Lucas
The white noise of the shower running calms me down, the lingering fear of seeing her hurt fading.
I take my time stripping out of my briefs, giving her a minute to warm up. My skin feels slimy after peeling off the dirty clothes, smears of mud and dead leaves stuck to my neck and hair. I grip the edges of the sink counter.
Gemma pisses me off so much, but at the same time I have never felt the icy grip of terror like that before.
When we were out in the rain and she was fighting me I just…shut down. I had no way to hold back my carnal need to control the situation—to control her. All I knew was that I needed to keep her safe. The best way to do that was to bring her home with me.
I might never let her leave, not until I’m satisfied she’s safe.
There’s a whisper at the back of my mind that the only thing keeping her safe is me. It’s making me think up dangerous, crazy ideas.
A soundless laugh shakes my shoulders.
I really am some twisted king, keeping the kidnapped princess in a pretty cage.
My stomach clenches and I can’t wait another second. I need to see her, feel her in my hands to know she’s out of harm’s way. I peel the curtain aside and climb into the shower with her.
“Wh—Lucas!”
Gemma’s indignation and flustered fury greets me. It’s adorable how her mouth pops open and closes, her brows flat over her green eyes. She scrambles to cover herself, snagging a small washcloth that hides nothing. Grimy water sluices off her body and swirls around the drain. There’s a twig tangled in her hair.
My heart skips a beat as we stand there. I keep my eyes level with hers, but desire claws at me to look down and take her in.
Holding eye contact, I turn her around by the shoulders so she faces into the spray.
“Wash.”
“But—”
“We’re just showering. I’m not going to do anything to you. Relax.”
Releasing a ragged noise and peering at me from the corner of her
eye, she tentatively goes back to cleaning up. Once the stiff pinch in her shoulders eases, I grab the soap and reach over her shoulder to wet it. I catch the curve of her holding air in her cheeks from her profile and my lips twitch.
“There’s a stick in your hair.”
“Oh. Can you…?”
My fingers thread into her wet strands to free it. As I keep her distracted with stick removal, I swirl the soap bar against her back where she can’t reach. She makes a small sound, but doesn’t stop me from washing her.
The shower fills with the fresh scent. She’s going to smell like me. That possessive thought tugs deep in my groin and I have to lock my jaw to keep from pinning her to the wall and grinding against her smooth skin.
Gemma relaxes for me, her head drooping forward as I massage her back. I take my time dragging my fingers all over her back, teasing close to the swell of her ass. Gemma’s breath catches.
“Which one is the shampoo?”
“That one.” I point it out and take it from her hands. “I’m doing it. Stay still and close your eyes so you don’t get soap in them.”
Squirting a dollop into my palm, I work her hair into a steady lather, going slower than I did with her back. Her breathing is uneven, but her body loosens.
Gemma falls into a quiet trance as I take care of her. Every minute my hands are on her, every fiber of my being sings with satisfaction.
After I finish, I direct her beneath the shower head to rinse.
“Turn around,” I rumble against her ear when she pulls her head back.