Chapter 17: Baptism by Steam
The water was as hot as the pipes could manage, a near-scalding torrent that turned Jess’s skin a mottled pink. She’d scrubbed until her flesh burned, a cheap penance for the feel of a knife against a friend’s throat. The communal shower room was empty, steam coiling in the late afternoon gloom, the only sound the hiss of her showerhead and the ragged pull of her own breath.
She scoured the heel of her hand over a patch on her ribs, as if she could erase the memory of Ellie’s body slamming into the wall, the feel of her flannel shirt. The lather was thin, useless. The guilt was a stain in the marrow.
The curtain rings screeched on the rod.
Jess froze, her back to the intrusion, every muscle locking. Her hand instinctively reached for a knife that wasn’t there, hanging on a hook with her clothes. She was naked, vulnerable, armed only with a sliver of soap.
“It’s me,” Ellie’s voice cut through the steam, flat, leaving no room for argument.
Jess didn’t turn. She heard the rustle of clothes, the soft thud of boots, the click of a belt buckle. The water beat down on her bowed head. She kept scrubbing.
Then another body was in the shower with her, the space suddenly intimate and overwhelming. Ellie’s hands came up, not gently. They closed around Jess’s wrists, forcing them down, stopping the frantic, abrasive motion. Jess tried to wrench free, a reflex, but Ellie’s grip was iron.
“Stop it,” Ellie said, her mouth close to Jess’s ear, the words barely audible over the water.
“Let go.”
“No.”
Ellie turned her, shoving her back against the cold, wet tiles. The shock of the ceramic against her heated skin made Jess gasp. Then Ellie’s body was pressed against hers, pinning her, the heat of her a solid, shocking contrast. Water sluiced between them, rivulets finding the valleys of muscle, the swell of breasts.
Ellie’s eyes, dark and unreadable, searched her face. She didn’t look angry. She looked hungry. Determined. Her gaze dropped to the faint, red line the scrubbing had left on Jess’s collarbone, a self-inflicted echo of the mark on her own neck.
“You don’t get to erase yourself,” Ellie murmured. Then she kissed her.
It wasn’t soft. It was a claiming. Ellie’s mouth crashed against hers, tongue licking insistently past her lips, tasting steam and salt and despair. Jess stiffened, a protest dying in her throat as Ellie’s hands slid from her wrists to her hips, digging in, holding her firm against the tile. The kiss was a collision, messy and wet, all heat and pressure. Jess’s hands fluttered, trapped between their bodies, then she gripped Ellie’s slick shoulders, not pushing away, just holding on.
Ellie broke the kiss, panting, her forehead resting against Jess’s. Her thumbs stroked the sharp crests of Jess’s hip bones.
“Every fucking inch,” Ellie growled, her voice low and raw, “is mine to worship. Even the parts that scare you.”
Before Jess could process the words, Ellie’s mouth was on her shoulder, teeth scraping, then biting down hard. The pain was bright, clean, a lightning bolt that chased the ghosts from her nerves. Jess cried out, her back arching off the tile, pushing her breast harder against Ellie’s chest. Ellie soothed the bite with her tongue, then trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down Jess’s sternum.
She took Jess’s breast in her hand, squeezing roughly, her thumb circling a tight nipple before she ducked her head and took it into her mouth. The sensation was electric, a direct line to Jess’s core. She tangled a hand in Ellie’s damp hair, not guiding, just clinging, as Ellie sucked and laved, her other hand pinching and rolling the other nipple with a delicious, ruthless friction.
“Ellie—” Jess gasped, the name a broken thing.
Ellie looked up, water beading on her eyelashes. “You’re here. With me. You feel that?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hand slid down Jess’s trembling stomach, through coarse curls, and found her cunt. Jess jerked, a sob catching in her throat. Ellie’s fingers were relentless, parting her, stroking through her slickness, circling her clit with a pressure that was both brutal and perfect.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Ellie breathed against her throat, her fingers working Jess with a focused intensity. “Even now. Especially now.”
It was too much. The shame, the fear, the startling, overwhelming arousal coiling tight in her belly. Jess’s head thumped back against the tile. Her hips began to move of their own accord, rocking against Ellie’s hand, seeking more. The world narrowed to the spray of water, the smell of cheap soap and sex, the rough tile at her back, and Ellie’s clever, demanding fingers.
“That’s it,” Ellie coaxed, her voice rough with desire. “Don’t think. Just feel me.”
She pushed two fingers inside Jess in one firm stroke, curling them, finding a spot that made Jess see white behind her eyelids. Jess cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound that echoed off the tiles. Ellie fucked her with her fingers, a steady, punishing rhythm, her palm grinding against Jess’s clit with every thrust.
“You’re mine,” Ellie snarled, biting at Jess’s jawline. “This scared, fierce, fucked-up heart. This cunt clutching my fingers. All mine.”
The words, filthy and absolute, shattered the last of Jess’s resistance. The orgasm ripped through her, violent and seismic. She convulsed against Ellie, her cries muffled against Ellie’s shoulder as she rode the waves of pleasure that felt suspiciously like absolution.
Ellie held her through it, fingers still buried inside her, gently working her through the aftershocks until Jess went boneless against the wall. Slowly, Ellie withdrew her hand. She brought her glistening fingers to her own mouth, her eyes locked on Jess’s, and sucked them clean with a deliberate, obscene relish.
“Tastes like life,” Ellie said, her voice gone quiet.
She reached past Jess, turned off the shrieking water. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by their ragged breathing and the drip from the showerhead. Steam slowly began to clear.
Ellie leaned in, kissing Jess again, this time softly, a slow exploration that tasted of sweat and sex and something infinitely tender. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against Jess’s.
“You don’t scrub away what happened,” Ellie whispered. “You just learn to live with the skin you’re in. All of it.”
Jess, spent and shaking, could only nod. The compulsive need to scour herself raw was gone, replaced by a deep, trembling exhaustion. Ellie fetched a towel, wrapping it around Jess’s shoulders before grabbing one for herself. They dried off in silence, the air cooling on their flushed skin.
Dressed in fresh clothes, her hair dripping onto her shirt, Jess felt hollowed out and strangely light. Ellie picked up Jess’s knife from the hook, weighing it in her hand before offering it, handle-first, just as she had on the wall. Jess took it, the leather grip familiar, its weight a comfort and a reminder.
Ellie nodded toward the door. “Come on. I’m starving. And you still owe me for terrorizing the horses.”
As they stepped out into the cool evening air, the compound lights beginning to flicker on, Jess’s hand brushed against Ellie’s. A casual touch. This time, she didn’t flinch. She let her knuckles rest against Ellie’s for a full second before shoving her hands into her pockets, the ghost of the contact, and the worship, burning a new map onto her skin.