“Then it is settled.” I scoop Rosie into one arm.
“Put me down, you big lug.” She squirms in my hold, pushing against my chest. “I can walk, Steve. You need to make sure Bellator is okay.” Her shoulders sag as she places her palm to her chest. “I need him to be okay,” she whispers.
Her expression holds a silent plea as she looks over her shoulder to where Bellator lies. I do not want to put her down,I understand, but I do not like it. Cautiously, I place her on the ground, standing to my full height as I take in everyone nearby.Touch her and die.
Airmatus helps me put Bellator over my other shoulder. Grunting from the weight of him. Rosie walks ahead so I can see her, and I trudge through the cell door and pass the guards, nodding my thanks to Airmatus as he puts the door hinges in place. Returning to his role of complacent prisoner, ensuring the balance remains in place.
Chapter 16
Rosalind
Steve throws the door open, and I hurry past, kicking it closed when he haphazardly tosses Bellator on the bed.
“Steve! Don't be so rough; he could be hurt.” I try to push past him, but he drops to one knee, pulling me into his body, wrapping his arms tightly around me and breathing me in.
“Are you well?”
“I'm fine,” I whisper into his chest, gently rubbing his biceps, attempting to soothe him.
“Are you— are you hurt?” He pulls away and looks over my body, pushing the slit in my dress to the side, inspecting my legs and arms before turning me around and pushing the straps down, checking my back. His fingers follow the path of my bonding marks to my front as I cover my breasts, half holding up the dress so it doesn't fall. His touch is gentle but methodical. It'snot sexual. His fingers drag across my shoulder and up my neck, tilting my chin as he inspects my face, brushing his thumb across my cheek. His nostrils flare, and his breaths are short as I let him carry out his inspection. Tenderly resting his forehead to mine, his shoulders sagging as he places a palm against my chest.
“I promise I'm okay,” I breathe.
Looking over my shoulder, Bellator is still passed out on the bed, so I take the opportunity to focus on the orc before me.
“We should clean you up,” I try to smile at him, reassure him I'm alright, but there's a tremor to my voice as I look at Steve’s hands. The blood which covers them, the same that is smeared across Bellator’s body, is black. Like squid ink, staining everywhere it touches.
“The blood… It’s black.” I stare at him for some better explanation as I fix my dress in place.
“Yes. Imps bleed black.”
Well, alright then. Imps bleed black. “Do orcs?—”
“Orcs bleed blue, similar to the sky on Earth.”
“Oh, okay. I ble?—”
“You bleed red, princess. I fear the day I see it.” He gulps.
“I guess we save the period talk for another day then,” I joke, trying to ease the tension, but his brow just dips lower.
“I will fight thisperiod. They will not spill your blood.”
“If only it were that simple,” I sigh. “Come on, you big lug, let’s get you cleaned up, and then we need to check on your brother.”
“I am not a lug, I am an orc.”
I bark out a laugh; the dryness of his words never fails to amuse me. Untangling myself from him, I walk behind the partition, turning the tap on for the barrel. The steady stream of water the only noise in the room. Steve walks behind me, bringing a stool to sit on. I start to tug at his shirt, and he takes the lead, removing it in one swift motion. Setting to work at cleaning his hands, the blood comes off relatively easily. I think because it’s black, I'm not bothered by it. It looks like he dipped his hands in a giant tub of paint.
I drag the cloth up his arm, slowing down as I start to wash his chest and abs. My fingers find a patch of hair, and I play with it absentmindedly as it trails down, and down until… the firehose is back. It nudges my thigh as I stand between Steve's legs. It's relentless. It doesn't matter how polite I try to be in ignoring it, it seems to find and rest against me as it strains against his pants. We don't talk as I clean him, his muscles rippling under each swipe of the cloth. I can feel the blush spread up my neck and to my cheeks, quickly turning away to let the dirty water out of the barrel.
“Your turn.”
Steve's voice is laced with need as he leans in behind me and refills the barrel, pushing the straps of my dress down my shoulders. I let my arms drop, the fabric falling to where it rests on my hips. The water is hot as he brushes the cloth against my back, easing the tension with each swipe. I close my eyes and turn for him to continue, intentionally exposing my breasts. There is an unmistakable throb growing in my pussy, and I pull my bottom lip into my mouth as I wait for his touch.
And wait for his touch.
Why isn’t he touching me?
