignoring me.

“Oh no,” I said, clicking my tongue. “Not comfortable enough.” I pointed my finger down, motioning for her to tuck further under the covers.

Esme simply raised her eyebrows, not a particularly clear expression, but I still somehow knew exactly what she was saying.

A few years ago, she’d taken a rather nasty tumble during a sparring match and had tweaked her neck in a way that never quite healed.

If she looked down for too long, it would start to hurt—not very conducive to reading in bed, which was the definition of rest in her mind.

I held up my finger to signal that she should wait, grabbed my own glasses and book, then got into bed next to her. “Relax,” I said against her ear, then maneuvered her so that her head was elevated by my shoulder.

“Oh,” she said, probably not even realizing she did it.

Thank God she couldn’t see the width of my smile or it might have ruined things.