Page 62 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Adrian

Releasing Eva was beyond impossible. I had no desire on releasing her anytime soon.

After the Rivers Foundations and constant bombarded incidents from Romano, swift in commencing my act, almost primal, my arms instinctively caged and hauled her against my chest. This was the only way for me to redeem to her from the party at the barn.

Recalling back from last night’s activity, the heat in my cheeks flushed, as if I had my first time with her.

With her veiled hair tucked in, I scooped her up in my arms, leading into the bathroom and set her down on a chair as I made preparations.

In the glass shower, her body tensed up from the water and the closeness in the shower.

Not knowing the reason why, I didn’t bother to ask.

For some reason, she couldn’t enter through a shower glass.

Was it because I’m here? Or was it because she’s self-conscious about her appearance when being stripped off?

“What’s wrong?” I inquired, taking the shampoo and conditioner lids off.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she tried to justify, rubbing her thin biceps, her face lowered, meeting the tiled surface, all signs lead to denial in some way.

Pulling out two separate towels in the second drawer, my eyes drew back at her, who was still avoiding.

It doesn’t look like nothing.

“Come, I’ll be here,” I said gently.

“I…can’t.” Her emerald eyes lowered, her visage paled.

It has been minutes since she spoke, I said nothing, but gave her a slight brush on her with my hand, but I made sure she consented.

Immovable, it indicated a signal to me I roved my back hand on her arm, and took her hands, intertwined with mine.

I cupped her face and angling her eyes to mine, her eyes brimmed red, her frame shaking, but the spacious bathroom was lukewarm, and the temperature on the shower was running.

“Don’t be scared. I’ll be here with you. I won’t go anywhere,” I uttered, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You can trust me.”

“I can’t,” Eva’s stability in her tone wavered, tears threatened to leak, her frame shivering before me, sniffling.

Leaning in, I wiped her tears with my thumb.

“I’ll be right here with you,” I reminded her.

I guided her in the running shower, raining down on our naked bodies, as much as Eva is embarrassed in being stark naked—a naked nun—in the shower with me. Grabbing an exfoliating scrub, I contemplated, considering what step I should take next, in order for Eva not to evade and disappear.

Back in my prestigious high school days, boys in the same grade as me often spent time in their girlfriends’ bedrooms, wreak the bed and had sex in the shower.

Not only those, some had sex in the car, sometimes at the alleyway, or behind the stadium seats at college or somewhere behind the carnival, or at the kitchen, having food play or a jockstrap, even fucking at the parents’ bed.

They’d often tell me how good it was to feel a girl’s cunt after No Nut November, or whenever they had a massive boner.

Those moments weren’t deeply intimate, it’s what they lacked.

Now, I’m in a shower.

With her.

Something about being in a running shower on my unclean skin with a breathing soul like her, guilt reserved in me. Jumping into the gun was a bad idea, especially accompanying a member of the church. I shouldn’t have rushed her, or ushered her.

But guilty pleasures have often won.

Sin begets sin; love begets a guilty pinpointed to a conscious notion to where I should be cautious, not in an obligated, loveless way, in a way I shouldn’t ruffle her feathers or rupture her existence to a brink of annihilating her sanity.

I wasn’t cautious to other ladies before she came into my life.

Other ladies whined but handled themselves in a haughty fashion, suspecting that replacing me with another man or a look alike would make them “stronger”.

But with a woman like Eva, taken all my titles and fortune—the son of CEO, spoiled brat, a rich asshole—can melt within seconds. I wasn’t a rich brat; I was slowly becoming more humanized, more humble and noble and careful within precision, not wanting to fright her.

She winced again, drawing a hiss like a little kitten.

Smoothing her skin with an exfoliator, she withdrew and tucked her arm, twisted her upper frame, avoiding my touch.

I need to calm her down before she freaks and goes ballistic.

Still cornered, not letting the drops poked her; she embraced herself, her limbs convulsively shaken and whimpering through her teeth bitten on her bottom lip.

What caused her to have this fear from water?

It explained why she was wearing gloves. She’s afraid of her burnt scars on her whole hands might be burning again, shuddering in terror.

I understood why.

And yet…her scars remained a mystery.

Setting the water temperature to a warm setting, I strode, shielded her from a running shower sprinkled on my backside, as I watched her cornering onto the wall like a little spider.

