Dane's POV:
The silence isn't just a lack of sound, it's a physical weight, thick and deafening, pressing against my eardrums until they throb.
We stand there, the only noise the ragged, uneven hitch of our breathing. My skin is still buzzing from the contact in the bathroom.
I can still feel the ghost of the water on my palms, the way her skin felt beneath my fingers as I washed her—the way the water turned a pale, sickly pink as I scrubbed the trauma away.
Her shoulder looks better now, the angry inflammation settling into a dull, bruised ache that I want to kiss until it disappears. I reach for the towel. It's heavy, fluffy, and white, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night.I drape it over her trembling shoulders, my knuckles grazing the damp, heated skin of her neck for a fraction of a second too long. I feel her shiver beneath my touch — a small, violent tremor that travels up my arm and settles deep in my chest.
She doesn't say a word.
