Page 24 of If You Go
“Let’s get you in the shower, baby,” he murmurs into my hair, placing light kisses along my head and face. “Don’t want you sleeping covered in my sweat.
I hum, too blissed out to reply, drifting in the safety of his arms.
CHAPTER NINE
I CHUCKLE ASI stand, rolling off the edge of the mattress. The sight of her in my bed—hair spilled over my pillow, mouth parted—hits like a clean shot of whiskey. New drug. Only one I’ll ever need. I could never give her up. She’s mine. And I’ll make damn sure everyone knows it before they eventhinkabout testing me.
I stand there and look at her for a moment. She is beautiful. Quiet. She is peaceful. Even with her being testy earlier, last night I guess as I look at the clock and see it’s about three in the morning now. It was adorable since she is so tiny compared to me. I have to have at least a whole foot on her. There is just something about her. The spice, the calm. She reminds me of someone. I can’t place it. All I know is that I need her to be mine.
I cut through the closet into the bathroom and twist the shower handle hot—nearly scalding. Women tend to bathe involcanic temps; no sense easing her into lukewarm. Steam fogs the glass in seconds.
On my way back to the bed, I snatch my phone off the nightstand. A stack of notifications waits—mostly from our group thread I renamedDICK HEADSbecause they earned it.
I glance over. She’s asleep on her stomach, dead to the world, one hand fisted in my sheet like she’s claiming the territory. Good.
I thumb the screen.
Good. They’ve got the perimeter. The second I laid eyes on this woman I knew that she would forever be mine. I can’t let her go now, and I won’t. But my nerves are fight me. I can tell that I became instantly on edge since the second she accidentally opened my door. My mind was already all over the place. But now? Now it is a constant stream of worse case scenario. I set the phone on the vanity. The bathroom’s a warm cloud now, mirrors bleached white with steam. I close the door to trap the heat, then head back for my sleeping Siren.
I slide an arm under her knees and another under her shoulders. She murmurs something and nuzzles into my chest on instinct. Light as nothing. I carry her into the shower and step under the spray, leaning us both into the heat slowly so I don’t shock her awake.
“Mm.” A soft sound against my collarbone. Yeah. She likes it hell-hot.
“Little Siren,” I murmur, hands rubbing lazy circles into the swell of her ass, “let’s get you cleaned up. Then we can go back to bed.” Nothing. “Come on Surry, wake up, doll.”
She squirms, more awake now. I keep my grip solid. Light pinches to her thigh earn me a tiny gasp and a blink up at me.
“Whoa. How did we get in the bathroom?”
“Carried you,” I say, setting her down steady on the river-stone tile. “You fell out the second we finished.” The sleepy haze she has on her face is driving me wild, but I’m sure she will be sore in the morning, so I hold myself back from showing her how undeniably attracted I am to her.
The shower space is built for men my size—no builder-grade box. Rounded gray-white stones underfoot; matte-black subway tile climbing to the ceiling; three adjustable heads in a triangle so there’s no cold pocket anywhere. The rest of the room tracks with it—black fixtures, broad concrete counter, warm strip lighting. Industrial…clean…me.
I turn her gently, back to my chest, and pump shampoo into my palm. My cock jumps at the nearness of her ass, but I tell myself to cool the fuck off. But, I could easily hold up against the shower wall and fuck her again. The citrus-cedar scent opens up, bringing me back to what I was doing. I work it into her hair, fingertips moving slowly and firmly. She melts, head tipping back into me like a cat.
“As soon as we were done, I got the liquid fire temp water going, then I scooped you up,” I tell her, working the lather to the ends, while mentally repeatingdon’t get a bonerover and over in my head. “Figured you’d want the sweat off so you sleep clean.”
I pivot her to face me and tilt her under the spray, rinsing until the suds are gone. Her nipples, hard at the contact, rub against my abs. The feeling oddly as comforting as it is sexy.
Chill Brenden. Conditioner next. The way the water beads on her shoulder blades is criminal. Her breasts press into my chest—tight, pink nipples begging for me to place my tongue there—and I tame the urge by twisting her hair into a loose bun to let the conditioner set.
She looks up, clear-eyed now. “Listen, Brenden. I don’t know what you think this is,” she takes a small step backwards not fully leaving the warmth of the water, “but I’m not looking for anything. This was just sex. And a bed. Thank you for… being kind. You have no idea what that means. But I’m not there. So we can shower and sleep, and then I’m going home. Got it?”
She thinks she’s drawing the line. Cute. Her cheeks go the most delicious shade of pink when she’s trying to look unbothered—nervous glint right there in her eyes. I can give her whatever version of control she needs for now. She’ll learn soon enough: I’m not going anywhere. I belong to her now, just as much as she belongs to me.
When she faces me again, I nod once. “Yes, ma’am. Clean and cozy. Long day. We’ll get you some peace.” I look down and can’t help my eyes wandering, but she must not notice since her shoulders drop a fraction in relief. Good call, Slater.
“Yeah,” she says, voice unsteady. “My brand-new car got beaten to death. Juniper’s shop got blown up. And I got a very threatening text and letter. I’m overwhelmed. Blowing off steam with you was…” She exhales. “Great. I appreciate it.”
Picking up a loofah I flood it with the body wash that smells like dark florals and warm earth. I will never be able to smell this ever again without thinking of her. The way I am marking her with my own scents makes me feel something extra in that caveman part of my brain. “You have had an exceptionally bad day, I’ll do the work. Just try and relax, okay Siren?” She nods her head, and closes her eyes. A small hum escapes her as I start to work.
I wash her head to toe—practical, steady. Neck, shoulders, arms. I drag the suds along her ribs and belly, between her thighs. She blushes and watches, biting her lip like she doesn’t know what to do with being taken care of without strings attached. Or maybe she is as turned on as I am and doesn’t want to admit it, maybe if I just…no. No, Slater. I continue, washing each one of her breasts and then move up to her chest and throat. Once I reach her chin, I hand her the face wash from the shelf.
“You’ll want this. No sleeping in makeup.”
Her mouth opens, stays there, then closes. “You have… face wash?”
I give her a mock insulted face, before asking “do I look like a heathen?”
