Sophie turns the shower on, tests the temperature, adjusts it. Steam begins to rise.
“I’ll go get you some clean clothes.”
She starts to move past me and I block her, my hand on the bathroom door. She tilts her head at me, one hand going to her hip.
“Vin, I need to go start the laundry and find you some clothes to wear that don’t stink.”
She tries to step around me. I don’t move.
“Vin. Can you please—”
“Undress me.”
It’s not a request. It’s a return to where we left off, not on New Year’s Eve but when we were us, when she was my princess and becoming my queen.
She narrows her eyes at me. The steam from the shower fills the room.
“I’m here to help you for the family,” she says. “For Siena. Not for—”
“You want to help me, help.” I hold her gaze. “Take my clothes off me.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the calculation behind her eyes.
I raise an eyebrow. “If you’re not going to do what you’re told, get the fuck out.”
She exhales through her nose and snatches at the hem of my shirt, yanking it up.
I grip her wrists. “Slow. Down.”
Something that first looks like fear crosses her face and it throws me. She’s never been scared of me, and I never wanted her to be. But then her eyes widen, her lips part, her breathing picks up and I relax. Good. This I’m familiar with.
I hold her hands still and she plucks the hem of my t-shirt between her fingertips and lifts it slowly up over my stomach. I stop her, pressing her palms flat against my skin, every muscle in my body relaxing. She moves her hands up over my chest, my hands guiding hers. She won’t look at me. I can’t stop staring at her.
The rise and fall of her chest coming slightly faster, her chin tipped down, her jaw set. Every part of me wakes up.
My shirt hits the floor.
“Pants.”
The weight of my stare is heavy on her as she fumbles with my belt, the closure, and zipper of my jeans. She hooks her thumbs into my waistband, catching my boxer briefs at the same time, and pulls down. She pushes my jeans down to my thighs.
When she tries to step back, my hard cock brushes against her, and I grip her wrists.
“You’re not done. On your knees.”
Her eyes flash. “Vin, this is not what I came here for.”
“On your fucking knees.”
I don’t touch her. She has a safe word. And we both know she’s not going to use it.
I watch her eyes flick down to my cock once before she catches herself and looks away. I smirk. That’s my girl.
Her gaze downcast, she slowly sinks to her knees and tugs my jeans down to the floor, holding onto them as I pause for a beat, testing her, before finally allowing her to help me step out of them.
We stay like this for a moment, my cock in front of her, her head bowed. I tap her shoulder and she stiffens.
“Stand up. It’s your turn.”
