Page 13 of Blade
“Sorry?”
He growls, another sound I love. I don’t recognize myself. It’s like I was in a cocoon, and now I’m busting out of it. Maybe I have a naughty side. The word makes me shiver for reasons I don’t understand. Naughty? It’s so…naughty.
My sexy bearded rescuer grabs the body soap next. He pours some onto one palm and rubs his hands together to create a lather.
My breasts feel heavy. He’s going to touch them, and I hope he lingers. I’m trying not to clench the side of the tub with my bad hand because it hurts to do so, but I reach for the other edge with my good hand and hold on.
I hold my breath while he starts at my neck and works the soap down my back and my arms before washing my breasts.
I can’t help it. I try, but it’s not possible to hold back my whimper. My nipples are diamonds. It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him to fuck me. I don’t even care that I’m tired, hungry, and in pain. I’ve forgotten all three. My adrenaline is racing. I want to know if he can make me come.
“Blade…” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I’m begging.
He purses his lips tightly as he gets more soap and moves to my feet and legs. I spread them for him and hold my breath while he cleans my pussy as quickly as possible.
If I’d known I would end up in this situation, I might have considered shaving my pubic hair. I’ve never done so. I’ve never had a reason to, but I think men like it. And who the hell am I kidding? I never could have imagined a scenario like this in a million gazillion years.
He’s finished too fast. It’s kind of disappointing. I whine when he removes his hands and switches to rinsing the conditioner from my hair.
He lifts my chin again with his bossy fingers. “You’re a very naughty Little girl for someone who doesn’t even know the meaning of the term.” He kisses my forehead and pushes to standing, turning to grab a towel and set it closer.
I’m left reeling from his words. I don’t ask him to explain again. We’ve already been down this path. He’ll tell me what the hell he means when he’s ready. I get the feeling I’m not ready to hear what he has to say, which is why he hasn’t elaborated yet.
I kind of wish I could stay in the tub a while and relax in the warm water, but I’d probably fall asleep and drown, so I don’t mention it.
Blade lifts me out and stands me on my feet, keeping a hand on my hips to make sure I’m steady before he grabs the towel from the counter. It’s endearing. I’m putty.
He pats my skin dry, removes the bag, and wrings out my hair. “Don’t move, Little one.” He spins on his heels, leaving me shivering in the bathroom.
I can’t form rational thoughts. Too many things are running through my mind.
He’s back in seconds, holding a white T-shirt. “Arms up, Little one.”
I lift my arms, though I wince when my bad arm gets too high.
Blade stops me. “Sorry. Don’t do something that hurts, honey. I’ll work around your injuries.” He’s so gentle, taking his time to get the shirt on me and easing my hands through the armholes. I feel…cherished. Babied.
Little?
I don’t get it, but maybe this is what he means by little. Small? Young? Does he think I’m too young for him? Does he see me as… I shake the idea from my head. He sees me as an adult. There’s no question about it.
He pats the bench. “Sit.”
I’m dead on my feet and concerned I might actually topple, so sitting is a good idea. The only thing I’m wearing is his T-shirt, but it’s almost to my knees, so it’s easy to tuck under my bottom.
He grabs a dry towel and squeezes my hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t own a hairdryer. I’ll get as much moisture out as possible and then brush it until it’s mostly dry.”
“It’s thin. It won’t take long.”
He fingers through it. “It’s pretty.”
I scrunch up my nose.
He meets my gaze in the mirror. “What? You don’t like your hair?”
I shake my head. “It’s boring.”
“I disagree. I think it’s lovely.” He bends and kisses the top of my head. “Am I going to have to reprimand you for putting yourself down, June? Because I will if you think it’s a good idea to disparage any part of yourself. I assume your dickhead ex told you anything that made you see yourself as less than perfect. That’s an abuser’s MO. But he was lying. Every inch of you is perfect. We clear?”
