Renee

I put my feet up on our oak coffee table and took a sip of the whiskey in my glass, my eyes trained on the blank TV in front of me. An exhaustion that I couldn't shake pulled at me, but I forced my eyes to stay open and alert. I was the only one home, with Matt currently at the station and Aaron probably at his studio. Jake was working but would be home soon. For now, all I could fathom doing was pulling myself together and trying to figure out where to go from here. Matt had been calling and texting every couple of hours, but I couldn't answer him. The wound was still too raw, and speaking to him about it felt like it would only worsen. Honestly, I didn't know what to do.

So I did nothing at all.

I finished off the booze in my glass then went to the kitchen for some more. It was a hard liquor kind of night; wine just wouldn't cut it. As I was about to settle myself back onto the couch, the front door opened and Jake came in, closing the door softly behind him before pausing right inside the entrance of the doorway as his eyes caught mine. They were bloodshot and red as if he'd been crying, and before I could ask him what had happened, he pressed himself against the closed door and slid down the wall onto the floor, cradling his head in his hands.

"Jake," I said, alarmed. "Baby, what's wrong? What is it?" I set my glass down on the coffee table and rushed towards him, terror clinging to me as I dropped to my knees in front of him and took his face between my fingers, forcing him to look at me. Blood splattered his face and clothes, and my heart jumped with panic. "Baby," I pleaded. "Talk to me. Please. What's going on?"

He didn't answer, only continued to stare at the floor, but a moment later his body began to shake with sobs. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed, holding him, whispering in his ear. The hysteria building inside me threatened to explode, but I held myself together for him, too frightened to let go as Jake cried, tears falling down his face, a face I had almost never seen cry in all the time I'd known and loved him.

"Are you hurt?" I demanded, pulling back a little to run my hands over his chest, checking for some sort of injury to account for the blood. "Whose blood is this? Is it yours? Are you okay? Should I call 911?" The questions poured from my mouth in a string of anguish. I started to stand up to reach for my phone, but Jake caught my hand and pulled me down again, shaking his head as he raised his eyes to mine.

"It's not my blood," he said, and despite the circumstances, relief swept through me. But then—

"Matt? Aaron? Are they okay?"

"It's the blood of a hostage," Jake said. "A little girl that I couldn't save."

My heart constricted painfully, and I settled back down next to him, holding him again as Jake took a few deep breaths to compose himself. He never lost a hostage—never. And to think that the one he lost today was an innocent, pure child—no wonder he was a mess.

"God," I murmured. "I am so sorry, Jake. So, so sorry."

He pulled me against him, the damp tears on his face caressing my cheek. I held him and rocked until the sniffles subsided, and when he lifted his chin to look again at me, I stood and pulled him to his feet, never wavering from his touch.

"Let's get you in the shower," I whispered. "The hot water will help."

Silently, Jake walked with me up the stairs and into my bedroom, where I went straight to the master bath to crank on the water. When I came back into the bedroom, he was sitting on the bed, a vacant look in his eyes.

"Come on, baby," I said softly, then kneeled down to untie his shoelaces before taking them off. Little by little I undressed him, pulling him to his feet to pull his pants and briefs off. He allowed me to lead him to the bathroom where the warm water was already fogging up the mirror, and as Jake stepped into the shower under the pouring water, I stripped my own clothes off and stepped in after him, laying my head against his chest. For a moment, we stood there holding each other, allowing the gentle stream of the steaming water to caress our skin. I reached for the body wash and dumped some into my hands before lathering it up between my palms. Then, I began to gently clean him, my hands running up and down his body, washing the blood and grime of the day away. As I raised my eyes up to meet his, Jake kissed me, gently at first and then with more force, more unbridled passion. A moan slipped from between my lips as Jake's free hand slipped down beneath my waist, his fingers teasing my entrance.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing his naked body against mine. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you, too." I pressed my forehead against his, parting my legs slightly as his finger slipped into my pussy, and then out again, teasing me, firing me up. Jake kissed me, his tongue exploring my mouth, teeth pulling my bottom lip in as he nibbled on it, taunting me with white-hot passion. My hips moved up, begging for him, and before I could react he'd lifted me off the floor and pressed my back into the wall of the shower. I wrapped my legs around his hips as he entered me with a satisfied moan, tangling one of his hands in my hair as he kissed my neck, sucking on the sensitive skin as he pulled out and then thrust back into me. His muscles were tight, his body like chiseled marble as he fucked me against the wall. Water poured down around us and I gasped each time he thrust into me, filling me.

"God," I moaned. "Don't stop, baby. Don't stop."

Jake pressed his mouth against mine, silencing me as his thrusts grew faster, and harder. My hands went automatically to his back, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of him as I cried out with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Jake didn't stop, he only went faster, pinning my body against the wall with his, his cock ravaging me until I could do little more than a whimper.

As Jake's body pulsed in orgasm, I tightened my legs around him, feeling his cock throb inside of me. I was sore but satisfied, and Jake leaned his head against my shoulder as he composed himself, body heaving with deep breaths.

"I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment. I shook my head, running a hand through his wet hair, relishing in the fuck we'd just shared.

"Never be sorry," I murmured. "You did nothing wrong."