Page 39 of Unnatural (Men and Monsters #2)

She opened the door quietly, slipping in and taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. What are you doing, Autumn? Only she knew very well what she was doing, and though she was anxious, beneath that beat the wings of a long-caged bird who knew it was about to fly.

Somehow, someway, this moment had been building for many years. She’d carried her boy made of moonlight in her heart all this time, the driving force that kept her searching, kept her looking for answers even when they seemed impossible to attain.

And he’d carried her with him as well.

Two virtual strangers who were anything but, living separate lives, each possessing a piece of the other.

She didn’t completely comprehend what he’d endured, and she had a feeling he was glossing over the worst of it or maybe even leaving it out.

All she knew was that his body was a map of scars, he cringed away from human touch, and he’d been taught to deny himself even the most basic of creature comforts.

Like hot water.

The shower curtain was closed, the bathroom very small, but no steam filled the air. He was standing under a frigid spray because someone had made sure he was used to it. Or worse, someone had made him believe the momentary comfort of a hot shower was a luxury he shouldn’t allow himself.

He’s only ever known discomfort, pain. Maybe even brutality, though I wonder if he’d classify it that way. I wonder if he even realizes the extent to which he’s suffered.

If I want him to know gentleness, I’m going to have to teach him.

It was suddenly very clear. He’d saved her once, and she’d saved him right back, but there were more ways for a human being to be saved, and she sensed he needed several.

She shrugged out of the robe she’d put on, goose bumps erupting on her skin, nipples pebbling. In this back room, away from the warmth of the fire, the air was chilly.

She said his name softly, pulling the curtain open slowly, the metal rings grating on the curtain rod.

Sam turned, wiping water from his eyes, rivulets streaming down his skin. Oh. Her eyes did a quick sweep of his naked body, her mouth going dry. He had waterproof bandages just over his stitches, but other than those small, covered areas, she could see every glorious inch of him.

Oh, good Lord, he was sublime.

Amazing.

A wounded god. An immortal superhero. Part man, part monster, or so he thought. But what a glorious monster he was.

His brutal beauty was staggering, yet at the same time, she almost wanted to laugh at the comical sight of such a large man in such a small shower.

Still, she was planning on joining him.

“Autumn?”

Those nerves fluttered wildly in her stomach. Nervous. Excited. Certain.

She met his eyes, turned the faucet to warm, and then stepped behind him into the stall. It appeared he’d stopped breathing for a moment when a large gust released, his eyes widening as he took the smallest—and only one he could—step back, making room for her. “Autumn.”

“Sam.”

“What are you doing?”

“Joining you.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

The water had heated, steam beginning to swirl around them.

His lips parted—those beautiful soft lips—and though no words emerged, he nodded, blinking. She saw his strong throat move as he swallowed and sensed his nervousness. And his excitement at her nearness.

His expression gave him away, his body gave him away, and he sucked in a breath when his erection grazed her hip. She didn’t dare look down. If she did, she’d lose all nerve completely.

This was for him. But it was more about making him feel comfortable with her touch, and oh, she hoped it was about helping him realize he deserved pleasure. No matter how small.

“If you think you need to thank me for the journal—”

Her surprised laugh interrupted him. Oh, Sam. “No. I’m grateful for the journal. Moved beyond words. But…no, I’m not in the habit of getting naked to thank anyone for anything.”

“Oh.” He searched her face. “That’s a good…rule of thumb. I’m glad to hear that.”

She almost laughed again because he was so damned adorable, and he had no idea whatsoever.

“Turn around,” she commanded.

He did—slowly—though he glanced furtively over one wide shoulder like he preferred to keep an eye on her to know what was coming.

She smiled. “I’ll tell you before I touch you.”

He turned all the way around then, his head dropping forward as he put a palm on the wall.

She thought he murmured her name again but if he did, it was a bare whisper above the spray of the water.

Numerous scars marred the skin of his back, ones she hadn’t yet seen.

Muscles upon muscles, sleek yet scarred.

He leaned forward, ducking enough to put his head under the stream.

A small moan escaped him, and the sound reverberated through Autumn.

“How does that feel?” she asked.

“Good,” he answered. “Very good.”

“Cold showers are for the birds,” she said, and his answering laugh sounded pained.

She reached forward and turned the faucet just a hair so that the water was even warmer, just bordering on hot.

“I’d like to give you your first hot shower experience in the hope that you never again choose differently.

” To Autumn, the moment seemed dreamy, almost unreal.

In a way, it felt like the forest where she’d once run from him, only minus the fear.

There was none of that here, and she wasn’t running from him now. Quite the opposite.

For Sam, however, she sensed that half of him wanted to escape. This shower. This moment. And she’d let him go if he decided it was too much. But she desperately hoped he wouldn’t.

“Can I touch you, Sam?”

He made a grunting noise that sounded pained, and she saw his body tense, but again he nodded.

Autumn soaped up a washcloth hanging on the bar behind her and brought it to his skin.

He let out another soft moan—a sound that was both pleasure and pain—as she ran it over his scarred back.

They were more surgical scars, and she wondered what metal had been inserted beneath this skin.

