Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

He paused, fixing his eyes on me through the mirror.

“What is this?” I asked, slowly entering.

“The house on the hill.”

“And this is your house?” I clarified. “Your real house?”

I knew it was—his scent was everywhere—but I wasn’t sure what I knew and didn’t know anymore, and I needed to hear him say it.

He nodded, smirking. “You didn’t actually think I lived in that dump, did you?”

I snorted, but I was so damn ready to cry, too. I was so exhausted. “Kai, Jesus—”

I started to protest, wanting to question him about what the hell was going on and why he hid this place, but he turned, shaking his head.

“Just give me ten minutes, okay?” he said, looking just as weary as I was. “Just give me ten minutes with you, and then we can get serious.”

Walking over to me, he peeled off my jacket and set it down on a bench near the tub.

Which was running with water. Bubbles rose higher as the fountain faucet poured water into the deep, white basin, and it was my instinct to fight him, but he spoke up, cutting me off.

“I’ll explain everything in ten minutes.”

My eyelids drooped, and I didn’t know what time it was, but it had to be late. I let him undress me.

Everything came off, and he didn’t try to grope or kiss me, although I wouldn’t have really minded if I weren’t so tired.

“Get in the tub,” he told me.

I stepped in, immediately feeling delicious chills spread up my legs as the heat of the water soaked my skin.

Slowly, I sat down, submerging myself up to my chest and brought my knees up, hugging them. Kai pulled off his towel, and I thought he was getting in, but he grabbed some lounge pants and slipped them on.

Something under my skin jolted at the sight of his nakedness, and I bit my lip. He looked up, and I looked away, but I could feel his stupid smile at catching me stare.

Moving my clothes to the counter, he sat down on the bench and grabbed a bath sponge, dipping it into the water.

Then he pushed all of my hair over my shoulder, and began soaping my back.

I twisted my head, reaching for the sponge. “I can do it.”

But he pulled it away, saying gently, “I know you can.”

I didn’t like people doing things for me. It was uncomfortable being taken care of. I wasn’t used to it.

Dipping the sponge in again, he squeezed the water over my back, letting it cascade down my skin, and I closed my eyes, surrendering.

“Oh,” I breathed out.

My head fell to the side as he rubbed the hot sponge over my shoulder and up neck, and it felt like a blanket I never wanted to leave. We didn’t speak, and he didn’t order me about, simply tipping my head back and pouring water over my hair before he washed it, and I kept my eyes closed the entire time. His fingers on my scalp, the hot water over my head, and the smell of him and his body wash made me dizzy and high, and I never felt so good.

I almost felt happy.

After he rinsed my hair, he washed my body, slipping the sponge between my legs, and I grew more alert, opening my eyes.

“Use your hands,” I told him. “They feel better.”

I saw his lips turn up in a smile, and he put the sponge down, soaping up his hands.