Page 119 of Sweet Obsession
But I couldn’t see, and I was too busy trying not to cry.
He carried me through the hallway, past the library, past the guards who didn’t dare meet his eyes. The world blurred behind my lids.
Each movement swayed with the rhythm of his steps. I hated the steadiness of him. Hated that he was the first person I thought of when the pain started.
He set me down in his private bathroom. It was dimly lit, warm with soft steam curling from the marble tub already half-filled.
“I...wait, you were already running a bath?”
“I saw you covered in paint hours ago,” he said simply. “I figured you’d need it.”
I blinked, even though it burned. “You were watching me?”
“You’re always being watched, malyshka. You just don’t know when.”
My stomach flipped, but not from fear.
He helped me lower into the water. The moment my skin met the heat, the pain dulled just slightly. He rolled up his sleeves, knelt behind the tub, and began rinsing my face with cool water from a silver bowl. One hand steadied the back of my head. The other swept gently across my eyes, wiping away the oil in slow, careful motions.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch more than necessary.
But his silence wasn’t cold. It was reverent.
Like he was afraid if he said the wrong thing, I’d disappear.
Eventually, my breathing slowed. The sting faded. I opened my eyes, vision blurry but improving.
He was still there.
Watching me.
But not with hunger.
With something worse.
Tenderness.
His fingers found the knot in my hair and began to loosen it. “You always tie it too tight,” he muttered.
I swallowed hard. “Because I don’t want it in my face.”
He said nothing. Just worked the strands loose with a patience I didn’t know he possessed.
Then I felt it.
The slow, methodical drag of his hands as he gathered my hair, soaked it under the faucet beside the tub, and lathered it with shampoo. His fingers worked through the knots with such care, I had to clench my jaw to keep from gasping.
This man had slit throats without blinking. Ordered executions without regret.
But here he was, washing my hair like he might break me if he pulled too hard.
And I hated how my body responded.
“Lean back.”
I obeyed before I could think better of it.
The water rushed over my scalp, rinsing the suds away. His fingertips followed, trailing against the nape of my neck. Goosebumps raced down my spine.
