Water splashes over the side as Christopher steps in and lets out a curse.
“Do you always keep it this hot?”
I tsk, “Is someone being a big baby?”
“Someone is trying not to burn off every inch of his fucking skin.” Grumbling under his breath, Christopher takes another step, “Can you not feel temperature or something?”
“I get cold easily.”
Dark eyes flick in my direction, disbelief rippling through them before he refocuses on getting in the tub.
The scalding water that fails to keep me warm.
“Is this another test? Because if I wake up tomorrow in a tank full of eels I’m going to be pissed.”
He hisses out a breath, slowly sinking into the water. It washes over his shoulders, flattening the longer pieces of his hair against wet skin.
“No eels, but I would love to see how you hold up in Marlin’s bed.”
A full-body shudder rumbles through him, “Don’t put that thought into the universe. I would wake up screaming bloody murder thinking that psycho is coming for me.”
I snicker softly, watching him lower himself down and dunk his head under. Droplets spray from his lips when he resurfaces, liquid crystals shattering the calm surface around us.
Marlin was right when he described Christopher as reckless. He is chaos in its most honest form, all rough textures and uneven angles that do their best to injure himself and those around him.
He is wild and unpredictable, and yet somewhere in the midst I find myself studying a man who is loyal to a fault.
A man who made a promise and is determined to see it through.
“Are those from Seaborn Mansion?”
Christopher blinks, his eyes following my gaze to the purple bruises blooming beneath the ink staining his chest.
“Not sure, to be honest.”
My brow lifts, “Injury prone?”
“Nah. I just make really stupid decisions.”
I snort, taking his hand and pulling him towards me.
“You’re a man. Stupid decisions are part of your DNA.”
“Most days I’d be tempted to agree with you.”
His eyes flutter shut as he tilts his head back and floats in the water. Brushing the strands back from his face, I let my nails drag across the bridge of his nose, over the slope of his cheekbones and along the plush rise of his lips.
Christopher sighs softly, feeling my nails scrape the back of his neck and the solid lump of his traps. I massage the muscle gently before drifting my hands south, taking note of the areas that causes tension.
Mapping out the location of his scars.
“How areyou feeling, baby?”
Whispering in his ear, I lightly graze his nipple. A teasing brush of contact that follows the hard press of my tongue.
“Fucking amazing.”
I lick his neck, tasting the salt still lingering on his body. My hands drift further south, shaping the contours of his torso before brushing the tip of his dick.
