Page 70 of Born in Depravity

He took a step toward me and I took one back.

Another step forward, and one more back, until my back was plastered against the wall, and Mikhail was standing directly in front of me.

I didn’t know where to direct my eyes—to his usually emotionless blue eyes that were unexpectedly light with amusement this morning, or to his handsome face that shouldn’t affect me but did.

If I moved my gaze down, they would hit his naked chest, from the hard pecs to his broad shoulders, and lower down, to his ab muscles, hard and unforgiving. On his left rib was a realistic human heart with a dagger through it.

Then there were his black boxer briefs that he had worn to bed last night, the thin fabric doing very little to hide him.

My face felt like it was on fire.

I had never seen a naked man before.

Not even on TV. I swallowed and looked off to the side.

“Nervous?” he asked me softly, like how I imagined lovers would whisper to each other before going to bed together for the first time.

But this wasn’t one of my books.

This was my life, and it was anything but a fairytale. I would do well to remember where I stood with these three men.

I was nothing more than a captive.

I didn’t answer him, and he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer from me anyhow, because he turned away and opened the glass shower door. I watched him warily as he tested the water.

When he deemed it the right temperature, I supposed, he turned his attention back to me.

He watched me intently as he hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. I closed my eyes quickly when he shoved them down.

Oh, God.

I didn’t open my eyes, even when I felt him come closer to me, the heat from his body burning me from the inside out.

Everything seemed to stand still in that moment, even if I couldn’t see. I jumped a little when I felt his fingers gently caressing my cheek. My breath stuttered in choppy, quick pants, turning into a small gasp when I felt him wrap his big, warm, rough hands around me and lead me to the shower.

I kept my eyes shut, letting him do what he needed.

I wasn’t going to look.

I could hear Mikhail moving around. It sounded like he squirted some shampoo in his hands, which was confirmed to me moments later when I felt his fingers massage through my hair.

I tried not to relax into his touch, but this wasn’t what I was expecting from him.

My hands hung limply by my sides. I didn’t know where to put them, and I was afraid I might accidentally touchsomethingif I moved them around with my eyes closed.

He brought me under the spray, rinsing the shampoo from my hair before massaging in the conditioner—and he helped rinse that out too.

I peeked my eyes open when he turned me around.

I watched droplets of the water run down the glass wall of the shower while Mikhail moved behind me.

I didn’t know what he was doing, and I didn’t bother to check.

He ran a soap-filled washcloth down my back.

Goosebumps rose across my body, but I wasn’t cold. No, the water was warm enough.

I kept my eyes on the droplets, not knowing why I was feeling this pressure in my chest all of a sudden.

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