Page 35 of Keep Me

“Just to wash me, nothing else.” The words feel like a betrayal to the flame flickering inside me.

He moves closer. “Turn around.” He takes the detachable shower head from the wall and soaks my hair. I tense when he begins massaging shampoo into my hair with gentle fingers. It feels too sweet, too caring. But by the time he begins to rinse out the conditioner, I’ve melted into the feel of his hard hands and their soft touch.

He reaches for the body wash still on the floor, and panic jolts through me. “Don’t touch me,” I say quickly, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t touch me directly. Keep a washcloth between us.” If he touches me, skin on skin, I think I might combust. Water has soaked his white shirt and it clings to his defined core. The blurred lines of his tattoos showing through the wet fabric are like a hidden canvas.

Moving behind me, he starts the tender and tedious task of scrubbing off the grime. Each pass of his hand drags the scratchy terry cloth over my flesh, making my skin tingle in its wake. When he reaches my lower back, I have to fight to keep my breathing steady.

“Spread your legs,” he rasps, his voice raw and rough compared to the light feathering of his breath on my neck. My heart leaps and flounces like a fish out of water, sputtering uselessly. My legs and feet press tight together rigidly. I slowly inch them apart, and a shaky breath from him makes a shiver light up my spine.

He coasts the soapy cloth down the curve of my ass and the swell of my hips. I get light-headed when he drags it up and down the back of my thigh. My skin is feeling extra sensitive and ticklish, and I curl my toes into the tile. Once done, he holds the shower head to my back, spraying it all down.

He moves to stand in front of me, and his gaze rakes down my body, ice cold and a raging inferno at the same time. He pokes his cheek with his tongue as he sightlessly adds more body wash to the cloth. The fresh mandarin-and-bamboo scent fills the steam.

My eyes flutter shut as he wraps the towel around two fingers and begins to wipe at my cheeks. He’s so delicate as he gently brushes over my eyelids that with them closed, I can hardly believe he’s the one behind the tender touch. When he finishes and the soap is rinsed off, I open my eyes to see that his are blown wide and there are divots in his bottom lip where his teeth have been digging.

My stomach squeezes, and warmth blooms in my core while he washes over my breasts, my nipples stiff peaks despite the hot water. The further down my body his hand goes, the more my nerves quiver. He rubs the lion tattoo at the dip of my ribs and the olive branches in a V under my belly button, then stops when he hits the juncture of my hip and thigh.

A sound, not quite a sigh and not quite a groan, comes from his chest. The rough noise claws at a primal craving deep inside me. I feel almost dizzy when he bends to a knee and lifts one of my feet onto his thigh.

His shirt is now mostly soaked through, and his black pants are now an even darker midnight. Every inch of fabric kisses and hugs each muscle, clinging to his frame. He starts at my ankle, slowly drawing further up my calf. There’s something about being completely nude while he’s still covered that makes this all the more unbearably intimate.

He urges my knee to the side, spreading me open to him, and I suck in a sharp inhale as his hand glides up my inner thigh. Inching higher, he takes his gaze off my body to latch onto my eyes. My breath hitches when he changes directions right before reaching my pussy and glides over the sensitive crease between my hip and thigh. “Roan…” The soft plea spills from my lips, barely louder than a single breath.

I wouldn’t be sure he even heard me if it wasn’t for his free hand squeezing into a tight, white fist. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at me. Just moves on to the other leg while the air thickens with my unanswered plea.

Grabbing the shower head again, he remains on his knee as he rinses my torso and down each leg. I watch his chest rise higher on deeper breaths as he brings the stream of water back up my leg.

My body grows even hotter from the inside out, and the hot water feels lukewarm in comparison. His eyes watch his movements, hooded and lustful as he passes over my pussy to the other leg, my body giving a slight shudder. His mouth falls open, then he wets his bottom lip like he’s fascinated by my reaction. He passes over again, hovering for just a second on the place that makes me shudder.

Again and again he does it, lifting his eyes to watch how my brows fret together and my breathing becomes more desperate with every pass, every lingering second. I can no longer find the shame in asking, begging. My cunt clenches painfully around nothing as my clit swells in need and anticipation. “Please. Please, Roan.”

He abruptly stands and slams off the water. “No touching.”

I’m left spinning from the climb, only to fall sharply before the top. The smell of citrus hangs in the steam. I feel clean, but raw. Roan wraps a towel around my shoulders, but I don’t feel any less exposed.

He goes straight to the small window in the back of the attic and thrusts it open. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the windowsill, he lights one and sits on the ledge, placing one foot on it.

Leaning back, he takes a long drag before blowing the smoke out the window. I go to him and, without taking his gaze off the blue sky, he holds out the cigarette for me. I can feel the stress drifting away from him, the stress of restraint. His eyes stay glued outside until my lips brush his two fingers holding the cigarette. They cut to me, sharp and stinging like the crack of a whip. They narrow in on where our skin touches, and flames burn behind the icy-gray irises.

I pull my mouth away and hold in my breath as my tongue swipes over my bottom lip. I lean my front on the windowsill and I exhale, the smoke spiraling outside like the snake coiling my forearm.

I hear Roan take another thick inhale and watch his smoke join mine. I’m surprised by what he says next. “I have an assassin buddy in Mexico. If Sofia was a hit and he didn’t execute it, he’ll know who did.” My eyes sting with emotion. “If you’re going to insist on jeopardizing your safety to learn what happened, then I’ll find out for you.”

My thanks gets tangled in my throat, and I don’t think I can recall another gift that made me feel quite this way.

1. Movement—Hozier

Chapter 17

Thinking of You

Reggie

I hope they find the gray-haired man soon. 1 I’ve spent less than a day cooped up in here with Roan, yet I’m about to jump out of my damn skin. He spends the day crisscrossing around the room. Whether it’s angrily hammering out a text while pacing or going back and forth to the window to smoke, Roan doesn’t walk. He prowls. It’s like I am trapped with a lion stalking down every dimension of his cage.

I can’t say I’m any less on edge. In the shower, he stoked something inside me that burns bright and hot and refuses to extinguish. It’s been like sitting on a live wire all day. I’ve been dreading the moment we have to share the one bed. The bed has been haunting me as much as the aching need between my thighs. I know this no-touching rule is for the best, but the boundaries between us are quickly disappearing.

But my father was right. I’m out. And I don’t plan on coming back. You can’t have people waltzing in and out of the cartel like it’s a country club. You’re either in or you’re out…and dead. It was different eight years ago when I was newly initiated, dealing with Sofia’s loss, and being El Jefe's daughter. I could walk away before my life on the inside ever really began.

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