Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“I can walk.”
“No, you can’t. Your feet are all cut up.”
She laid a hand on my pec. I had to get her clean. Stay focused. Mend her wounds.
Then, I could eat her pussy.
Thirty-Nine
Halo
Something had changed, and I was afraid to ask. He might change his mind. Bane’s hands were in my hair, shampooing it. He had lathered my body and taken extra care of my feet and scratched leg. I’d been turned on, emotional, and confused, watching him. I was still all of those things, but seeing his biceps bulge and flex as he massaged my head under the rain shower coming from the ceiling, the turned-on part was in the top spot.
I had been struggling with not looking at his penis. It was big. Like coming-out-of-the-top-of-his-boxers big. But his biceps were helping with that.
“Close your eyes and lean your head back,” he told me.
As much as I didn’t want to miss the view, I obeyed. I wasn’t sure there was a woman alive who wouldn’t.
“Conditioner now,” he said.
I’d given up telling him I could do it myself. I had tried that when he started to wash my body, and he’d said no in a commanding tone that shut me up.
“You’re gonna smell like me after this. I’ll move your strawberry-scented stuff in here tomorrow.”
I didn’t mind smelling like him. I wanted to smell like him. Wait. Why was he moving my things to his shower?
I opened my eyes and stared at him. His focus was completely on my hair as he ran his fingers through it, working out any tangles.
“Bane.”
“Yeah?”
“You said you were going to move my stuff in here tomorrow.”
“I am,” he replied.
His gaze dropped to mine. For a man who was so focused on my hair, the heat in his eyes sent tingles zinging through me.
“Do you have a problem with that?” he asked.
“I’m not sure what is happening.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m currently conditioning your hair.”
I smiled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Close your eyes. Head back,” he said instead.
When I did as instructed, he stepped closer, and the water from the handle-held sprayer began to rinse my hair. My breasts brushed against his chest, and I sucked in a shaky breath.
“I’m giving in, Halo.” His voice turned thick. “I fought it, wanting you. You weren’t mine. You were my brother’s. I shouldn’t want you. But I did. I do. And I tried real hard to hate you. It didn’t work. You make it impossible for anyone to hate you, sweet girl. I want to take care of you. I want you in my bed. I just want you.”
He put the sprayer up and then reached to turn off the water. His eyes met mine before he stepped out of the shower and picked up a towel.
Water dripped from my eyelashes as I stood there, trying to blink them away as I stared at him. He wanted me. I wasn’t making this up in my imagination or reading the signals wrong. He had said it. That he wanted me.
He held his hand out to me, and I took it, walking to him. He wrapped the plush, huge towel around my body, then reached to get another one, which he used to dry my hair, squeezing the water from it. I stared at our reflection in the mirror. His beautifully sculpted body behind me. Dark, wet locks of his hair with water droplets fell from them and rolled down his body, making me want to run my hands through it.
His eyes met mine in the mirror as he lowered his head and kissed my temple, never breaking our gaze. “Let me get dried off, and I’ll take care of your cuts.” There was a husky timbre to his voice.
“I think they’re fine,” I told him.
He pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder. “A few need antibiotic cream and bandages.”
Using the towel that he’d dried my hair with, he began to do the same to his, then moved it down his body as I watched, completely transfixed. When he got to his soaked boxers, he pushed them down, and I held my breath as his erection came into view.
He finished drying himself. I didn’t move. He had all my attention. I might have made a sound of protest when he wrapped the towel around his waist.
“I can’t stay focused with you looking at my cock, pretty girl. And your wounds come first.”
He picked me up again, then placed me on the long black marble countertop. His forehead touched mine, and he inhaled, saying nothing, then walked over to open a cabinet, where he took out first aid supplies. He took my scratched leg and placed my ankle on his shoulder while he gently applied cream to the cut, then used a couple of larger Band-Aids to cover it.
“Tell me why you walked off into the woods,” he said, taking my ankle down and covering the deepest wounds with the cream.