I glided the sponge across the broad expanse, reaching to get his shoulders. I followed a long scar from the right one as it crossed his spine. Other marks on his sides, arms, and back told the story of a violent life.
“This isn’t your first brush with a knife,” I guessed and ran my thumb over some raised, pink skin under one shoulder blade. “Is this from a bullet?”
“I told you—I’ve been knocked off my feet before.”
I’d read a piece in the newspaper years ago about the infamous, anonymous leader of the Calavera cartel. It’d claimed he’d taken more bullets than drugs in his life. I moved around to Cristiano’s front, fascinated by each clue to his past. “What happened?”
“Many things,” he said. “I’ll tell you one day if you like, but the long scar on my back is the only one with any significance. It started it all—my father’s belt.”
I froze, raising just my eyes to his. I wished hearing that surprised me more, but it was no secret his father had been abusive. Diego had talked about it now and then, but he’d played it down. Was that because he’d been mostly spared? Had his older brother borne the brunt of it to protect him? Weeks ago, I would’ve never come to that conclusion, but I was beginning to know Cristiano as that kind of man. One who’d shoulder as much as he could to protect others.
“I hate your father,” I said. “And I’m sorry he did that.”
“I’ve come to terms with it, and I’ve worked through my issues with him,” Cristiano said. With effort, he raised a hand and leaned against the tile. “I was rarely surprised by how far he’d go. Diego, on the other hand—I never saw his betrayal coming.”
Diego and Cristiano were each other’s only remaining immediate family, so back then, of course they’d been close. I could see things more clearly from Cristiano’s perspective now, though. Diego had turned on his brother, accusing Cristiano of a brutal crime that could’ve gotten him killed.
I eyed another bullet wound above his left pec. “You’ve been through so much I don’t even know about.”
“It made me who I am,” he said. “The rest of these scars, they’re barely worth talking about, Natalia, so don’t worry about them. The same will be true of my new wounds once they heal. We move forward stronger. ¿Entiendes?”
“I understand.” I moved on to washing his wounds, ensuring they were thoroughly clean—and trying not to fixate on the fact that we were physically very close, and stark naked, and for once, I wasn’t scared, anxious, or nervous.
As I silently soaped him, his cock twitched. Once, that would’ve scared me. Now, it reminded me of our last night together before all of this. Upstairs at his nightclub, La Madrina, as I’d advised him to go after what he sought, unaware of the trouble it would bring. And then, as I’d gotten to my knees to comfort him . . .
I turned away as a flush worked its way up my chest and exchanged the sponge for his shampoo. Any movement was an effort for him, but there was no way he’d be able to get his arms above his head. I’d need a damn step stool to even reach his hair, though.
I squirted some shampoo into my palm, went to the opposite end of the shower, and climbed up onto the bench to stand over him. When he just stared at me, I said, “¿Entonces? Well?” I raised an eyebrow. “Come here.”
I could’ve sworn he chuckled as he walked toward me. I sank my hands into his hair. There seemed to be even more of it when it was wet—abundantly silky and inky in my hands.
He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to my stomach as I lathered. He scraped the sensitive spot between my breasts with his stubble, and I bit my lip to keep a moan inside. That would only encourage him, and his control had proven slippery. We had to be good, so I had to be the strong one.
He slid his hands up the outsides of my thighs and rested them on my hips, his fingers splaying over my ass cheeks. “Natalia,” he murmured. “Te extraño.”
I miss you. I was right here, and yet I understood. Between everyone fussing over him the past three days, and Tasha and Alejandro monopolizing his time, plus everything I’d been doing to keep the household running, we hadn’t been truly alone since he’d woken up. His drugs knocked him out at night, and I slept on the couch to give him space.
My heart beat in my stomach. Maybe I wasn’t only worried about Cristiano’s control. Stripped bare, with his massive hands on me, and my resistance to him no longer holding me back . . . desire pulled in my depths in a way it hadn’t since before he’d left. I’d fought him for so long. I didn’t need to anymore. I didn’t want to.