Page 30 of Pose for Me

"Guess I just have a way with pussy," I quip with a wink, delighting in the way Rayne's lips twitch at my crude joke.

I scoop up the grocery bags and head for the kitchen, my steps sure and confident as I navigate her space. The layout is etched into my memory. I set the bags on the counter, making a mental note to replace the broken eggs and spilled milk tomorrow. Can't have our girl going hungry, after all.

When I turn back, Rayne is still in the entryway, her gaze unfocused as she absently strokes Luna's fur. My protective instincts surge, a primal need to care for her overriding everything else.

I cross the room in a few long strides, gently taking her elbow to guide her through the apartment. "Come on, sweetheart," I murmur, my voice low and soothing. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She doesn't resist as I lead her down the hallway to the bathroom, her steps slow and slightly unsteady. The cat follows at our heels, meowing softly as if concerned for her human. I flip on the light, wincing slightly at the harsh fluorescent glare before reaching for the shower knob. Water begins to pour from the showerhead, steam quickly filling the small space.

Turning back to Rayne, I find her staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror. There are smears of dried blood on her neck and cheek, stark against her pale skin. Her hair is a wild tangle, and her dress is rumpled and stained. She looks utterly wrecked, and a surge of possessive pride rushes through me at the sight.

"Arms up," I instruct gently, reaching for the hem of her dress. She complies without a word, allowing me to peel the garment off and toss it aside. Her bra and panties follow, leaving her gloriously naked before me. My eyes roam over her contour hungrily, drinking in every inch of exposed skin.

Rayne's eyes widen as I begin to strip off my own clothes, her gaze fixed on my hands as I unbutton my shirt. "What are you doing?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I grin, pulling off my gloves and placing them on her counter before shrugging off the shirt to reveal the toned planes of my chest and abdomen. "Can't very well help you get clean if I'm still dressed, can I?"

A pretty blush spreads across her cheeks as I undo my belt and step out of my pants and boxer briefs. Her eyes roam over my body, lingering on the ridges of muscle and the tattoos adorning my skin. I let her look her fill, reveling in the way her pupils dilate and her breath quickens. When her gaze finally meets mine again, I see a mix of desire and uncertainty swirling in those sapphire depths.

"River, I..." she starts, but I silence her with a gentle finger against her lips.

"Shh," I murmur, cupping her face in my hands. "No overthinking. Just let me take care of you."

Before she can protest, I guide her into the shower. The hot water cascades over us, washing away the blood and grime. Rayne lets out a soft sigh as the warmth seeps into her muscles, some of the tension visibly leaving her body and her eyes fluttering closed. I take a moment to simply admire her—water cascading over her curves, droplets clinging to her lashes, her lips parted slightly. She's breathtaking.

With reverent hands, I begin to wash her, starting with her shoulders. I work the soap into a rich lather, my fingers kneading gently at the tense muscles beneath her skin. I take my time, savoring every inch of her. My hands glide over the soft swell of her breasts, down the plane of her stomach, along the flare of her hips. I'm thorough in my ministrations, cleaning away the remnants of our encounter in the alley.

When I reach her hair, I gently tug at the pins holding her intricate updo in place. One by one, I remove them, letting her dark tresses tumble free. The wet strands cling to her skin, framing her face in inky tendrils. I work shampoo through her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp in slow, soothing circles.

Rayne remains silent throughout, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. But I can feel the way she leans into my touch, seeking more contact. It sends a thrill through me to see her so pliant, so trusting. Even after the violence she witnessed, she allows me this intimacy.

Once I've rinsed the last of the soap from her skin and hair, I turn off the water. The sudden silence feels heavy, broken only by the soft plink of water droplets hitting the tile. I step out first, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack.

With the same care I used to wash her, I now dry Rayne off. I start with her hair, gently squeezing out the excess moisture before moving to her body. The soft terrycloth glides over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When I'm satisfied that she's thoroughly dry, I wrap the towel around her like a cocoon.

I dry myself off quickly with a second towel, more focused on Rayne than my own state. Her eyes are open now, watching me with a mixture of wariness and curiosity as I pull my briefs and pants back on. The shocked glaze from earlier has faded, replaced by a sharper awareness that makes my pulse quicken.

Guiding her to sit on the closed toilet lid, I retrieve her hairdryer from under the sink, plugging it in and flicking it on. The warm air ruffles her damp tresses as I run my fingers through them, separating the strands to ensure even drying.

As her hair begins to dry, soft waves forming around her face, I can see Rayne visibly relaxing. Her eyes drift closed again, head tilting slightly into my touch as I work. It's a strangely intimate moment, this quiet domesticity. One I look forward to repeating.

When her hair is finally dry, falling in silky waves around her shoulders, I set aside the dryer and pick up her brush. With long, smooth strokes, I begin to work out any remaining tangles. Rayne lets out another soft sigh of contentment, her body swaying slightly with each pass of the brush.

I set the brush aside and retrieve a hairband from her bathroom cabinet where I know she keeps them. Rayne's eyes have opened again, watching me intently as I move about her space with easy familiarity. I grin at her as I return, my fingers already beginning to separate her silky strands into sections.

"You're still not crying or screaming about what happened," I murmur, my voice low and intimate in the quiet bathroom. "You don't seem bothered at all really."

My fingers work deftly, weaving her dark locks into an intricate braid. The repetitive motion is soothing, almost meditative. I can feel the warmth of her scalp beneath my fingertips, the silky texture of her hair sliding between my fingers. The scent of her shampoo fills my nostrils as I breathe in deeply. I can’t get enough of her scent.

Rayne's eyes meet mine in the mirror, a complex swirl of emotions dancing in their depths. There's curiosity there, and a hint of wariness, but also something darker. A spark of recognition, perhaps, of the beast that lurks beneath both our skins.

Though I doubt it. I’m not sure she understands or acknowledges that part of herself yet.

"Should I be?" she repeats softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Bothered, I mean."

I chuckle, tugging gently at the braid to tighten it. "Most people would be," I point out. "I did just kill a man in front of you. Rather messily, I might add."

A small shiver runs through her, but it's not fear I see in her eyes. No, there's a heat there, a hunger that mirrors my own. My grin widens, becoming almost feral as I watch her reaction.

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