Page 128 of The Alpha King's Curse: Part One

She lifted his arm gently and started to wash him. It was a novelty. He’d shared a bath with many women, but no one had ever bathed him. No one had ever needed to. He felt as weak as a newborn pup, and another moment of insecurity hit him. How would he keep his promise to protect her if he was the one in need of protection?

Still, every touch soothed him. She was gentle and meticulous in her actions, and not once did her eyes stray too low, even though he could see his cock above the water. It was a relief to find at least that part of him was working as it was supposed to. Layla washed every part of him except that. When she had to support him to wash his back, she didn’t even think twice before removing her bottoms and bracing her feet in the tub so he could lean on her.

The contact frizzled his head, and her scent still messed with him. He couldn’t help putting his lips on the soft skin on her thigh even though he couldn’t carry through with anything.

Layla stopped moving and cleared her throat. The scent of her arousal filled the room. With her better senses, would she smell that? Would she finally understand why it had been impossible for him to resist her from the moment they met?

She rinsed his hair and back quickly before she moved him from her thigh and set him back against the tub. She’d soaked her t-shirt in the process; he could see everything through the see-through material. Her tits were outlined against the white t-shirt, and her nipples were clearly ready for him to put in his mouth.

“You’re soaking wet, Layla.”

He didn’t mean her t-shirt, and judging by how her cheeks coloured, he was sure she understood the double-entendre.

“You might as well take everything off and get in. I think you'll be able to wash the spot you missed a little better.”

“You’re not well, and the water’s getting cold—”

“Top it up.”

“I don’t want to wet your dressing—”

“I’m already healing, Layla,” he cut in again as he weakly moved his hand to rip off the dressing.

And sure enough, the bite had already knitted together. He could only imagine how bad it had gotten while he had been unconscious, but his body was pushing out the dark magic and healing him a little faster.

“How?” she asked.

Her fingers traced the outside of the wound.

“Because you’ve taken good care of me. Please get in, Layla, because I need you, and I’m in no state to chase you right now.”

Her scent bloomed again as her breath hitched. He was sure she would still resist because who the hell lay unconscious for a week, couldn't hold himself up for shit but still wanted to fuck? No one had ever challenged him as much as she had, and if she was to walk out and leave him in the tub, there was nothing he could do about it.

But she lifted her top over her head and threw the wet t-shirt on the floor. His gaze immediately fell to her exposed tits, and his cock twitched in anticipation. And when she stood over him and lowered her panties, he was already stuck in that place where only she could take him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jackson,” she whispered as she finally lowered herself, straddling his thighs.

“You would never hurt me. Come here.”

Layla carefully positioned herself so she was inches away from his lips. The heat of her body drove him crazy. He craved nothing more than her touch despite knowing how treacherous it was outside his bedroom walls. If he hadn’t been so weak and useless...

“Kiss me, Layla,” he groaned.

She brought her lips down to his without him having to beg, even though he had been prepared to. Her soft lips felt better than before and instantly heated his blood. Maybe it was because of the realisation that he would have died had she not been by his side.

Layla tasted divine. Like heaven and hell wrapped in one. His body reacted and yearned for things he could not yet do as his tongue danced with hers. Frustration mixed with his lust. He couldn’t keep his hands up long enough to touch her how he wanted to.

He groaned into her mouth.

“You’re killing me, Layla,” he whispered.

She moved her lips from his, and he groaned again in protest, but she started to kiss his neck. She went lower, kissing his chest and leaving a trail of fire everywhere she touched.

And then she stopped, but he could tell she wasn’t done.

He was breathing hard, his blood was rushing faster through his body as he watched her grab the soap and lather her hands. When she touched his cock, he was already ready to explode. He strained to hold himself back as he endured the torture. Layla wrapped both hands around him and gently started to pump him. Her soft hands worked the lather on his cock—gently at first and then firmer. Harder.

When she cupped his balls, he couldn't take any more. He weakly thrust against her hands.

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