Page 67 of Wrath of the Never Queen

“Closer,” he murmurs, looking at me through half-shut eyes. “Please.”

“How close?” I whisper, reaching across to pour more water on his other shoulder.

As an answer, his hands move under thewater to grip my thighs. In one swift movement, he pulls me across until I am kneeling over his lap, my thighs on each side of his. I gasp with the sudden movement and his eyes open fully.

“Is this alright?” he asks, his hands still on my thighs. His fingertips press pleasingly into my skin.

“Yes,” I breathe.

I slowly move my hands from under the water up to his bare chest, washing away the angry red. He closes his eyes again, tipping his head back but keeping his gentle grip on me, holding me to him. I move further up until I run my fingers across his collarbone, feeling the dip between the ridge of the bone and his neck.

I continue up slowly and start to work on the sharp angle of his jaw. The skin is not as smooth here, spiked with fair stubble that I, for some reason, enjoy even more. I dip my hands in the water, washing his jaw of blood before returning to his face. His eyes remain closed, his expression peaceful.

I look at his lips, chapped and bloody, and a bout of nerves springs up inside me.

“Theo?” I whisper. “Are you still awake?”

“I am,” he replies without moving.

“Would you like me to keep going?”

The corners of his lips tug upwards.

“Please,” he says.

I hesitate briefly before obliging. Making sure my hands have been cleaned and soaked, Ibring my thumbs up to his lips and brush them slowly, moving from one corner to the next. I move gently, mindful of his aches and pains, washing away the last remnants of blood. I think about how his lips would feel against mine.

I linger a few seconds too long and have to tear myself away. His hair is still matted with blood, so I use that as a reason to move on. I lean to grab one of the smaller jugs and a jar of sweet-smelling soap.

“Keep your head back,” I tell him, voice hushed. It does not feel like a place for raised voices—too quiet and intimate.

“As you wish,” Theo murmurs and his thumbs begin to stroke the fabric over my thighs. My nightgown is already thin and being under the water has made it feel as if it does not even exist at all. I exhale and focus on my task.

I dip the jug in the water to fill it before carefully tipping it over Theo’s hair. A river of red runs from the step into the water. I slide my fingers through his hair with one hand while pouring water with the other, pretending I am trying to get the blood off when, really, I want to feel the thickness of his hair between my fingers. Theo’s lips part as he exhales softly.

When his hair has been soaked, I scoop two fingers into the soap and apply it, using both hands to lather. I can feel his scalp beneath my fingertips and apply some pressure as I move.

Theo groans as I do so.

“Is that painful?” I ask, immediately releasing him.

“No.” He gives the tiniest shake of his head. “It is wonderful.”

I smile and resume massaging the soap through his hair, working it up into a red lather.

“You are wonderful,” he breathes, nearly indecipherable.

My heart fills. Smiling, I pull one of my hands away to pick up the jug. I re-fill it and pour fresh water, rinsing the suds and blood away. After several repeats, his locks are shiny and clean, the colour of dark honey again. Despite being wet, his hair is thick in my hands, and I run my fingers through it once more.

“There,” I say. “You are cleaned.”

Theo opens his eyes then and keeps his gaze on me.

“My thanks,” he says, and one of his hands releases my thigh. He brings it up to the side of my face, cupping my cheek. I know what he wants to do, and this time, I want him to do it. He slides his hand into my hair, tenderly gripping the back of my head, and I allow him to pull me in towards him.

His lips are still wet from the water but soft and warm against mine. I melt into him, my back arching as I press my chest against his. My hand finds the nape of his neck, and I hold him there, wanting and needing him closer.

When his lips part mine, I give noresistance. His tongue slides against mine briefly, shooting a jolt through my body. A warmth spreads inside me which has nothing to do with the baths. Theo’s grip tightens a fraction on the back of my head, his fingers tangled in my hair, and a gasp escapes me. There is barely an inch between us and still it feels like I am not close enough. I press myself closer and Theo responds in kind, his arm wrapping around my waist. The world melts away around us. I only pull back when I am breathless.

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