“Didn’t imagine you kneeling before me for the first time like this, but it’ll do,” he drawls.
“You’re such an ass.” I tug his pants and boxers off his feet, letting them land on the floor with a wet plop. “Take off your shirt.”
He cocks a brow.
“Take. Off. Your. Shirt,” I repeat, a little slower this time.
“You want me naked? Don’t know how well I’ll be able to perform—”
I cut him off. “I want to throw your clothes in the dryer.”
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “Rich girl like you knows how to do laundry?”
“I do. Don’t sound so surprised,” I say with a huff, my eyes going wide when those long, elegant fingers reach for the front of his shirt and slowly start undoing each button.
“You going to watch?” he asks, his voice bored as he undoes the last button. The shirt hangs open and my gaze drops, but there are shadows in the room, thanks to the single lit lamp on my bedside table. I can’t see anything. And I’m curious.
I want to see everything.
“I suppose,” I say with indifference, like his near nakedness in my room doesn’t affect me.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He tips his head in my direction. “You’re wet too.”
My clothes are so soaked, fat water droplets are literally dripping onto the carpet.
Feeling defiant, I tug the hoodie off, dropping it onto the pile of Whit’s clothes. I toe off my shoes, my no-show socks rolling right off with them. Resting my hands on the waistband of my leggings, I slowly work them down my legs, my gaze never leaving Whit’s the entire time.
He doesn’t look away. Just holds my gaze, as if we’re in a competition to see who blinks first. He does, his gaze dropping to my legs for the briefest moment when I finally get the leggings off my body.
It was as if they were stuck to me like glue.
“You’re really going to take off all your clothes. In front of me.” He sounds like he doesn’t believe me.
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I tell him, enjoying the dare—the way his gaze roams over me, as if he has no idea where to look first. I’m full of surprises, I think. I keep him guessing. He believes I’m some meek, stupid girl who he can push around.
He’s wrong.
I take him in as well. How he’s sitting on my chair completely naked, save for the open shirt, and I realize that’s kind of weird.
This entire situation is weird.
“Neither do I,” he says.
“Shall I go first?” I don’t know where this bravery is coming from, but I’m going with it.
“If you insist.” He smiles. Winces. The shiner he’s sporting is deepening in color, giving him a gruff, rough-around-the-edges appearance.
The prince has been wounded in battle. And I’ll have to pretend like I never witnessed it. As if I have no idea what happened.
It should be easy. Not like we talk in front of other people anyway.
Reaching behind me, I slowly unhook my bra. It springs away from my skin and I let the straps fall down my arms, then toss it into the clothes’ pile.
“Just as pretty as I imagined,” he murmurs, his gaze only for my chest.
Perv.
I am not ashamed of my body. It’s been used, and I’ve used it. Right now, it’s a weapon of mass destruction, and Whit is my target. I’m fully prepared to decimate him.
Though I suppose I have the advantage, considering he’s injured and hiding away in my room. But still. When in war, you must take your opportunities where you can.
Resting my hands on my hips, I curl my fingers around the waistband of my panties. My heart slows, then kicks back into gear with a steady, heavy beat. His gaze is warm. Assessing. He leans back a little in the chair, and I know he should look ridiculous, practically naked with a drenched white shirt on and nothing else.
But he doesn’t look ridiculous. Not one bit. I’m the one who’s supposed to be in control right now, but he’s the assured one, waiting for me to make the next move.
“You going to drop them?”
“You want to see?” I throw back at him.
“You fucking know it,” he says with a grin.
Pissed, I push my wet panties down, irritated that they get stuck around my knees. I struggle with them, finally kicking them off before I just stand there and let him look his fill.
And he does. He blatantly stares at the spot between my legs, his brows lifting slightly. “You don’t wax.”
Why would I want to make my pussy pretty when no one was really seeing it? Well, the only person who was, I didn’t want him to touch me. At one point, I wanted to make myself as repulsive to him as possible.
It didn’t work. He didn’t care. He still took what he wanted.
“I trim it,” I say, which is the truth. “Groom it a little.”
“I like it.” His smoldering gaze meets mine. “Your confidence is a surprise, Savage. I like that too.”
I shouldn’t take pleasure from his compliments, but I do. And it’s so cold in here, my nipples are hard, aching points. I rub my arm against them, trying to ease the pain, but it’s no use. “Your turn,” I tell him.
“I don’t know if I can stand.”
“Is that a cop-out I hear?”
With a grunt, he grabs the back of the chair and rises to his feet on unsteady legs. I’m tempted to help him, but he glares when I take a step forward, so I don’t move any further. He shrugs out of the shirt, first one shoulder and arm, then the other. Very, very slowly.
Until he’s just as naked as I am.
His shoulders and chest are broad. His abs…he has a six-pack. Flat stomach. His belly button is an innie. Hairy thighs. Long, thick cock that is semi-hard. And once my gaze latches onto it, it grows even harder.
“Impressed?” he asks, sounding annoyed.
“It would do,” I say with a shrug and a yawn.
He laughs. Groans. Clutches himself, falling back into the chair with a heavy thud.
“Looks like nothing’s going to happen tonight,” I say with glee as I whip around and go to my closet, slipping on a fresh hoodie and grabbing a pair of sweat pants to pull on. I slip my feet into slippers and turn once more to face him. He’s eyeing my fresh, warm clothing with obvious envy and I gesture toward my bed. “You should rest.”
“In your bed?”
“No, in the chair.” I roll my eyes. “Of course, in my bed. Oh! I almost forgot.” I go to my dresser and grab one of the towels I brought with me, along with the now cool washcloth. “Do you need help?” I ask as he stands and starts to make the few short steps to my bed.
“I’m fine,” he bites out, shuffling like an old man. My gaze drops to his ass, noting the shallow dimples at the base of his spine. I imagine kissing them. Biting the firm flesh of one butt cheek, then the other.
My cheeks flush, and I go to him, tugging the comforter and sheets back before he collapses on top of the mattress. I pull the sheet and comforter over his naked, damp body, tucking it around him. I offer him a towel and he frowns. “Dry your hair?”
He dismisses my offer with a single shake of his head. “No.”
“Let me wash your face at least?” His frown deepens. “So I can clean up your wounds.”