She was cute spider, her long brownish-black hair; her loose waves soaked and got stuck to her frame like glue, reminding me of a mermaid standing for the first time as she stepped onto the sand.

Her curtain bangs framed to her horrified face, eyeing me with a subtle shiver, legs tucked in, avoiding the water.

My head dipped to kiss on her rosy lips.

“Trust me, my beloved angel,” I cooed, my voice rumbled with care and love, my hand held the scrub. “I’ll help you. Don’t run from me.”

For once, she didn’t run out towards the door, which I was relieved, but she’s not moving.

When I approached closer, my hand outstretched with a scrubber. “Clean me first, if you want. And I’ll do the same. It’s like in the Bible where this girl washed Jesus’ feet. What was her name again?”

She gulped. “Mary Magdalene,” she answered.

A heart beat stirred in a deep, wrenching motion.

“I’ll be here,” I reminded her repeatedly. “Keep talking to me about the Bible. Tell me everything you know. Pretend I’m your guardian angel. Think of me as one…”

While she talked, mumbling all the facts she possessed, I felt her fingers traced on me. It was tingling yet soft and cautious.

She seized the scrubber and scrubbed on my upper back, where spotted the tattoo across, marked in red ink: UNbrOKEN .

Her words faded when she spotted it, and her spare hand traced, glided over the inked words, then my spine—her touch provoked a tingling sensation ignited me.

“It’s beautiful,” she commented in a low whisper, continuing back to scrubbing.

Without her knowing, my cheeks blushed, convincing myself it was a steaming shower had my reaction flushed.

“Want me to do it?” I asked, suggested in taking turns on cleaning.

Finally, after moments, she gave in, and I scrubbed her back. Carefully, I proceeded with a scrubber and raked it gingerly on her backside. Her head threw back, sighing aloud, the rest of her brownish-black locks drenched; her scalp ran through until the hair tips at the end.

When I lathered the shampoo on her head, she sighed heavily, her mind and her anxiety ceased.

She took turns to scrub my locks, which I have never done with anyone. Eva was the first in everything. My first real kiss, my first real embrace, my first gentle touches and a calm tone I settled for her to gain trust and security.

I softly looked at her; a smile crept on my face, praising her that she did a wonderful job.

“Good job,” I praised her, repeated over and over.

When we both rinsed, she didn’t feel tense anymore.

The next step was a razor. Based on her reaction, she stepped back before I held her in my arms and kissed her wet head.

“I’ll be here,” I reminded her and knelt down, leveling my eyes on her bikini area. As I reached for the razor, with my one hand, I lathered it with soap, before spreading the soap around her pussy.

Her face reddened, her emerald eyes widened in shock when I touched her, despite we had sex a few times, at the church during the Rivers Foundations and today.

Shaving the long stubbles, the little curls on her, I kissed her belly and continuing on shaving. She hasn’t said a word or two since I took care of her, demonstrating the normalcy on what girls do and how they do it. I never gave this much hospitality as anyone until I met Eva.

Eva remained still, her face reddened each time I kissed a part of her.

As I rinsed her, the bubbles trailed onto her legs, I kissed her clit, sucking on it, circling with my warm tongue, watching her head threw back, her hair flowed like soft waterfall, drawing a quiet sigh.

Rose onto my feet, I kissed her everywhere—her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw, her neckline, her collarbone, her breasts, and finally, her lips.

Nibbling on her earlobe, I whispered, “My sweet angel.”

She felt safe, and everything was perfect.

***

We spent time cleaning together in the shower, long before it has gotten cold after I showed her the basics on how to do a proper self-care.

We took off and helped ourselves from getting sick.

Eva was blushing the entire time I was in the shower with her, and I patted her body and hair dry with a spare towel, giving her my spare clothes and sleep onto the bed beside me.

We spent hours making love, tangling our limbs and heat between the sheets, and kissing each other’s lips in fervent pace, and warmth of longing tenderness between us grew closer. Slowly but surely, Eva was opening herself up to me. I never wanted this bond, this time we shared, to end.

“What’s this mark on your forearm?” Eva asked in a lighter voice, scanning the bold, black ink, a Gothic font inked across the left side of my veiny forearm.

“This,” I started, lifting my inked arm up. “This is something to remind me when I’m at my lowest.”

“I couldn’t read it,” she shamefully said, tucking her face in the sheets.

Unable to figure the lettering marked on my forearm, seeing her pouted face.