Cold water streamed down my body, numbing, relentless.
I watched as the last traces of blood and ash slid from my skin, spiraling down the train, disappearing as if it had never been there at all.
It made me think of that morning.
The pain that had split through my abdomen when Joshua kicked me. The warmth between my legs afterward. The terror. I had been so sure I had lost it then. It had been so small, so fragile, barely a few weeks, but it had felt like something sacred all the same.
My hands came up to my face, pressing into my cheeks. I didn't even have tears left to cry. Just emptiness. Just ache.
A pair of arms wrapped around my waist.
Strong. Solid. Familiar.
Alex pulled me tight against him, his chest warm against my spine, anchoring me to the present. He buried his face into the crook of my neck breathing me in like he needed to confirm I was real, that I was still here. I let myself lean into him, let the steady rhythm of his breath calm the storm inside my chest.
His hand reached past me, adjusting the faucet, coaxing the water into warmth.
"You're going to kill yourself at this rate," he murmured, his voice low, threaded with concern rather than reproach.
"You didn't know?" I asked softly, turning in his arms.
"About your medical records?"
I nodded, my gaze dropping to his chest. I traced my fingers over his skin, grounding myself in the feel of him. The solid muscle, the steady heartbeat. His body responded instinctively, with the way his hardened cock twitched, pressing against my entrance.
"We agreed to talk about it," he said gently. His hand came up to my cheek, tipping my head up as his thumb brushed away the water there, tender where everything else in my life had been brutal. "I'm respecting that."
My hands slid up to his jaw, savoring the rough scrape of his five-o'clock shadow beneath my fingertips. "What if I don't want to talk about it right now?"
His hands found my hips, pressing his cock harder between my legs "Tell me one thing first."
I breathed. "What is it?"
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "Is everything really alright?"
He didn't even ask the question hanging between us. Didn't ask if I was pregnant.
That restraint undid me more than anything else.
I nodded anyway, because words felt too fragile, dangerous. But that was all the invitation he needed anyway.
His mouth crashed against mine, fierce and unrestrained, like he was trying to anchor me to the present. I kissed him back just as hard, our tongues clashing over one another as I clung onto him, desperate to forget the chaos of the day. All that blood, the gunfire, the explosion, those words the doctor had said. Not to mention, the amount of things I'd have to do. All the files stacking up on my desk, announcements waiting to be made, the parties, expectations—
Alex pulled back.
The sudden absence of his mouth made my thoughts screech to a halt.
I looked up at him, breathless, my brows knitting together in confusion.
"It seems," he muttered, those eyes darkening, voice low, "that I need to try harder."
Before I could respond, the water cut off behind me. Then his arms were under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly, my body still slick and shaking as he carried me out of the shower.
"Alex—" I breathed. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned until my hands pressed against the cool marble of the counter, the mirror looming just ahead. My flushed face reflected back at us, his gaze sharp and unwavering behind me. My eyes then drifted to his hands settled at my entrance, then slide between my legs without hesitation.
"I'm doing what I do best," he murmured, his lips brushing a soft kiss on my bare shoulder, my breath hitching at the sensation of his fingers moving deep inside me, steady and demanding. "I'm making my wife forget all the terrible things."
"Fuck, Alex..." I gasped, my head falling against his shoulder as he quickened his rhythm, his fingers driving in and out of me with mounting urgency.
His other hand gripped my jaw, forcing me to meet my own reflection in the mirror. "Keep your eyes open, my love. I want to see how I claim you. Any child you carry will only be from me. No one else's."
His words ignited something raw inside me. A pain I had been trying to bury. But there was no time to linger on it before he buried himself deep inside me, fierce and undeniable.
"That's it," he said, driving in and out of me with slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers moving in and out of me in perfect rhythm. "Do you feel how tightly you cling to me? To my cock and my fingers, Princess?"
I moaned, my grip on the marble tightening as he deepened his pace.
"Can't you feel how much I own you?" His voice was ragged, punctuated by his grunts. "You're mine," he growled, his hand slipping out between my legs to slap my ass.
I yelped, arching into him as he chuckled. A low vibration against my skin that sent delicious shivers down my spine. His fingers, slick with my arousal, slipped between my lips as he continued on fucking me hard against the cold marble.
"Taste yourself," he commanded. "See how turned on you are for me. So wet."
And I did, licking his fingers clean as he laughed softly, sliding them from my lips before pinching my nipple sharply. I jumped at the sudden sting, pleasure sparking through the pain.
His other hand moved from my jaw to my neck while he moved, pulling me fierce and closer. Driving deeper, harder, faster.
"Keep your eyes on the mirror," he murmured, fucking me raw. Those green eyes pierced through my soul. "You may forget anything, even everything, but never forget how I own you. You're mine."
I felt nothing but him. My whole world shrinking to the stretch of his hard cock inside me, hitting me over the edge, again and again while I held on for dear life. The sound of skin slapping against skin slicing through the silence of my bathroom, undeniably raw. Beautiful.
Just like this crazy obsession we bore for each other.