All I could picture was feral kisses and aggressive thrusting.
God…
My hands shook as I tipped the pink-grey waste down the drain. I fumbled to turn on the tap.
While the water ran, I looked at myself in the mirror, noticing the high points of red on my cheeks and the crazed lust in my eyes. My hair curled around my face as if Elder had already had his fingers digging into my scalp while fucking me.
For the first time in my life, I toyed with the idea of touching myself. Of somehow finding relief from the pressure-cooker passion inside, so I didn’t pounce on Elder the moment I returned.
Squeezing my eyes, I scolded myself with every reason I couldn’t have him.
He’s sick. He’s recovering. He’s black and blue and probably still has a fever. Your job is to help him heal. Then and only then can you ask him to take you.
The pep talk didn’t work, and I padded back to his bedside with blood boiling and mind on fire.
I dared look at his face. He seemed to be in the same brimstone, hellish place I was. Halfway through a sponge bath, he ought to look relaxed, spread out on the mattress.
He was the exact opposite of relaxed.
Every cord of muscle and sinew etched beneath scratched and bruised skin. Every ridge and hollow of his stomach tightened, ready to give me exactly what I wanted.
He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. The way he glared at me stripped me bare and commanded I straddle him.
But some sadistic part of me still had the power to say no, and with a ragged gasp, I tore my gaze away.
I made the smart decision to stay standing by his bedside and not sit.
The distance helped.
I would stay professional and look after him the way he deserved.
Dunking a fresh towel and lathering it with soap, I studiously focused on washing his legs. Calves and knees. Shins and thighbones.
Not once did I go higher.
Not once did I look higher.
His breathing turned harsher with every stroke. His hand lashed out once I’d rinsed him, latching tight around my wrist. “We both know there’s only one place you haven’t washed yet.”
I froze.
He guided my hand past mid-thigh to upper thigh. “If you won’t do it…I will.” His fingers branded my wrist, hotter, fiercer, filled with every frustration I felt. “I’m dirty, Pim. So filthy you’d better spend extra attention with that towel of yours.”
I swallowed a moan as he guided me. “I shouldn’t…”
“Yes. You should.” He licked his lips. “Please…”
His plea unlocked my self-control, and I yanked at his hold. “Let me go.”
His eyes flared as if to argue, then glazed over as I slid the final way on my own.
His head fell back, understanding exactly what sort of demoness he’d unleashed and all too happy to play the victim.
My whisper tasted sweet as sin and sugar. “I’ll make sure you’re extra clean.”
“Holy shit.” He writhed on the bed, sweat gleaming on his freshly washed brow. “Who are you, Tasmin Blythe?”
I didn’t know the answer to that question. Maybe I’d never know. But tonight, I was his just as much as he was mine.
“Be quiet and let me wash you.” I slid my towel between his legs and grazed the tight twin balls beneath his erection.
“Jesus—” He let out a strangled grunt, clutching the bed with his good hand.
My nipples tingled and belly flopped and breath choked and heart heated as I slowly, carefully, maddeningly, ran the washcloth over him. I cupped his balls, rolling them gently, cleaning and seducing at the same time.
His head tossed to the side. His neck strained, jaw wide, teeth sharp as he bit into the pillow. His entire body twitched as I slid upward, wrapping my fingers around his hardness.
I’d never been so consumed by something before. All I wanted to do for the rest of my life was this—destroy him to this quivering, pillow-biting animal and have my hands on the one part of him no one else ever would again.
Clutching his entire length, I pumped him through the towel. My fingers slid up and over his crest, washing away the past, cleansing him until he was completely, utterly mine.
I’d never owned something…someone before.
But here, now…I owned Elder.
I couldn’t just give that power back.
I could never give that back.
Shaking, I somehow managed to swirl the towel in fresh water and wipe away the soap before the possession in my blood forced me to do something I couldn’t possibly deny.
Leaning over him, I fisted his erection and inserted his heat into my mouth.
I wasn’t prepared for my reaction or his.
His hands sank into my hair as his hips thrust up, forcing himself deeper onto my tongue. His groan rattled windowpanes and shattered the glass frosting around my heart.
My legs buckled until I half-kneeled, half-hung in his hold, sucking greedily, not caring how I sounded or seemed.