Page 71 of Can't Stop Watching
I should probably roll my eyes at the praise—I'm twenty-five, not twelve—but something about those words in his deep, gravelly voice makes my chest warm and my body melt further into his.
"You okay?" he asks, propping himself up to look at my face.
"I think you broke my brain," I mumble. "And possibly my legs. Don't expect me to walk anytime soon."
His laugh is low and satisfied. "Let's see about that."
Before I can protest, he's scooping me up in his arms like I weigh nothing. The casual display of strength shouldn't still be surprising, but my stomach does that little flip thing again.
"Where are we?—"
"Shower," he says, carrying me to my tiny bathroom. "You're going to be sore tomorrow."
"Already sore now," I admit as he sets me down carefully on the bathroom mat.
He turns on the shower, testing the temperature with his hand before helping me step in. The warm water feels amazing on my overheated skin. Dane steps in behind me, his big body taking up most of the space in my shower stall that was definitely not designed for two.
Without saying anything, he reaches for my shampoo, squeezes some into his palm, and starts washing my hair. His strong fingers massage my scalp, and I practically purr under his touch.
"You don't have to do this," I murmur, even as I lean back into his hands.
"I want to," he says simply, like it's the most natural thing in the world to be taking care of me like this.
He rinses my hair carefully, then grabs my body wash. His hands move over me with reverence—gliding over my shoulders, down my back, across my stomach. When he kneels to wash my legs, I have to steady myself against the tile wall.
"Turn," he instructs gently.
I obey, and he massages my calves, working his way up to my thighs where I know there will be bruises tomorrow from his fingers. His touch is different now—not sexual, but attentive. Caring. He's carefully cataloging every place he marked me, every spot that might be tender tomorrow, and soothing it with his touch.
It's strangely intimate, more so even than what we just did in bed.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the spray of water.
He looks up at me, water dripping from those ridiculous eyelashes of his. "Because you deserve to be taken care of."
Simple words, but they hit me like a punch to the gut. No one's taken care of me like this—not in a long time. I've been so busy being strong, being independent, proving I don't need anyone, that I forgot how nice it feels to just... let someone in.
Even if it's just for tonight. Even if it's just this dangerous, beautiful man with his haunted eyes and gentle hands.
23
DANE
Icarry Lila back to bed, her body warm and pliant against mine. She nestles into my sheets like she belongs there, and something in me recognizes the rightness of it. Her damp hair spreads across my pillow, auburn strands catching the dim light from the bedside lamp.
I stretch out beside her, propping myself on one elbow to study her face. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, her pale skin flushed. Those green eyes meet mine, unguarded for once.
"Tell me something," she whispers, tracing a finger along my collarbone. "Was that... I mean, is that as intense as it gets?"
I can't help the low chuckle that escapes me. "Not even close, sweetheart."
"Really?" Her eyes widen slightly.
"Much more," I say, my voice dropping lower. "There's so much more I want to do to you." I pause, correcting myself. "With you."
The fear that flickers across her face doesn't escape me, but there's curiosity there too—a hunger that mirrors my own. Mostwomen would run from the darkness they see in me. Lila leans closer despite everything.
"Like what?" she asks, her voice barely audible.
