His hands deftly work the pins out and then he slowly runs his fingers through my knots, pulling the last of the dark tendrils from around my face, my hair fully slicked back.
He runs one hand over my head, past my temple, down my cheek, the backs of his fingers slowly touching my skin.
Feeling me.
And it’s probably one of the most intense experiences of my life. And I kill people for a living.
He makes his way to the zip at the back of my dress, and painfully slowly undoes it. My heartbeat increases and I mirror what he did to me, running my hands through his hair, pullingthe wild tendrils back. Not one word passes our lips, but so much is said.
One of the straps falls away from my shoulder and he tries to pull the dress off. There will be no way it’s coming off without intervention.
I’m currently swearing at Anya for talking me into buying this sodding dress. She was so worried about being able to run in it, taking it off when wet hadn’t been something we had thought about.
But I really wish we had.
I run my fingers over his chest and down towards the top of his trousers, undoing the top button. Leaving my dress on, I stoop and pull both the trousers and boxers down over his strong thighs, down his legs.
He steps out of them.
Don’t look at his cock.
Don’t look at his cock.
I look at his cock.
And there it stands in all its aroused glory, but I ignore it. Even though my brain is telling me to pop it in my mouth.
Brain.
No.
Stop.
I stand, grab the shower gel, pour it into my hands, and rub it over his shoulders and chest. The coconut smell fills the shower. I wash the dirt and grime off his body, the last bits of blood, and wash his hair.
The sound of the shower fills the void between us.
Once the last of the bubbles are off his skin, I reach behind him and turn off the shower. The dress I’m still wrapped in makes me that much colder.
I’m telling myself it’s the dress that’s making me shiver, not him.
Not this moment.
I take his hand and lead him out of the shower, grabbing a big fluffy towel off the shelf and pass it to him.
He turns his back to me and dries.
I use the break in his intense stare and take the opportunity to peel the dress awkwardly away from my skin.
Pulling my underwear and bra off my body, I walk back into the shower.
I’ve got my back towards him, his watchful eyes on me.
“Whatthe fuck, Lucy.” I hear him growl from the edge of the shower.
I spin round at his outburst, bubbles covering my hair and dripping into my face.
His fists are clenched, knuckles are white, his face downright murderous.
