Page 38 of The Games We Play
I flop my head back onto my pillow, which is as soft and squishy as the way I feel about Spark’s appearance. “Everything aches. I feel like I got flattened by a house.”
Spark smiles. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen it. He’s smirked before, but his ice-blue eyes sparkle, and the smile totally changes this face. “It was a truck, little chick.”
“Ha. You’re funny. I couldn’t get to sleep because it hurts.”
He stands and tugs off his cut before leaving the room. I can hear him at the end of the hall in the bathroom. When he returns, he pulls back the covers to reveal my shorts and T-shirt. “What are you—?”
Before I finish the sentence, he gently lifts me out of bed and walks toward the bathroom. He smells like fresh air and musk. Breathing him in, I let myself fall into the idea of someone caring about me.
The air in the bathroom is steamy as the water runs into the tub. Bubbles are forming on the surface. The candles I keep on the edge of the tub have been lit. There’s a silver lighter I don’t own on the shelf above the sink.
It’s way too romantic for my boundary-less stalker.
He places me on the soft bath mat and reaches for the hem of my shirt. I grab his fingers with one hand. “Spark,” I warn.
“You need to relax those tight muscles, little chick. Hot water will do that. Let me undress you and help you. Promise I won’t hurt you. If I wanted to do that, I would have done it already.”
The water does look inviting, and he’s right. He could have killed me a hundred times over. “I don’t know how I feel about you seeing me naked.”
He cups his hand to my cheek. There’s heat in his eyes, and I feel like I can’t catch my breath. His thumb rubs along my cheekbone as he leans forward and places the whisper of a kiss on my lips. It’s so brief I barely have a moment to respond.
“Am I doing anything you don’t want?” he asks.
Shit. I need to tell himyes. I need to tell him that the gulf between us couldn’t be any wider if we tried. I want to tell him to leave me alone. I want to stop myself from being so utterly stupid, when I pride myself on being so much smarter.
But how can I when he’s looking at me as if I’m priceless? When he broke the law by breaking into my house, but because he’s worried about me?
“How long have you been sitting outside my house?”
He squeezes my hip gently. “Only about an hour. About that consent?”
I reach for his hand and lead it to the hem of my top. He peels it up my ribs painfully slowly, his eyes on mine the whole time, giving me time to change my mind, to tell him to stop.
I try to raise my hand to help him, but the brace is heavy and my shoulder aches.
Spark takes the weight of my elbow and helps me straighten my arm so he can slide the T-shirt over my head. I’m not wearing anything beneath it, but he doesn’t look anywhere except my eyes. Thick thumbs dip beneath the waistband of my shorts as he drops to his knees in front of me. I’m naked beneath those too, and it all feels too intimate, too much.
Yet, I will him to continue and nod.
With care, he places my right hand on his shoulder, encouraging me to hold on before he slides them down my legs. He lifts one foot and then the other, to slide the shorts away.
When he’s done, he places his hands to my hips, trails his nose from the crease of my thigh to my most sacred place, and inhales deeply.
I can feel the cool air rushing over me as he breathes in, then the warmth as he exhales. A long, slow breath that makes my clit come alive. Glacial foreplay with my special stalker is obviously my jam, because my whole body responds. Every nerve ending vibrates with anticipation as to what he will do next.
Perhaps kiss me. Lick me. Suck me until I come.
Instead, he stands. “Sweetest-smelling pussy,” he whispers against my ear in a voice so rough I shiver.
He picks me up again and lowers me into the tub. The water is a couple of degrees from boiling me alive, but it feels so good on my aching bones that I groan.
Spark grabs the hand towel off the rail and places it on the side of the tub before elevating my brace onto it. “You comfortable, little chick?”
I mentally run through my body. “Things still ache, but the warmth is helping.”
“If I wash your hair, will it mean a million steps when you get out of the tub?”
“You don’t need to do that,” I say, although in all honesty, I have no idea how I’m going to wash it in the morning with a brace on my arm.
