Page 44 of Rampage

"Okay," she whispers, the single word heavy with trust.

I dip the washcloth into the cooling water, then reach for the soap. I can see a slight tremble and it kills me that she is nervous at all.

My movements are deliberate, careful, as I work up a lather between my hands.

"Lean forward," I instruct softly.

She complies, drawing her knees up to her chest, exposing the elegant curve of her spine. I gently sweep her damp hair over one shoulder, then press the washcloth to the nape of her neck. I move it in slow, soothing circles across her shoulders, down her back, my touch reverent.

"Is this all right?" I ask, my voice deeper than usual.

"Yes," she breathes, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

There's nothing sexual about my ministrations, yet the intimacy of the moment hangs heavy between us. This is different from desire, it's care in its purest form, a man tending to a woman he wants to protect, to cherish.

"You carry so much tension here," I murmur, my thumb working gently at a knot in her shoulder.

She makes a small sound of agreement, leaning into my touch. "It's been a long time since anyone took care of me like this."

My hand stills momentarily. "Has anyone ever?"

The question lingers in the steamy air. Lily considers her answer, the truth of it cutting deeper than she expected.

"No," she admits quietly. "Not really."

My jaw tightens, but my hands remain as they resume their work, carefully washing each inch of her exposed skin. When I reach her arms, I lift each one with tender care, my fingers tracing the delicate flesh of her wrists, the soft crooks of her elbows.

"Turn," I say, my voice a low rumble.

She shifts, facing me now, water lapping at her collarbones.

I wash her face with featherlight touches, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw. When I reach her lips, my movements slow, becoming almost reverent.

Lily

"You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes meet mine, intense and sincere. "So damn beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."

The raw honesty in his words makes my breath catch. No one has ever looked at me this way, like I'm something precious, something to be cherished rather than used.

His hands continue their journey, the washcloth gliding over my shoulder. His movements pause as his fingers brush against a small, jagged scar near my collarbone.

"What's this from?" he asks softly, his thumb tracing the mark.

I tense involuntarily, memories flooding back. "Frank," I whisper, the name bitter on my tongue. "He wore a ring. Heavy, with a square stone. When I wouldn't…" I swallow hard. "When I fought back, he backhanded me. The ring caught my skin."

Reid's expression darkens, a muscle working in his jaw. His eyes, normally a warm blue, turn to ice. But his touch remains and he presses his lips to the scar.

"Never again," he promises against my skin, his breath warm. "No one will ever hurt you like that again."

The tenderness of the gesture has me blinking back tears. I've spent so long hiding my scars, both physical and emotional, that having someone acknowledge them, honor them, feels revolutionary.

Reid's eyes find mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. "Lily," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "I need to ask you something." He hesitates, fingers still against my skin. "Did he… Did Frank ever hurt you sexually? Beyond the inappropriate touching?"

The question hangs in the steamy air between us. My throat tightens, memories threatening to surface that I've worked so hard to keep submerged.

"Not the way you're thinking," I finally manage, my voice small. "He touched me—places he shouldn't have. Walked in while I was changing. Stood outside the bathroom door." I swallow hard. "But he never… he never raped me."

Reid nods, his expression carefully controlled, though I can see the rage simmering beneath. "Was Frank the first?"