Page 23 of Twisted Vows

He wraps his arms around my midsection and plasters my back to his front, preventing me from falling. With my heart in my throat and my pride frazzled, I use my adrenaline to snap at him.

“Look, I don’t want this either, but if you leave me alone in here, I’ll probably end up falling and hurting myself, even with the blindfold off. I’m still queasy, lightheaded, and unstable.”

His forearms brush against the underside of my breasts, but he keeps his hands away from my body. I stand wrapped in his arms and listening to the water running as I wait for his answer.

He leans down and speaks with his chin on the top of my head.

“I never said I don’t want this,mia caramellina. I want to put my hands, teeth, tongue, and cock all over your body, but not like this.”

My stomach drops.

No matter how much I hate him, my body responds to his lewd words, my nipples pebbling and clit throbbing with need, but the steam from the shower highlights the blood caked on my skin.

“Then it won’t happen like this,” I demand. “It’s just a shower, right?”

I throw his words back at him, daring him to chicken out.

He doesn’t move for so long I worry the water will run cold, but when he growls and pushes me under the spray, scorching hot water rains down my body.

It’s perfect.

He lifts my wrist and presses my palm to the wall.

“Wait for me,mia caramellina,” he snarls before sliding the curtain closed.

I hang my head and let the water hit the back of my skull, not moving even when the contusion throbs from the pressure.

He returns and presses his naked chest to my back, guiding me partially out of the downpour with his body. Relief and annoyance flit through me when his shorts prevent his hard cock from gliding against my ass.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

Barely loud enough for me to hear him over the shower, his voice sends shivers down my spine.

“Of course. I won’t open them,” I say.

My conviction remains firm, even though my body sends mixed signals. I want nothing to do with this man. He’s a criminal. I’ll never go back to that lifestyle.

Yet as he unties the blindfold and slips it off my eyes, curiosity roars through me. I wonder if his face matches his sexy voice. Is he covered with tattoos? Or does he look like the average nine-to-fiver?

I already know the last isn’t true by his physique alone.

It doesn’t matter. I won’t open my eyes.

The blindfold plops to the shower floor. I shudder as he leans to the side, unblocking the water, and brushes my hair back from my face.

He shampoos my hair and massages my head with surprising gentleness. I slip into another realm, my mind and body too exhausted from panicking to stay in the present whilemy kidnapper—a virile, powerful murderer—cleans me like a precious doll.

After applying conditioner to my hair, he produces a washcloth and turns me by my shoulders to face him. He wipes my face with warm water to clear away the worst of the blood before lathering his hands with soap. The familiar scent belongs to a face wash I used a few years ago but stopped when their prices rose. His broad fingertips scrub my face, highlighting our size differences. I feel small and delicate compared to him.

He leans me under the spray and rinses my face and hair.

Keeping the sudsy washcloth between us, he cleans my neck, shoulders, and arms before wrapping his long fingers around my nape.

“Beverystill. Capisci?”

I nod.

He runs the washcloth over my upper chest before trailing down my sternum.

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