“Careful, little chick. That sound gets my dick excited.”
I tighten my lips inward and bite down on them.
With strong strokes, he smooths the shampoo through my hair until it’s properly soaped and then rinses my hair again. The conditioner is cool when he runs it through my hair, and when he’s finished rinsing it, he scoops it up and twirls it around before leaving it in a wet pile on top of my head.
“Thank you,” I say, but Spark sits on the edge of the tub.
“I’m only just getting started. I’m going to wash you with my hands. And you’re going to be a good girl and let me.”
13
SPARK
It’s a really fucking bad idea to be here.
I’m disobeying a direct order from my president, and I’m a man who prides himself on knowing how to give and take orders.
I’m also deliberately, and some might argue stupidly, putting myself in harm’s way. Not that I’m expecting Ó Ceallaigh to swing by at two in the morning. But if he did, the sight of me with my hands on Iris in the tub would be enough to end me. He wouldn’t ask questions first.
And it might backfire on my little chick, sitting there, all flushed and wet, looking up at me as her trust in us grows. Iris got caught in the crossfire twice now. I don’t know why that guy came at her, but the fact he had a hidden getaway says it was no accident. And I don’t intend for that to happen to her again. But it’s bound to, if I stick around.
I don’t know why I feel like it’s connected to the Righteous Brotherhood we’ve been keeping a watch on. Maybe they’ve been keeping a watch on me. My cut tells them exactly who I am because we aren’t cowards. We don’t hide. Perhaps I’ve gotten sloppy. Or perhaps I’m connecting dots that aren’t meant to join.
But allowing myself this. Allowing myself this one night to know what it would feel like to have the responsibility for her body and her care.
Fuck.
That’s trippy enough to override any guy’s senses.
Acid has burned through my veins since I saw that truck hit her car. The sounds of it put me back in a place I didn’t want to be. My body feels like it ran a marathon. But here, in the quiet candlelight with the scent of shampoo and Iris, something happens to me. It’s like I finally disconnect from the electrical socket.
Everything slows.
All the tension ebbs from me.
I dip my palms into the warm water by her side, letting my fingers trail her slick skin. She’s soft to my hard, short to my tall, sweet to my sour. And she’s firmly under my skin. Her bodywash is all flowery scents as I rub a pump of it between my hands.
Then I start with her shoulders.
“You’re really tense,” I say as I knead the knots in her shoulders.
Iris drops her head, giving me more room. I massage farther down her back. Her hand, propped on the side of the tub, slides onto my lap. It’s inches from my rock-hard dick, which I’m making no efforts to hide. If I sat forward just a fraction, her knuckles would skim my length, and my dick throbs at the thought of it.
I take a deep breath and nudge her back.
Easing the soap up her neck, I place my hands around it, my fingers touching on both sides. I’ve killed a man like this, and I know I’d do it again in a heartbeat if someone came for her.
I ease my touch, even as my mind runs with all the ways I want to defile her. All the ways I want her to submit to me.
As I cup her breasts, I imagine sucking on them so hard they bruise. I move down her body to her stomach, flat and perfect.
Iris grips my wrist. “I think this is maybe crossing a line I’m not ready for.”
I stop. “I can move my hand. We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. Or you can let me help you get back into your own body.”
Her eyes are wide. “What do you mean?”
I draw a circle on her stomach without moving lower. “You got hit pretty hard today. Getting hit like that, it rings your bells. Makes you feel off-kilter. Shell-shocked, even.”
“You sound like you know.”
I huff. “Maybe.” But I don’t want to think about war right now, not when the candlelight and bubbles make my little chick seem even softer than normal.
“I shouldn’t do this,” she mutters, but her eyes close, and she lies back against the tub.
I know that feeling, and I bury the words of my prez deep inside.
“Ask me, so I know you want this.”
Her eyes pop open at that. “I . . . I can’t . . . it isn’t . . .” But even as she fumbles to find the right words to say to me, her thighs rub against each other beneath the water.
“Say it, little chick. Just ask me and I’ll do it.”
“Can’t I just say yes?” she asks, her voice almost a whisper.
I get off on her discomfort. “No. I want to hear the words come from those sweet lips. The dirtier, the better.”
She shakes her head and looks over to the candle at the edge of the bath. The way she chews on her bottom lip tells me she wants it, but somewhere along the way, she’s learned that she shouldn’t ask for what she wants sexually. That somehow, I’ll think less of her.
“Chick?”
She looks back at me. Pins those green eyes on me.
I slide my hand to my dick and adjust it. “Why is it so hard to ask me for what you need?”
Her gaze drifts to my hand, and her breath shortens as her mouth opens slightly.
“You want to hear what I want?” I ask. “Would that make it easier?”
Iris nods.
“Eyes, little chick.” When she looks up at me, every dominant nerve and bone in my body stands to attention.
“I want to fuck you. Defile you, actually. I want you to ride my face, I want to stick my tongue in you, everywhere. Same with my cock. I want to fuck you until we collapse in a sweaty heap, and just then, when I was washing your neck, I wondered how easy it would be to kill anyone who hurt you.” I say the words really straightforward, as if I were reading the manual to my Harley out loud, but the whole time, I stroke my dick through the denim.
With her eyes wide as saucers and pupils flared, I see the interest.
When she says nothing as her nipples pebble and her knees press together, I know she’s currently battling herself mentally. She wants to submit, but her brain . . .
“What do you want, Iris?”
“I don’t want you. I don’t want this. Your world isn’t my world.”
I shrug. “Maybe. But I didn’t ask what you don’t want. I asked what you do want.”
“Don’t make me,” she says breathlessly.
“Only way it’s going to happen, chick.”
“Fine,” she says with a little huff of defiance, not knowing it makes me want to fuck it out of her. But I’ve realized with Iris, it’s about luring her in. She won’t come easily, even if she wants to.
“Fine, what?”
“Can you touch me, please?”
“Of course,” I say, deliberately touching her shoulder, drawing a figure eight on her skin. It’s killing me not to give in and touch her like she wants. I’m desperate to. But I also need her to express her needs to me. “Like this?”