A Worthy Opponent (Wicked Villains 3)

I narrow my eyes. “You’re just looking for a hand job.”

“Maybe I’m just looking for you.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I back into the bathroom before my mouth can betray me yet again. Then I stand there, feeling out of sorts, while Hook works his truly impressive shower. It’s got six shower heads—two on each side and two overhead. He leaves the overhead ones off but turns the others on. Standing in there will be a bit like standing in a really sexy car wash. I can get on board with that.

I reach for my sweatshirt, but he gets there first. “Let me.”

“I’m twenty-five. I’ve been dressing and undressing myself for a very long time.”

“And yet I’ve only been dressing and undressing you for a few hours.” For all that, it doesn’t take him long to get me naked. When I agreed to this, I expected down and dirty fucking. I didn’t expect the gentleness and … care. I don’t know what to do with the latter. It’s not within my frame of reference. Aftercare is one thing. I know how to handle that. This is something else.

He nudges me into the shower, and I let him, still muddling over why this feels so damn different. It’s not until he’s pouring my shampoo into his hand that it registers. I jump back, nearly slipping on the wet tile. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He sounds so mild, it makes me feel like I’m overreacting.

I know I’m not overreacting. “You’re trying to tame me.”

His eyebrows damn near disappear into his hairline. “You’re not a horse.”

“No shit, I’m not a horse. You can’t just fuck me and take care of me and expect me to fall all over myself to please you.”

Just like that, his expression crinkles, and he loses it. His laugh booms through the space, bouncing off the tiled walls. “You have some funny ideas about the ownership of a horse.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Yes, beautiful girl. I know what you mean.” He steps to me, and I freeze, but the only place he touches me is my hair, gathering it carefully in his big hands and massaging the shampoo into it. “I’m not taming you. I’m taking care of you.”

“I know aftercare. This isn’t it.”

“Isn’t it?” He tilts my head back to rinse my hair, his expression contemplative. “Call it what you want. I like to do it, so I will. That’s reason enough for me.”

I might strangle this man. I truly might. “You don’t get to just decide that you want to do something and then do it. That’s not how the world works.”

“That’s exactly how the world works for the powerful. You know it as well as I do.” He studies the bottles I stashed in the shower earlier. “Conditioner?”

“I can—” I sigh when he ignores me and repeats the same process he did with the shampoo. “I don’t want this.”

“Then use your safe word.” He takes longer with the conditioner, working it through my wet hair until all the tangles are smoothed out.

I realize I closed my eyes without intending to and open them. “That’s for scening.”

“Wrong. That’s for us.” He’s silent as he rinses my hair. “I like my lines blurred, Tink. All except for that one.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “So, what, you want me to submit all the time? We already talked about this, and you damn well know that’s not what I signed up for.”

“I want you to communicate.” He contemplates me for a moment and then steps back to begin his own washing process. I try to tell myself that the sinking feeling in my chest isn’t disappointment. I watch his muscles bunch and move as he soaps his hair and beard. He ducks under the spray and drags his hand over his face when he’s rinsed. “Since you’re incapable of talking without biting and snarling, your safe word is the only no I’ll listen to.”

“Get ready to hear it a lot.”

He grins, and I hate that my stomach gives a happy little jump at the mirth on his face. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

We finish showering in silence. By the time we dry off and brush our teeth, I’m so tired, I don’t have the energy to fight him when he pulls me into his massive bed and tucks his big body against my side.

I stare up at the stars visible through the thick panes of glass overhead and listen to Hook’s breathing even out. His arm is heavy across my waist, but for once, I don’t mind.

There’s one lie I never let myself believe; the lie where I tell myself that I’m finally safe. I’m not. I’ve never been safe. Not in foster care, no matter how seemingly kind the household. Certainly not with Peter, when every breath felt like it was on borrowed oxygen, an increasing price that I’d never be able to pay. Even in Hades’s household, there was always the deadline hanging over my head. I’d let myself believe the expiration date might not matter so much, and look where that left me.