Kaitlyn blushed and nodded.
“Yes…you can take them off me.”
“Good.” Braze knelt on one knee before her. Hooking his thumbs in the flimsy lace, he pulled them down. Kaitlyn steadied herself with one hand on his bare shoulder as she stepped out of them.
When he rose, she looked up at him with an unreadable look in her eyes.
“Well? You talked about checking me over to be sure I’m not wounded,” she remarked. “Are you going to do that for me…husband?”
Braze felt a flash of something like pure need rush through his entire body and into his cock—which was still being held erect by the fucking cock ring.
“Yes, Mistress,” he growled hoarsely. “I’m more than ready to check you over and clean you up.”
“Good.” Kaitlyn nodded.
She seemed fully in control of herself again—in control of the situation too, Braze thought, feeling another surge to his groin.
“Let’s get into the shower,” she said.
Braze was more than willing to comply.
They climbed in together.
20
KAITLYN
The hot water hit Kaitlyn’s skin like a shock—then an immediate relief. It sluiced over her head and shoulders, turning the streams running down her body a murky pink as it washed away the dried Kriver blood and sticky wine. She stood under the rain of it, eyes closed, letting the heat seep into her bones—trying to thaw the last of the icy fear that had lodged in her chest.
Braze’s hands were on her immediately—not demanding, but purposeful. He started with her shoulders, his big palms sliding over her skin, pushing the water and grime away. His touch was firm and searching. He turned her gently, his hands running down her arms, her legs, her back—checking every inch. He knelt before her, the water cascading over his broad back, and his fingers traced the line of her shins and her calves.
Then he found her ankle—the one the Kriver had grabbed.
His touch there changed—became infinitely careful. He cradled her foot in one big hand, his thumb brushing over the skin. A dark, bruise-like band circled her ankle, already purpling where the tentacle’s beak-mouth had squeezed. It throbbed dully under his ministrations.
“Does this hurt?” His voice was a low rumble, barely audible over the water.
“A little. It’s just sore. Nothing’s broken.” Kaitlyn’s voice still sounded a little shaky in her own ears.
Bending, Braze pressed his lips to the mark, a brief, gentle kiss that felt like a vow. Never again—I’ll never let anything hurt you again, she could almost hear him saying.
Then his hands continued their journey, washing her other leg, his movements methodical and respectful. He was avoiding the places that would make this something else. He was being her protector—her servant—checking for wounds or injuries.
But the shock Kaitlyn had felt after the attack was receding—burned away by the hot water and the sheer, solid reality of her Protector kneeling at her feet. The terror was morphing into a different kind of ache—a deep, hollow need to feel alive. To feel anything but the cold ghost of death that had brushed so close to her she could feel its icy breath on her cheek.
Braze looked up and his eyes met hers. They were dark pools of hunger, filled with devotion so fierce it stole her breath. It touched something deep inside her—a place that was still raw and trembling.
“Braze,” she said, her voice stronger now.
“Mistress?” He arched an eyebrow.
“I want you to wash me…everywhere.” Her heart was pounding but she made her voice firm.
His big body went very still and both eyebrows were lifted now.
“Everywhere, Mistress?”
“Yes. Everywhere.”
