“I’m aware.”
He scans the rest of my body, checking my arms, legs, back, even my butt. He pauses and frowns at every scratch and bruise before he scoops me off the bed.
The shower starts running a minute later, clouding the small bathroom with steam. I hook my fingers in my panties,but Nash is faster. Touching me seems to calm him down, so I don’t stop him.
I’ve never been treated this way. No one ever doted over me like this. Mom raised me to be self-sufficient and Dad taught me how to fight. I’m not his little princess. Always his sunshine, but he didn’t fawn over me.
“Is it bleeding?”he asked when I came home crying because I’d hurt myself. If the answer wasno, he kissed my head, smiled, and told me I’d live. If the answer wasyes, he did the same and added a Band-Aid.
My bra hits the floor.
Nash leans into me, one finger under my chin, tilting my head so he can kiss me.
“Why does it bother you so much?” I ask, helping him out of his t-shirt.
“I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“That’s not a reason. Merely a statement.”
He steps out of his boxers, my concentration swaying when I zero in on his thick, buzzing erection, the first bead of precum glistening at the tip.
“Don’t distract me,” I breathe, forcing my eyes up to feast on his muscular chest. “If you don’t want to tell me, say so. Don’t brush me off.”
I’m sure there’s a solid reason behind his almost pathological anger at the sight of my bruises. His reaction is too intense, too single-focused not to have a deep-rooted cause.
He knows it’s not his fault. He didn’t shove me out of the car. He didn’t send me into the forest where my face got scraped by those low-hanging branches, yet he acts responsible.
“I have you in my bathroom, naked, and...” He skims his hand down my stomach then between my legs, taking a quick swipe of my pussy, “...wet. If we get into why your bruises feel like fucking gunshot wounds, I’ll be wasting a perfectly goodopportunity to watch your sweet soapy ass as I fuck you from behind, pretty girl.” He grips my wrist, dragging me under the hot water. “And I don’t like waste.”
“I should stop spending the night here,” I say, when he grabs a bottle of shower gel. “I smell like a man.”
“That’s cute.” He smirks, lathering the spicy gel into my chest, taking extra care of both breasts and nipples.
His fingers have magical powers. He knows how to twist, knead, and pinch so I’ll mewl and crave him.
“What’s cute?”
“That you think I’d let you sleep away from me.” He moves lower, soaping up my stomach and hips, then teases my clit, cleaning me and driving me wild in the process.
I can give him a taste of his own medicine.
Reaching for the shower gel, I squirt a bit over his pecs, biting my cheek to keep the moans at bay.
I love his body. Big, toned, strong. I love how I feel so precious and small when he sleeps behind me, and so much like his prey when he towers above me.
“You’re fighting it,” he grunts, backing me against the cool tiles. “Don’t. I want an orgasm out of you. Now, Hailey.”
He has no idea how hard I’m fighting the sounds trying to escape my throat. Nash doesn’t need pointers. He knows how to send little sparkling fireworks along my clit. It takes immense focus not to give in, rest my forehead on his chest and let him tip me over the edge.
“I’m busy,” I utter, running my palms down his muscular arms, my voice strained. “You’re doing great, I promise.”
“Don’t patronize me.” He sucks my neck hard. “You think you can deny me? If I want to see you come, you fuckingcome, pretty girl.”
He grabs the showerhead, rotating it to jet flow, and aims between my legs.
A shudder shakes me, mind-numbing pleasure skittering along my nerves. I don’t swallow my moan, delirious when he slips two fingers inside me, curling them to stroke my G spot.
“Now that’s a good girl. Give me an orgasm. Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”
