“I should check that,” I tell him, referring to the bandage on his arm.
“Want to check out your handiwork?”
“Something like that.”
He holds his arm out to me and I begin to unravel the white gauze. When I pull it away I inspect the injury I caused. It wasn’t a through and through, just hit him at the edge though it’s deep. It looks healed enough and someone had given him stitches, they were clean too.
“You should leave this off for a while,” I tell him.
He dips his chin in a nod, eyes looking down on me.
I take a fresh pad and jump up onto the counter, leaning forward so I can do the cut on his forehead and cheek. When I struggle to reach, he forces my legs apart and steps between them, his hands coming down to rest on top of my thighs. Almost absentmindedly his large hands squeeze into the soft flesh of my thighs, his fingers indenting into my skin.
A few hours ago he wanted to kill me – again – and now he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me –again.
I ignore the heat in his gaze, I ignore the rampant desire to shove his pants down and let him take me right here on the bathroom counter. That last time was the last time. It can’t happen again.
The lines have already been blurred and crossed two too many times, I can’t let it continue to destroy me.
“You’re good now,” I whisper.
“I’ve never been good, Wren.” He sighs, stepping from between my legs and turning to the shower.
I don’t look away when he shoves out of his clothes and pulls on the door to step inside. I don’t even look away when he turns to me, his cock clearly on show through the glass. Watching is different than doing, right? Right. So whilst I might not allow myself to sleep with him again, I can watch.
And there’s no denying I’ll enjoy it too.
I watch him work the soap into a lather, smoothing the foam across his muscles, rubbing away any remaining dried blood on his skin. There’re bruises now forming from whatever happened earlier.
“So are you going to fill me in on anything or is my presence here always going to remain a mystery?”
“Anyone ever tell you how very sharp your tongue is?”
“My trainer,” I shrug, “answer the question.”
“You’re really quite demanding for someone who isn’t calling the shots.”
“Don’t test me, Alexander.”
His smirk is smug and infuriating, “Unfortunately Little bird, you’re just a pawn.”
“For what?”
“Your father crossed the wrong family, it’s time he learned his lesson.”
“So why draw it out?” I growl, jumping off the counter to stand in front of him. The glass separates us, but I still feel the power radiating off him, the way he stares, fixated on my face. His confidence is paramount to anything I’ve ever felt, the promise of pain and retribution is as clear as my own reflection. He wants to make my father hurt and he’s using me to do it.
“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“And you expect me to believe a man like you?”
The shower shuts off and he steps out, leaning across to grab a towel. His muscles roll and flex with the movements as he hooks the white cotton around his hips. Water droplets roll through the crevices between his abdominal muscles, licking at his skin, clinging there as if they couldn’t bear to be parted. Water clings to the long dark lashes framing his silver eyes and the muscle in his jaw jumps.
“I am a lot of things, Wren but a liar isn’t one of them. What could I gain from lying to you?”
I think about that. The air in the bathroom is hot and stifling, perspiration dots across the nape of my neck so I turn and head into what I am now assuming is his bedroom. I take a seat on his bed, crossing my legs, trying like hell to ignore the scent of him that wafted up from the sheets when I sat down. The mattress is plush, soft, yielding to my weight and welcoming me, so snug and tight I could roll up and sleep.
“Well, you’ve made it clear that my family has somehow wronged yours and now you’re using me to get your revenge, right?”