“I won’t.”
I’m annoyed by how many times I have to say that.
I move to her back, kneeling by the side of the tub as she settles into a relaxed position.
She’s in rougher shape than she was when I’d first met her, but the bath is doing wonders, and her bruises will eventually heal.
I massage the shampoo into her scalp, careful to avoid the injured area. There are several knots laced throughout her hair, and I wonder if I should just shave it all off. Something tells me she wouldn’t like that, though. And I probably shouldn’t either. Men like long hair.
But you aren’t like most men…
And I never will be. It’s something I’ve known since I was a teenager, and I’ve never once doubted the truth of what I am.This interest I have in this girl doesn’t change me. Not at my core.
I will always be a killer. A hunter in search of prey.
She is just a different type of prey.
A small moan escapes her lips, which my cock finds interesting. It’s the first time it’s stirred since I found her on top of the dumpster. What’s notable is that I haven’t been thinking about killing anyone.
“May I touch you?” I ask.
“It’s part of the deal.”
“I typically always ask first.”
“Why is that? I mean, you have no qualms with torture and murder.”
I slide my hand over her collarbone to her small breasts, deciding not to respond. Her areolas are hardly the size of a quarter, her budding nipples reactive to my touch. I tug gently at one, studying her response, which is minimal.
“So tell me about this job you had during the apocalypse. What were you and Caspian doing?”
“Dropping a whole lot of dead.”
“Did you drop the living, too?”
“When I had to.”
“So you had to kill Madam Levy?” she says in a teasing voice.
“I meant that when I killed on the job, it was because I had to. Madam Levy was recreational.”
“Some do recreational drugs. Others do recreational murders.” She giggles, like she’s made a joke. But it’s the truth and I don’t find it so funny.
“You didn’t seem to complain.” I roll her nipple between the pads of my thumb and index finger, tugging harder. She sucks in a breath but gives no indication whether she found the sensation pleasurable.
I know what she did like, though. I still think about her thighs closing around my cheeks as she ground her pussy against my face. It was primal and urgent and it got me hard.
And with our deal, it’s mine for the taking.
I rinse her hair and take out a brush. Dragging it through her mane is worse than dropping the dead, and I yank her head back more often than I intend to, but she doesn’t complain.
Afterward, I scrub the places she couldn’t reach and drain the tub.
She lets me towel her dry, keeping an expressionless look on her face.
At least she’s not disgusted by me.
She stretches, grimacing when she moves into certain positions. A few days of rest should have her good as new.