It made her want to weep to know not just the depth of pain he’d experienced but the scope.

How many years did he spend recovering from one surgery or another?

She’d been sick for fourteen years of her life, but she hadn’t been sliced into repeatedly.

What had he done to survive? In what ways had he disassociated from his own skin?

Because he’d have to, right? Tenderness engulfed her as thoroughly as the steam swirling around her limbs and penetrating her pores.

She wanted to make things better for him in any way she could.

She cupped her hand and filled it with water and then trickled that over his back, rinsing the soap. “Okay?” she asked softly.

“Yes, okay,” he said, the tortured tone receding slightly.

Her lips tipped. She’d take it.

“I’m going to touch your backside now, Sam,” she said, and even she could hear the throaty desire in her voice.

She found his form, his size, incredibly sexy.

And his ass. Jeez. She’d thought it was nice clothed.

But naked…it was a work of art. If she were a sculptor, she’d have sculpted his ass and taken it everywhere she went.

Which would be very odd and creepy, but she might not care.

She pressed her lips together to stifle her own nervous laughter.

She brought the soapy cloth to the muscled globes. He let out a small gasp, lowering his head farther. He was still hard, she was sure of it, though she couldn’t see from where she stood. She imagined it though, and a surge of moisture pooled between her thighs.

“Is that okay?” she asked again.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, please don’t…don’t stop.”

There we go. She felt a sense of deep compassion but also one of victory.

He was letting his guard down, and she understood his struggle.

She did not take it for granted. She dropped the cloth, using her hands this time to soap up his skin, her fingers feathering over his back, down over that beautiful backside again, and then again, her index finger running along the puckered surgical lines.

Whoever had stitched him up hadn’t cared that he would scar.

No plastic surgeon had tended to these wounds.

It was as though he’d been to war and been operated on in some foreign battlefield.

Yet she knew that wasn’t the case.

“Dr. Heathrow said anything more than temporary desire was weakness,” Sam said, the string of words surprising her.

Dr. Heathrow. She’d only had brief interactions with the man. He preferred to be in his lab. In the building where Sam lived. But to this day, when she thought of Dr. Heathrow, she got a bad taste in her mouth.

“Desire isn’t weakness, Sam,” she said, leaning forward and kissing his skin. He shuddered, and it ended in a sigh. “Yearning is human. And you’re human.”

He paused for a moment as she splayed her hands over his skin, moving up, down, up, down. He seemed to have relaxed, the tension from his muscles drained. He seemed to have become used to her hands on his skin. He was trusting her.

“I still don’t know if that’s true,” he said.

Oh, Sam. It hurt her to know he struggled so profoundly with his own humanity. He’d mentioned it more than once, and it brought her such deep sadness.

“I know it’s true, Sam. And I also know that you, as much as anyone, deserve what every human wants: love. You want to be loved, don’t you, Sam?”

He was quiet for several minutes as she soaped his shoulders and his arms. She liked that he was obviously thinking while her hands were on him.

It meant that he had let down his guard enough not to be hyperfocused on the sensations she was causing.

It meant he might actually enjoy it one of these days. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

“Why don’t you know?”

“I don’t think there’s anything about me that’s lovable.”

Her hands stilled. Her heart cracked. And though they were both naked, in what felt like a warm, intimate cocoon, the tenderness she felt for this terribly wounded man suddenly eclipsed her desire. “Does that feel true, Sam?” she said, leaning forward and kissing his back.

“I don’t know. All I know is that if desire is weakness, then I’m weak. My desire for you goes on and on. It has no end,” he finished quietly.

Oh.

She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder. “Sam,” she said.

He turned around slowly in the small space, and she gazed upon his unguarded expression. Beautiful. Raw. A gift he’d given her. She raised her fingertips and ran one along his bottom lip. He let out a pained sigh. She wanted so badly for him to kiss her.

“And yet,” he said, his voice raspy, “it can’t matter. I can’t let it. And you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t?”

“You shouldn’t.”

He reached behind him, turned off the shower, and pulled back the curtain, stepping from the small space that had felt like a sanctuary for a brief moment.

He picked up a towel and attempted to wrap it around his waist to the same result as before while also clearly struggling to keep his eyes averted from her body.

After a moment, he gave up on the towel and started walking from the bathroom nude.

Despite the situation, she suppressed a smile. She was tempted to feel rejected, but she also had a feeling Sam had rarely, if ever, let anyone as close to him as he had just done, had never allowed his heart to show in his eyes the way he had earlier. So she decided to feel lucky instead.

Autumn stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel.

When Sam got to the door, he turned halfway. “Do you still want to make a cake?”

“Damn straight I do.”

She saw the corner of his lip twitch before he walked out of the room.

As she wrapped the towel around her body, she decided to take heart.

He’d allowed her to touch him, and he hadn’t flinched away.

He desired her. Clearly. And he wanted to experience closeness, she could tell he did.

He just had no idea how to let another person in, even though desire usually made that part easy.

Nothing was easy about Sam.

But Autumn cared about him.

She desired him too.

And she’d always liked a good challenge.

“Watch out, moonlight boy,” she murmured under her breath. Because my desire for you goes on and on as well.