“I know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, so do I.” I turn my back on him and walk to the ensuite, turning on the knob and letting the warm spray free.
“You never did tell me how you got these scars on your back.” His fingers pepper over the burnt skin that knits across my back, and I let him take a good look at my body.
I pull my arms over my breasts, my chin dipping to my chest as he looks at my flaws.
“It was a mission; it didn’t go well.”
“But what happened?” His mouth peppers a kiss onto the tip of the angriest of burns that run to the edge of my shoulder blade.
“I was tortured, whipped with a rope that had been dipped in kerosene, and set on fire.” I glance over my shoulder where he hesitates. “Can you imagine how painful that is? Being whipped isn’t a fun experience, but with something that’s like molten lava.”
“I don’t want to imagine it.”
“Your skin breaks and is burnt straight away. The wound almost cauterises as soon as it’s done. You wanted to know how my path crossed with Luca Knight? He found me and Roman.”I hold out my wrists to him and point to some faint scaring. “I was hanging from a meat hook, back bruised and bloody from their whipping, malnourished but not broken. Roman and I were imprisoned together, tortured together, and then saved together. By Luca Knight.”
“Life has been unkind to you.”
“Life has been life to me. We all walk different paths. Mine was more violent than yours.”
He stares at me, and I turn my back to him. Stepping under the shower spray.
“We’ll head back to the safehouse after breakfast. Maria will drop us to the station,” I say, tilting my head and letting the water wash away my run.
Wash away all thefines.
“Have you heard back from Luca?”
“Nothing,” Owen answers, sitting down on the toilet, watching me with a pensive look on his face.
“I don’t need a chaperone,” I say, wanting him to leave. Needing him to leave.
“You don’t need anything, do you?”
“I need some privacy. Unless watching is your thing now.” I drop my hands over my boobs, running them over my stomach to my pussy, and push my fingers into me.
I hate how easily they slide in.
I hate that being around him has my body reacting.
I hate how much he makes me feel.
“Mhhhm,” I moan, and Owen stands.
“For fuck’s sake.” He runs his hand through his hair. “You do my fucking head in.”
“Come on, Owen,” I goad, my other hand going to my nipple squeezing. “Sometimes talking is overrated, remember? Remember how good it felt? We need to put on a show when we get back in the public eye. Let’s practice some more.”
“I know what you’re doing. I’ll play your game,” he says and walks towards the shower cubicle and opens it. He reaches in and turns the spray off before joining me in the shower, his huge body encasing me in the small space. He’s fully clothed.
He pulls my hand out the way, replaces it with his own, and leans forward. His lips brushing up against mine as he pushes his fingers into me and starts fucking me with them.
Fuck me.
“Do you know what I think?” he whispers against my lips. “I think you’re all messed up in here.” He taps my head. “I think your mind is racing again, and I think you’re terrified to let me in fully because you know that I can stop it from racing without the need for me to fuck your brains out.” He tilts his fingers, and I moan. “I think you’re conflicted.”
“You don’t know shit. Fuck.” I grind against him and grip his biceps through his top, leaving a wet mark on his long-sleeved top.
