SASHA’S POV
I stood there, staring at him as the water cascaded down from the showerhead above us. Sebastian’s shirt was soaked, clinging to his broad frame, while blood smeared his hands and splattered along his collar.
My heart hammered against my chest as a mix of emotions, anger, fear, and undeniable longing fought for control inside me.
“Sebastian,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I reached for him. “You’re hurt.”
He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It’s not my blood, Sasha.” His deep voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the storm he was holding back.
I didn’t care whose blood it was. All I cared about was the man standing in front of me, the man who looked so broken yet so invincible. Without another word, I stepped closer, gripping the hem of his shirt.
“Take this off,” I murmured, tugging gently but with purpose.
His eyes locked on mine, dark and smouldering, as if trying to decipher my next move. But he didn’t resist. Slowly, he lifted his arms, allowing me to peel the wet fabric from his body and toss it to the floor.
The sight of him took my breath away, as it always did. Every scar, every muscle, every inch of him told a story I hadn’t fully uncovered yet.
“Your pants,” I whispered, my hands already unfastening his belt before he could object. He caught my wrist, his grip firm but gentle.
“Sasha,” he said, his voice rough, “you don’t have to do this.”
I looked up at him, determination blazing in my chest. “Yes, I do. Let me take care of you, Sebastian. Please.”
His grip loosened, and he let out a shaky breath, nodding. I finished unbuckling his belt and pushed his pants down, leaving him standing in nothing but his boxer briefs.
The faint streaks of blood on his skin contrasted with the water streaming down his body, creating a hauntingly beautiful image I couldn’t look away from.
I felt his eyes on me as I stepped back and began pulling my own clothes off. First my blouse, then my jeans. My fingers trembled slightly as I unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor, followed by my panties.
Sebastian’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as his eyes roamed over me. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, almost as if the words escaped him.
Ignoring the flush that crept up my neck, I took his hand and pulled him under the warm spray of the shower with me.
The water washed over us, carrying away the grime and blood, but it couldn’t erase the tension thrumming between us.
I grabbed a bar of soap from the ledge and lathered it in my hands before running them over his chest.
His muscles tensed beneath my touch, and I felt the sharp intake of his breath. “Relax,” I murmured, my voice softer now.
His hands came to rest on my hips, his touch both possessive and gentle. “Sasha,” he said again, this time more like a plea.
I ignored him, focusing instead on cleaning him, on erasing every trace of the night’s violence.
My hands moved over his shoulders, down his arms, across his abdomen. Each stroke was intentional, a silent promise that I was here for him, that he wasn’t alone.
When I reached his hands, I paused, holding them under the water and watching as the blood swirled down the drain.
His fingers flexed in mine, and I looked up to find him staring at me with an intensity that stole my breath.
“Why do you care so much?” he asked, his voice low and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.
“Because I love you,” I said simply. “And because I can’t stand to see you like this.”
Something in his expression shifted, and before I could say another word, he pulled me against him, his lips crashing down on mine.
The kiss was desperate, wild, and consuming, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken emotion into it.
I responded in kind, my hands tangling in his wet hair as I pressed my body against his. The water cascaded around us, creating a cocoon of heat and steam that blurred the world outside.
Sebastian’s hands roamed over my back, pulling me even closer until there was no space left between us.
I gasped against his mouth as he lifted me effortlessly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled, his voice a mix of restraint and hunger.
“Don’t you dare,” I shot back, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him back to me.
He groaned, his lips trailing down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I clung to him as he pressed me against the cool tile wall, the contrast sending a shiver down my spine.
His hands gripped my thighs, holding me firmly in place as he claimed me with a ferocity that left me breathless.
“Sebastian,” I whispered, my voice trembling with need.
“Say it again,” he demanded, his lips brushing against my collarbone.
“Sebastian,” I repeated, louder this time, my hands clawing at his back.
He growled in response, capturing my lips again in a kiss that was both possessive and tender. The world outside the shower ceased to exist as we lost ourselves in each other.
By the time we stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, my body was trembling from the intensity of it all. But Sebastian wasn’t done.
He laid me down on the bed, his eyes burning with a mix of love and desire. “I need all of you, Sasha,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Every part of you.”
“You already have me,” I whispered, reaching up to pull him down to me.
What followed was a night of pure, unfiltered passion, a merging of bodies and souls that left no room for doubt or fear.
Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a reminder of the connection we shared, a bond that couldn’t be broken no matter what tried to come between us.
And as we lay tangled together afterward, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the room, I realised something profound: Sebastian wasn’t just my husband. He was my home, my safe place, my everything.