Chapter 51 - finally over.

Rosie

We’d been rolling around on the bed for what felt like hours just talking about everything and anything that came to mind with no direction. just enjoying being together wrapped in each other’s scent, savoring every single moment of this embrace, gentleness, and silent peaceful thrum after the intensity of the past seven days that felt like forever.

His rut had finally ceased. I could tell that his rut had ended because the golden glow in his eyes had completely faded back to warm amber, and his touch was tender and gentle; although it had been days since then, he was still inside me with his cock buried deep while I sat on his lap eating the food he had made earlier.

He didn’t want to let me go or didn’t want us to separate even for a moment.

As he purred softly against my skin, the vibration rumbling through his chest into my back while he continued nibbling and sucking on my neck with gentle affection as if he was savoring the taste of my skin. I tilted my head to give him better access while bringing another bite of food to my mouth, humming contentedly because this moment, right here, felt perfect.

By the seventh day his rut was finally completely over, and my body was sore and aching throughout—every muscle screaming in protest—but I loved this kind of pain; it was a sweet reminder of everything we’d shared. He carefully lifted me off his cock, and I winced at the soreness as he looked worried, but I smiled to reassure him before he carried me gently to the bathroom.

For the first time since the rut started, I actually looked at myself properly in the mirror, and I was shocked—completely shocked—at what I saw staring back at me.

My body was covered in marks everywhere I looked; there were bite marks and hickeys and bruises painting my skin in shades of purple, red, and pink. My neck had his claiming mark, and dozens of smaller bites were scattered across my shoulders and down between my breasts. My hips had fingerprint-shaped bruises from where he’d gripped me, and my thighs were covered in bites and scratches.

Fuck! I looked thoroughly claimed, thoroughly marked, and thoroughly his. But something about seeing all these marks on my skin made heat pool in my belly even though I was exhausted and sore.

Jude came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist and dropped his head down to rest on my shoulder, and I could see both of us in the mirror together, and the contrast between his unmarked skin and my covered-in-marks skin was stark, and I watched his eyes trace over every single mark with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered against my skin, and his voice was thick with guilt and regret. "I hurt you; I marked you up so badly—"

"I love it," I interrupted him firmly and turned my head to look at him directly in the mirror. "I love every single mark, Jude." I murmured.

I touched his hand where it rested on my stomach and sent a wave of reassurance, love, and pride through our bond (which I’ve learned how it works) so he could feel exactly how I felt about the marks and he could feel that I meant every word.

I turned around in his arms to face him properly and pointed to the hickey on his neck that I’d managed to give him and the scratch marks on his shoulders, and he smiled, looking pleased and proud that I’d marked him too, even if his marks on me were so much more visible.

He leaned down and flickered his finger gently against my nose, making me giggle, then he guided me over to the large tub that he’d already filled with warm water.

The water had some kind of healing herbal mixture in it that smelled earthy and soothing, while he’d lit scented candles around the edges, creating this soft intimate atmosphere. He sat me down gently in the water, and the warmth immediately soothed my aching muscles, making me sigh in relief, and he climbed in behind me, settling me back against his chest.

He began bathing me with such gentle care, washing every inch of my body so softly that I felt like a delicate damsel.

The warm water and his tender touch were such a contrast to the frenzied way he’d taken me during the rut, which made my chest ache with love for him. He took his time washing my arms, running the soft cloth down from my shoulders to my wrists, and then did the same with my legs, being extra gentle around the bruises and bite marks.

When he washed my breasts and stomach, his touch was reverent, almost worshipful, like he was wearing, worshiping, or memorizing my body, and I felt tears prick at my eyes because no one had ever treated me with such care before.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against my ear as his hands moved over my body, cleaning and soothing. "Every inch of you is perfect."

I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat, so I just leaned further back into his chest and let him take care of me.

His fingers traced over the marks he’d left gingerly as he cleaned them. He washed my hair next, gently massaging my scalp with strong fingers, and I leaned back into his touch while closing my eyes, just enjoying this tender, caring moment between us.

I washed his body, also running my hands over his chest and arms and back, feeling his muscles and the few marks I’d managed to leave on him, and it was sweet and intimate in a completely different way than the sex had been. I loved it, perhaps even more than the passionate intensity of our earlier encounter, because this moment was just about us taking care of each other.

And enjoying the moment.