“We’re covered in blood,” he said with a shrug, no hint of his usual sardonic and taunting smirk.
Still looking at me, he unfastened his jeans, and I stilled when he slowly pushed them down his legs. I’d seen Ryder without his shirt a few times, and obviously I’d seen his dick. But I’d never actually seen him entirely naked.
It should be illegal, because no man had the right to look like something carved by the gods. And he knew it, too. He was sculpted muscle wrapped in dangerous ink, the kind of canvas that I ached to paint.
I didn’t even realise the shower was on, unable to look away as Ryder tipped his head back slightly, the water cascading down his body as if it were choreographed. His hands moved methodically, soap and water chasing theremnants of blood from his skin as he watched me through slitted eyes.
I couldn’t look away, my fingers clamped so tightly against the counter it pressed into my grazed skin. His hand, big and veiny, moved down, the bubbles following before they were quickly washed away.
Ryder’s eyes darkened when he gripped between his thighs.“So you’re just going to stay bloody, or what?” he asked, the words edged with challenge.
Heat pooled low in my belly, sharp and unexpected, curling around my hesitation like smoke.
I knew what he wanted; the way he said it was almost like a dare.
My eyes flicked back to his hand, fingers wrapped around the thick length of him, the silver glint of his piercing catching the low light as he stroked himself, slow and shameless. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through me.
Ryder raised a brow, lips twitching with something between amusement and warning. Not impatient.
Just… waiting. Like he knew I would come.
He was the most infuriating man I’d ever met, annoying, and so casually immoral it should have sent me running. It should terrify me.
So why did it feel like I was burning?
This waswrong.
Hewas wrong.
And yet I jumped off the counter, slipping my dress off my shoulders and letting it pool at my feet before closing the distance until I was under the spray.
“Place your hands on the wall,” he demanded, and I followed the order, turning until I faced the tiles.
The chill bit into my palms, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of the water and the searing heatof Ryder behind me. There was something almost cathartic in the way it all collided… the sting of heat, the rush of cold, and the unspoken thing pulsing in the space between us.
Something soft brushed my shoulder, and I shivered despite the steam curling around us. Ryder was washing me, slow and deliberate. My breath caught, and my fingers curled tighter against the slick tiles.
His strokes were gentle, hands shaping me as his fingers glided over my ribs, reaching higher until he teased across my breasts and my pulse staggered.
“Such a pain in my arse,” he whispered, his breath warm against my shoulder, just above my birthmark.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died when he began to undo my braid, his fingers working carefully through the tangles. He reached for the shampoo, lathering it gently into my scalp before dragging it through my hair in slow, deliberate tugs.
A low shiver rippled down my spine.
“Lean back,” he instructed, his tone quiet but firm. “Don’t move your hands.”
I complied, and Ryder let out a low groan, the shower quickly washing away the bubbles and debris before he began to apply the conditioner.
I’ve never had anyone wash my hair before.
It was intimate. Disarming.
Nice…
“Have I told you how much I love your hair?” he whispered, rinsing the last of the conditioner before grabbing the heavy strands in his hand, wrapping them into a slow, deliberate fist at the nape of my neck. “It’s so great to hold on to.”
I swallowed the sound that threatened to escape, ashamed of how easily he could unravel me. He hadn’t even really touched me, yet every inch of me felt alive, strung taut with need.
