REINA
The bedroom still slled like us, sweat, sex, lavender from the bath oil he’d poured earlier. My body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together wrong in the best way: heavy limbs, tender skin, a deep, pulsing soreness between my legs that throbbed every ti I shifted. I couldn’t feel my pussy properly anymore, just a warm, swollen ache that reminded of every thrust, every ti he’d filled until I sobbed.
Donico noticed the way I winced when he finally pulled out.
He didn’t say anything. He just scooped up, arms under my thighs, chest to my back, and carried into the bathroom like I was sothing fragile he refused to drop.
The tub was already running, steam curling up from the water, jets humming softly. He’d started it soti between round three and round whatever number we’d lost count at. The air slled clean, herbal, like eucalyptus and sothing faintly sweet. He stepped down into the water without hesitation, lowering us both until the heat swallowed to the shoulders.
I hissed at first, the sting against raw skin, but then the warmth sank in, loosening every knot, soothing the burn. My muscles lted. I sighed, long and shaky, and let my head fall back against his chest.
He settled behind , legs bracketing mine, arms coming around my waist. One hand rested low on my stomach; the other slid up between my breasts, palm flat over my heart like he was checking it was still beating.
For a long minute we just breathed. The jets bubbled gently. Water lapped at the edges. His heartbeat thumped steady against my spine.
Then his hands started moving.
Not sexual. Not demanding.
Just caring.
He poured more oil into his palms, warm now from the water, and began at my shoulders. Thumbs pressed into the tight muscles there, working slow, deep circles until I felt the knots give way. I lted further against him, a soft moan slipping out that had nothing to do with sex.
"Too much?" he asked quietly.
"No," I whispered. "Perfect."
He kissed the back of my neck, soft, barely there, then moved down my arms, kneading my biceps, my forearms, even my hands. He took each finger between his thumbs and forefingers, rubbing gently, like he was morizing every small bone. When he reached my wrists he turned them over, kissed the pulse points, then went back to my shoulders.
His hands slid to my back next, palms flat, gliding up and down my spine, thumbs digging into the small of my back where I always carried tension. Every press sent little waves of relief through . I sighed again, deeper this ti, and felt my eyes drift closed.
He worked silently, patiently. No rush. No agenda. Just him taking care of .
After a while I turned my head, nuzzled into the crook of his neck.
"Join properly," I murmured. "Don’t just sit behind ."
He chuckled, low and warm, and shifted so he was beside , pulling into his lap instead. Water sloshed. Bubbles foad around us. I straddled his thighs, chest to chest, arms looping around his neck.
We played then, slow, silly, gentle.
I splashed him lightly. He laughed, real and unguarded, and splashed back, just enough to make squeal. I leaned in and kissed the water droplets off his collarbone. He caught my chin, kissed slow and lazy, tongue tracing my lower lip like he was savoring the taste of mixed with bathwater.
His hands road, gentle now, massaging my lower back, my hips, the tops of my thighs. Every touch was careful, mindful of how sore I was. He kissed my shoulders, soft and open mouthed, then the curve of my neck, the spot behind my ear that always made shiver.
"You okay?" he asked again, voice soft against my skin.
I nodded, leaning heavier into his chest. "More than okay."
I rested my cheek over his heart. Listened to the steady thump thump thump. It was louder than the jets, louder than the city outside. It felt safe. Solid. Like the only thing in the world that wasn’t going to disappear.
He tilted my chin up slightly, studying my face as if he were searching for cracks. His thumb brushed under my eye. "You look tired," he murmured.
"I am," I admitted. "But it’s a good tired."
A corner of his mouth lifted. He pressed his forehead to mine. For a mont we just stayed like that, breathing the sa air, our noses brushing every ti I inhaled.
I realized how rare this was. Not the sex. Not the heat or the hunger or the way he could take apart with a single look. This. The quiet. The way his hands moved without claiming, without demanding. The way his body curved around mine like protection instead of possession.
His fingers drifted down my spine again, slower this ti, tracing lazy patterns over my skin. "You pushed yourself," he said softly.
"So did you."
He huffed a small laugh. "I can handle it."
"So can I."
His gaze sharpened at that, sothing dark flickering there, but it faded just as quickly. He brushed a strand of damp hair away from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. The gesture felt strangely intimate, almost shy.
We stayed like that, water cooling slowly around us, bubbles popping, his arms loose but secure around .
I traced the scar on his left pec with my fingertip, the one he’d gotten in so fight years ago, the story he never told . The skin there was slightly raised, rough under my nail. I followed it down, then back up, mapping its shape. He didn’t stop .
My mind wandered to the pieces of him I did not know. The parts he kept locked behind that steady, controlled gaze. I knew his body. I knew the sound he made when he was close, the way his grip tightened when he lost control. But there were shadows in him I had only glimpsed.
"Does it still hurt?" I asked quietly, brushing the scar again.
"Sotis," he said. "When it rains."
I smiled faintly. "Dramatic."
"It was a dramatic night."
I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. His jaw tightened slightly, the only sign that the mory had weight. I felt it then, the thin wall between us. The softness of this mont pressing up against sothing harder underneath.
I swallowed. My fingers slowed over his chest.
Then I spoke, voice barely above a whisper. I spoke without thinking.
"Tell about them." I whispered, my heart threatening to beat out of my ribcage. "Your previous wives... babies mamas... Tell about them."
Donico went still. He fucking went still.
His heartbeat gave one hard, loud thud against my ear, sharp, startled, like the question had punched straight through his ribs.
I didn’t look up. I just kept tracing that scar, waiting.
He exhaled, slow, heavy.
Then he kissed the top of my head. There was hesitation in the way he sighed, then his body trembled slightly.
"Okay," he said quietly.
But he didn’t say anything else.
Not yet.
The water kept lapping. His arms tightened around just a fraction.
And his heart kept beating, strong, unsteady now, right under my cheek.
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