“Understand what?”
“That you’re now mine,” His arms curl tighter around me, “Mine, do you understand?”
“What does that mean?”
“That no one else touches you, Marly.” I tilt my face toward the water, just so I can look at him. He angles himself so it stops hitting me in the face and instead falls against the back of his head, water dripping down the sides of his face, droplets running over his cheeks and gathering in the corners of his mouth, “No one looks at you, comes near you. You’re mine.Myfucking girl,” He growls, “All of you. And if I have to mark every inch of you to show the world, then I will.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” I whisper.
“Good,” He rasps, “Now stand up so I can take care of you.”
My knees shake as I get to my feet and there’s a deep ache between my thighs. One I’m sure will ease in the next few hours but I feel it, I feel what he did, what he took.
He grabs his soap and lathers it up between his palms before he gets to work, running his hands over my body, scrubbing meclean. His hands dip between my legs, turning softer as he gently cleans me, washing away the stickiness but never the essence of what we did.
“I don’t have any fancy shampoo,” He gives me a crooked grin, “Tilt your head back.”
I lift my head to the ceiling, giving him access to my hair and listen as he squirts shampoo into his palms and begins to run it through the lengths of my hair. It smells like him and his hands on my scalp and in my hair feels divine even though I know tomorrow, I’ll be doing a whole a hair routine. Hair care is no joke, not that I’ll tell him that.
When he’s finished scrubbing, he washes out the suds and then goes about sorting himself before he shuts off the shower, and I really try not to wince at the lack of conditioner or masks. We’re two different worlds and of course I can’t expect the same kind of products.
“What’s wrong?” He frowns, noticing anyway.
“Nothing,” I tell him and take the towel he offers me, wrapping myself up and then wringing out my hair. I need a brush, which I have in my car. It’ll save me having a complete birds nest in the morning, I could probably braid it too.
He frowns, not convinced.
“I just need to run to my car,” I tell him.
“What for?” His face hardens, “Are you leaving?”
My stomach drops, “No, I just need some things.”
His shoulders soften, “Okay, where is it? I’ll get it for you.”
“I can –”
“No,” He kisses my forehead, “My shirts are in the top drawer of the dresser, put one on, I’ll get your bag, where is it?”
“Backseat,” I breathe.
He pecks my cheek before he exits in just his towel, leaving me in the doorway of his bathroom. I snap out of it quickly and move toward the dresser, pulling it open. It’s stiff and creaks when I pull it but inside are all his shirts, folded neatly. I pick out a white tee and yank it over my head. It falls to about mid-thigh and I leave myself bare underneath before I move to the bed and tug the sheets back.
His scent invades this space, so damn intoxicating I have to stop myself from bringing the sheets to my nose to inhale, and climb underneath just in time for him to return with my bag.
He drops it by the dresser and digs inside, pulling out my brush a moment later and walking toward me.
“Can I?” He asks, holding it up.
I nod and maneuver myself to sit cross legged on the bed. The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed and shifts behind me, his thighs bracketing mine and then I feel his hands in my hair and the brush scraping against my scalp.
He moves it softly, gently, working the knots in my hair and it makes me wonder if he’s done this before.
“I used to brush my mother’s hair,” He answers my silent question, “She died a few years back now, but she used to let me brush out her hair after she washed it, actually I sayletloosely. She demanded I do it, both me and my brother. We didn’t have a father figure in the home. He died when we were young, and so she did everything herself, and after her hair washing day, she would tell one of us to take care of her hair. I didn’t realize what she was doing at the time.”
I hold my breath as he pauses in his story, the brush moving through my hair gently, it snags on a couple of knots, but he works them without issue, brushing them out of my hair.
“So, she taught us what to do, how to do it, and I know what I did back in the shower isn’t good enough, but I honestly didn’t expect you here, princess.” He works the brush through my hair, his hands smoothing down the strands.
