Page 5 of The Devil We Know

Again, she does what I ask without comment, and I slide the washcloth along her neck, down around one shoulder, and back across the top of her chest to the other shoulder, swooping back down, quickly washing across her breasts and circling down around beneath them. I follow this path, over and down, over and down, until I have to kneel to wash her legs.

I slide the washcloth along her outer thigh, behind her knee, along her calf, and then start my way back up the inside. At mid-thigh, her breath catches, and I stop, intent on going to the other leg and doing the same path, but her voice stops me. “Don’t stop.”

I freeze with the washcloth pressed against her inner thigh. I look up and see her watching me. My eyes meet hers, and she says louder, “Please don’t stop.”

I give her an assessing look, unsure how to proceed, given the trauma she has suffered and what she is asking me. I don’t get the impression Jessica is the type of woman who jumps into bed with a man without proper consideration, and the last thing I want to do is cause her more harm, even if I’m only doing what she’s asking.

I ignore her request, moving the washcloth to the outside of her other leg and following the same path down, around, and back up, where once again, I pause at the inside of her thigh. She adjusts her stance, giving me better access as she says more firmly, “Fucking Christ, don’t stop.”

I clench my jaw, my cock throbbing at the sound of her voice making demands of me, but again, I ignore her request, rising to my feet and turning her so she’s facing the spray of the water.

The tension rolls off of her and I see that she’s starting to tremble, though I have no idea if it’s from shock, hunger, or anger.

I grab the soap off the shelf, sudsing up the cloth and then putting the soap back again.

This time, I use the same cross-wards sweeping motions down her back, kneeling and doing the backs of her legs before wiping the slick cloth along her ass cheeks. She pushes her ass back against me, agitation evident in her voice as she croaks, “Please, Matt. Please.”

I grit my teeth again, reaching in front of her and rinsing the cloth off before squeezing the excess water out of it and hanging it on the bar.

I grab the shampoo, dump some in my hand, put the bottle back, and quickly work it into her scalp as she leans her head back, moaning softly at the press of my fingers.

I move around her, turning her so I’m still behind her. I help her rinse the soap out of her hair, turn the water off, and walk back in front of her, intent on finding a towel, and that’s when I see it’s not just water on her face but also tears.

I stop, my hand extended to the shower door as a sob breaks free, and I reach for her just as she falls forward, collapsing into me.

I wrap my arms around her, one hand pressing into her back, the other coming up to tangle in the hair at the back of her head as I whisper, “It’s okay. Just let it out.”

She stiffens in my embrace, her hands coming between us as she pushes against my chest almost violently, and I stumble backward. Her eyes are wild as she screams, “Give me what I want.”

My heart gallops in my chest, stupidly caught off-guard by the volatility of her emotions, even knowing that this is the stuff that will happen.

I keep some distance between us, bringing my hands up so she’ll know I’ll hold my ground for as long as she needs me to, and I say, “You’re okay, Jess. I’m still right here.”

She launches herself at me, knocking me backward into the wall, and she comes with me. I all but have the wind knocked out of me by the force, and then her fists are connecting with my chest as she’s shouting, “Please. Just do it. Make me forget. Take it away. Please.”

I barely manage to grasp hold of both of her wrists to put a stop to her assault on me. I manage to take her feet out from under her, and then we slide to the floor, my body taking the brunt of the fall. I get my legs around her lower body, one arm wrapping around her front, pinning her forearms so she can no longer flail at me. But now, she’s crying—more like sobbing, gasping, begging—and that dark part of me wants to give in.

I push it down, refusing to take the excuse, refusing that lifelong calling to cause harm to a person who clearly does not deserve it.

We sit there, long minutes going by, as she continues her anguished crying. I ignore her begging words until finally, she calms enough that I say, “It’s okay. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

After a few more moments, she manages a shuddering inhalation and a steadier exhalation, and then she quiets and whispers, “Why won’t you just give me what I want?”

I hesitate to answer, and then she must take my hesitation as a cue because she starts to squirm. I tightened my hold on her and then respond, “I can’t. Not after all you’ve been through.”

She chokes out a bitter laugh and struggles as she says, “It’s okay. I get how it wouldn’t be an appealing idea.”

Now, I laugh bitterly as I spit out, “Seriously?”

I push my hard dick against her, where she’s sitting in my lap, and then add, “I don’t think not being interested is the problem.”

She presses back against me, and I repress the moan that builds in my throat at the pressure and friction.

Ignoring her teasing, I manage to get my feet beneath me and use the leverage against the wall to bring us both to our feet. I step away from her, moving over to open the shower door, where I reach out and grab two towels that are hanging there.

Wrapping one around my waist, I then motion for her to step out of the shower. She’s standing there, glaring at me, so I glare back and grab a second towel, stepping into her. I lean in close so my nose is only an inch from hers, our eyes locked as I say clearly, “You, listen to me. Obviously, I’d like nothing more than to fuck the shit out of you right now, but given everything you’ve just been through, I’m not going to do that.”

She glares daggers as she retorts, “You know, I think I’ve heard stories about you.”

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