Obsessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 4)

"What else did you have in mind?" I ask.

"I can think of a few things," he says with a snicker.

"Not happening. If we get his walls coated in red dye, we won't have to worry about the feds or bratva. Declan will kill us."

"You worry too much," Anton says as he stalks closer. "I'll bet we can keep the dye from getting everywhere."

"You've clearly never colored your hair. Do you want to be wearing red dye on your skin?"

He presses his lips together like he hasn't even considered that an option. "If that means you belong to me, I'm okay with that."

"Wasn't the answer I was expecting," I say. "We need the red to look natural. If you go around with red dye all over your hands and—"

He cuts me off. "I could wear gloves."

He's persistent, I'll give him that. "You mean the gloves I trashed?"

"I'm sure there's another pair somewhere around here." He's bent down and fiddling with the cabinet under the sink, poking around.

"You just want to snoop around," I say.

He shuts the cabinet, not finding what he is looking for inside. "If I were snooping, I'd be going through the medicine cabinet. Not a bad idea." He stands and opens the medicine cabinet, glancing through the toiletries.

From my seated position, there's no actual sign of prescription medication, just some antacids and over-the-counter pain relievers.

"Nothing exciting," he mutters.

"You look disappointed."

The timer buzzes on his watch. "Time's up," he says. "Shower time?" The smile grows on his face.

"Yes, but give me a five-minute head start to rinse the dye?"

Anton groans like he's a ticking time bomb and might explode if he can't jump in the shower any soon with me. "Five minutes? That's a lifetime."

"It's not." I stand and turn on the faucet, get the shower prepped, and ensure the temperature is warm enough.

I strip out of the last remnants of clothes I'm wearing, and Anton whimpers. "See something you like?" I quip over my shoulder at him.

His jaw is hanging open, and while he's seen it all before, it's like he can't get enough. I know the feeling, I want to devour every inch of him too, but one of us has a smidgen of self-control.

"Get in there. You're killing me, kitten."

I chuckle and push the curtain aside as I climb into the shower. I tip my head back under the spray and soak my hair, letting the water run until it's clear.

"Five minutes," Anton says, not waiting for me to tell him I'm ready.

He pulls back the curtain and chuckles. "Looks like a massacre in here."

Drops of red dye are on the shower walls and dripping down my body.

"It's not that bad," I counter.

He grabs the shower spray—the showerhead is removable—and douses the walls and then my skin, removing any sign of red dye. "Turn around," he instructs.

I do as he says, turning around, and he continues to soak my hair with the showerhead, letting it drip down my body, and then it swirls down the drain. "I've heard these can make a woman scream," Anton says, holding the showerhead's handle in his hand.

I chuckle at his remark. "Not as loud as you can," I quip and spin around to drop a kiss on his lips.

He reattaches the showerhead before his lips are on mine, his hands encircling my waist, pulling me close and tight against him.

He's barely wet, and I soak him, my damp skin pressed against his. I step back, pulling him under the spray with me. "We both need to get cleaned up," I say.

Dirt and grime slide down his body. We're coated in filth from the woods. He attempts to hide the grimace as the water hits his leg, where a bullet grazed his flesh. The wound isn't deep, but it still likely burns, and the water pounding against his skin isn't going to help his pain.

I grab the bar of soap and lather it in my hands. Anton spins me around, my back pressed against his chest. He pushes my hair to one side, his lips falling against my neck in soft kisses.

"We need to get clean," I say, "before Declan comes back."

"He'll be a few hours. I doubt there's a grocery store anywhere near this place."

I'm not as confident, but I happily oblige, accepting his answer as fact. I'd like for him to be right because that means we have the place to ourselves and each other, to do whatever we want.

His lips crash down against my neck, and from the back of my throat, a deep purr spills out, unintended.

"That's my kitten," he says and growls into my ear.

His words send a shiver down my spine, which he undoubtedly notices and is quite pleased with.

"We should finish before the water grows cold," I whimper, trying to retain some small semblance of rational thought.

"We could do that," he says, "or I have a few other ideas that will be far more enjoyable."

"I'll bet you do," I say and spin around, my arms sliding around his neck. "But first, I have to put the special conditioner in my hair."

His nose wrinkles with a laugh. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Like what?" I ask and kiss his lips quickly before untangling from his body. I grab the small tube of hair conditioner and slather it onto my hands before running it through my tresses.

"Let me help," he says. His fingers comb through my hair, and my eyes instantly close. His touch is wonderful, gentle yet firm. It's relaxing, especially given what we've recently endured. With Anton, I feel safe and protected.

The water begins to run cold and clear. We finish showering, and both grab a fluffy towel to dry off. I keep the towel wrapped around my torso while Anton's is around his waist. He dresses rather quickly in the new clothes we bought, a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. I swear I've never seen him look sexier. Well, except when he's naked.

After Anton is dressed, I keep the towel around myself while he carefully trims my hair, shorter, inch by inch. I give him directions, explaining what the hairdresser does back home and how she cuts my hair.

He doesn't want to take too much off, and I can tell he's cautious and methodical.