Page 145 of Cold Mercy

“I’m on the pill,” I whisper immediately, grinding down harder against him. “So you're welcome to make a mess, baby.”

“That's my good girl. I fucking love how you take me.”

Im just done. Hearing him say that; him calling me his ‘good girl’ pushes me straight over the edge ive been dandling from for months. I never knew i needed to be praised like this, until I met him. Four word from his mouth right know making my entire body lock up and vibrate.

“Thomas...” I gasp, my voice shattering on a moan as the world begins to dissolve.

I can feel the tremor in my thighs, the way my rhythm stutters as i reach for the edge. I grab his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as he drives us both toward the end. He bites my lip, swallowing my scream as i come around his dick, my body clenching tight in a desperate bliss. I feel him spill come inside me, and he groans my name into my mouth as we shudder together.

We stay like that for a long moment, our foreheads resting against each other.

“Untie me,” I whisper, pulling back but still sitting on him.

“Running away already? he asks, undoing the belt.

I climb off and reach for his T-shirt on the floor, pulling it over my head.

“I’m not running,” I say, “but I'm covered in your cum, and I need a shower.”

He wipes a hand over his face.

“Okay, fair. Just don't take too long, I miss you already.”

I walk to the door, my legs still trembling, and I stop on the threshold and look back over my shoulder at him.

“Want to shower with me?” I ask.

He stands up instantly, crossing the room until he's right in my space, and he leans down to brush against my temple.

“You know what?” he murmurs. “If I ever say ‘no’ to that question, take my gun and shoot me.”

“With pleasure.”

CHAPTER 38

THOMAS

In the shower, the steam wraps around us. It’s intimate in a way that feels new for me. She takes the shampoo and lathers my hair, while I close my eyes, letting the hot water cascade over me. Her hands are gentle as she washes my chest, then move lower, her fingers tracing the network of old scars across my abdomen.

I flinch with an involuntary, barely-there tightening of my muscles, but she feels it. Her hand stills.

My whole life, these marks have been a map of my failures, a currency of violence paid in my skin.

Many of these are older than she is.

I've never let anyone touch them. The shame is a second skin, thicker than any scar.

Her hand doesn't pull away. It stays, her palm flat and warm against my stomach, a silent, steady pressure. Then her other hand comes up to cup my jaw, her thumb brushing my cheek until I open my eyes.

“Hey,” she says softly, her gaze unwavering. “Look at me.”

Her voice...it's not a demand. It's a quiet, steady pull that bypasses every one of my defenses.

For the first time in my life, I don't fight it. I lift my head and meet her eyes, letting her see it all.

“They're not something to hide. They're just...proof. Proof that you're still here. Proof that you survived.”

A hot pressure builds behind my eyes, and my throat goes tight. This woman... she looks at the ugliest parts of me and calls them proof of life.