Page 11 of Depraved
Her breathy “yes” is all I need to let her go and finish washing her. When she’s done, I pull open the shower door and step outside with her so that I can grab a soft, fluffy towel from a shelf, bundling her up in it. Then I grab a second towel and twist it into her hair.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you know how to do that, but I am,” she says as she examines the head wrap in the mirror.
I give a shrug. “I’ve had long hair for a while. Now, wait here. I’ll just be a minute.” Finishing my own shower, I scrub myself off roughly and quickly, without any of the care I used on her. When I step back out, I find she’s moved, but only enough to grab me a towel and hand it to me.
I dry off and wrap it around my waist, noting how she turns away but keeps glancing at my reflection from underneath those thick lashes of hers, waiting to see what we’ll do next. She’s actually being compliant. I try not to be too smug about it, because Elena’s wrung out tonight and will probably be back to sassing me with every other word tomorrow, but my alpha’s ego is stroked by her submission.
I come to stand behind her and undo her hair wrap, letting the glossy strands fall around her shoulders. Then I reach into the cabinets, grabbing a brand-new hairbrush and the blow dryer set out for guests.
She sighs resignedly as I dry her hair, but she moves when I nudge her and lets me finish without complaint. I actually find a lot of peace and satisfaction myself in gently caressing her, stroking her skin without sexual intent, just caring for her. The purr that emanates from my chest is unbidden but when I see the way her eyelids flutter and the corners of her mouth draw up, I continue it. The entire wretched night recedes when my chest warms at the sight of my little mate smiling for me. Tilting her head and subconsciously displaying her neck as I dry her hair. Trusting me. I selfishly clutch that good feeling and soak up as much of it as I can. I’m going to need it later.
When I finish her hair and set the tools on the counter, I hear Matthew calling out from the next room that our food and clothing have arrived. Perfect timing. Of course, it’s Matthew so perfect timing is to be expected.
I take my omega’s soft hand and lead her back into Jonah’s bedroom. My butler has already—quite sensibly—disappeared. The scent of stew and fresh bread fill the air from a small folding table set near the recliner that faces the bed, and I realize that Elena hasn’t been the only sleepless fidgeter. Matthew’s been baking to ease his nerves.
“Mmm.” Elena makes an appreciative sound when she spots the food, but I bring her to the clothes laid over the back of a recliner first. A silk night dress edged in lace is on top of my clothes. I take it from the pile.
“Drop the towel,” I tell her.
“I’m not a child. You don’t need to dress me.”
“Drop the towel.” My eyes flash gold. I don’t like to have to repeat myself.
She purses her lips into a grumpy little rosebud as she unwraps the towel. I try not to feast my eyes on her flesh as I step forward and slide the silk garment over her head, straightening the skirt so it falls to her mid-thigh. I can’t help it. I look. I can’t resist.
Goosebumps form on her arm as I slide my fingers up and over it, to her collar bone, and then back out to straighten her straps. Her breath hitches and those sweet nipples pebble again underneath the silk. Her body knows who it belongs to.
I grab the thong that Matthew set underneath her short nightgown and kneel in front of her. I lock eyes with her and hold that stare as I slide the wisp of fabric up her calves, caressing them. My fingers travel up slowly until they dive beneath the silk of her gown. I drag my thumbs over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, relishing the way her shoulders rise as she sucks in a breath and her eyes practically glow.
She’s so ready that she’s nearly panting. I’m hard as a rock and my lips long to dive underneath that precious little dress. Our desire sings like a duet—my touch, then her tiny sigh, my burning eyes, then the way she bites her lip. But it’s not time yet. Good alphas put needs before wants.
So, I put her panties in place, though putting pantiesontypically goes against my nature. But I do it with a tiny pat to her bare ass cheek before retreating. “Let’s eat.” I make my tone and face jovial, casual—just to piss her off.
“You’re a—”
I stand quickly and press a finger to her lips. “Shh, little wolf. You want that orgasm later, don’t you? Be a good girl now.”
I throw my towel on the floor next to Elena’s and toss on the sweatpants Matthew brought for me, not bothering with the shirt. Then I plop down into the recliner and gesture for her to sit on my lap.
“Why are you doing all this?” she asks as she straddles one of my legs. As soon as she’s settled, I drag the tray closer and dip the spoon into the stew, getting her a bite. I feed her without responding, because the answer is obvious. She needs it.
When half the bowl is gone, she puts her hands up. “I’m full.”
“Alright.” I set down the spoon and push the tray over to the side of the chair. “Ready to go to sleep?”
The daggers she glares at me when she thinks I might not pleasure her make me grin. “Oh, do you think you’ve been good enough for that?”
I can hear her grind her teeth and she leans forward to stand up. But she’s not getting away from me that easily. My arm wraps around her low belly and traps her. I shift her so that both my legs come in between hers and the skirt of her nightgown glides upward, revealing some of her delectable thighs.
She leans back against my chest, her hair tickling my skin, grazing over my nipples. I shove away the sensations when they threaten to overcome me. Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about taking care of my little mate. It’s about giving her security and comfort, even blissful oblivion.
I close my legs so that hers come closer together before I push mine back out, spreading those thighs of hers as far as they will go, sending her skirt up another half an inch. I repeat the motion, butterflying our legs open and closed, watching the way her eyes drop to her own waist, the way her pulse flutters at her neck, the way the light from the wall sconces catches on the silk covering the points of her nipples.
Back and forth, I let my legs cause friction along her inner thighs, the material of my pants sliding across her bare skin, slowly building her anticipation. Her hands come to the forearm I have locked around her waist and clamp down on me. I don’t stop, not even when she digs in her nails.
“Black …”
“Patience, little wolf. We’ll get there,” I tell her.
