Page 111 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

“No. You won’t.” Gentle hands tugged another shirt over my body, and I inhaled his sandalwood musk. John’s smell was more pleasant than the kings’ scent. Less aggressive. Warmer. It felt like home.

I tried to move my legs, but nothing cooperated.

“Stay still, let me do it,” John whispered against my ear as he lifted me.

Instead of laying me in a bed, he placed me gently onto cold tiles and ran warm water over me. I was still wearing his T-shirt and mine, but it didn’t matter.

A noise of enjoyment tumbled from my lips.

The warmth was everything.

My eyes were too heavy to open, so I just sat limply and gave grunts of approval as John gently dragged the soap over me.

I hated being grimy.

I needed this.

As he gently washed me, my will to live went from negative ten to five. It was an improvement, but the scale was out of one hundred.

When John gently pulled apart the tight braids lying against my scalp, my eyes rolled back with bliss. He scrubbed suds against my scalp, and I tipped my head back further.

“Ohmysungod yes,” I keened to encourage him to keep going.

His fingers were magic.

He massaged my temples and skull with an expert pressure that was so amazing I barely noticed the streaks of pain lighting up my spine.

John chuckled hoarsely, but said nothing.

“Time to stand up, killer.” Hands grabbed me under my armpits and easily pulled me to my feet. Then he wrapped my hair up in a towel, and I shuffled with him unsteadily.

“Hands up.” John’s voice was soft with a slight rasp. “Don’t worry, my eyes are closed. Let’s just get you into dry clothes.”

“My eyes are also closed,” I said helpfully, and he rewarded me with a laugh as I put my hands in the air.

“How big is your head?” He huffed as he struggled to pull his sweatshirt onto me.

I purposefully flailed around and made it more difficult.

My hands smacked at his face.

“Did you just hit me? After I massaged your head?” John asked with fake outrage, and he clicked his tongue. “Guess you really are the scary queen everyone talks about.”

I giggled.

He used my momentary stillness to pull the hoodie over me.

It must have been the oversize one he always wore, because it hit me midthigh.

“Good enough,” John said.

Next thing I knew, I was being carried while pressed against a muscular chest. Then I was placed on a fluffy mattress while the covers were tucked under my feet.

The bed creaked as John climbed in next to me.

He radiated heat like a furnace, and I snuggled against him.

“If you fart, I’ll kill you,” I mumbled.

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