Chapter 16 #2
Water spilled out of the multiple pipes overhead, resulting in a heavy shower.
I should’ve focused on whatever sorcery made that possible, but I was mesmerized by him—by the dusting of dark hair on his calves, the breadth of his shoulders and chest, and the lean, coiled muscles of his stomach.
His body was proof of a day rarely spent idle.
He enthralled me, everything from the delineated lines of his chest, the wickedness of the length of him, to the life he’d lived that played out across his bronzed skin in a smattering of pale scars.
His body was…gods, it was a masterpiece of perfection and flaws. Not even the Royal Crest brand—the circle with the arrow piercing the middle—on his right upper thigh detracted from the raw beauty of him.
“When you look at me like that, every good intention I had of letting you enjoy your first shower disappears with each passing second,” he said, water sluicing over his shoulders as he crossed under the rain shower. “And is replaced by very inappropriate intentions.”
Heat flushed my veins as I toyed with the hem of my slip. My gaze dipped below the tight muscles of his abdominals, lower than his navel. He’d hardened, the skin there a deeper hue. A curling motion was sharp and sudden in the pit of my stomach and then between my thighs.
His chest rose sharply. “I think you’re interested in those inappropriate intentions.”
“And what if I am?”
“I would find it very hard not to cave to them.” His eyes brightened. “And that would be a problem.”
My pulse was a heady thrum. “I’m not sure how that could be problematic.”
“The problem? If I get inside of you right now, I don’t think I can control myself.
” He stopped in front of me and dipped his head.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he slipped a finger under the strap of the slip.
“I’d have you up against that wall, my cock and fangs so deep inside you that neither of us would know where one began and the other ended. ”
An intense, aching pulse washed through me in tight waves. The memory of the scrape of his fangs against my skin, the bite, and the brief pain that gave way to pleasure took center stage in my mind. “I still don’t see how that is a problem.”
A deep, rough sound came from the back of his throat. “That’s because you haven’t seen me lose control.”
“You were in control in that carriage? After the battle at Spessa’s End?”
“Yes.” His head tilted, and my entire body jerked at the feeling of a sharp fang against the side of my neck.
That tantalizing ache settled between my legs and throbbed. “What about that morning when you woke hungry and—?” I gasped as his tongue soothed the area his fang had teased.
“And I had my mouth between your thighs, and the taste of you coursing down my throat?”
I shuddered, my eyes drifting shut. “Yes. T-that morning. You weren’t in control then.”
“You reached me, Poppy.” His fingers slipped under both straps of my slip, and he drew it down slowly, over the tingling tips of my breasts. “I didn’t lose control then.”
“And after…after I fed from you?” I asked, finding it difficult to swallow. “In the hunting cabin?”
“I was still in control, Poppy.”
Air hitched in my throat. If he truly hadn’t lost control any of those times, I wasn’t sure I could imagine what it would be like if he did. As the slip gathered at my waist and then fell to the floor, I found myself shamefully wanting to know.
“I would lose control now.” His fingers skated down the curve of my shoulder and over the swell of my breast. The touch was featherlight, but my back arched.
He brushed his lips over my cheek as his thumb moved in maddening circles over a tingling nipple.
“My mouth would be all over you. I’d drink from your throat.
I’d drink from here,” he whispered against my lips as he folded his hand around my breast, kneading the flesh.
I gasped as I felt his other hand slip between my thighs. “I’d definitely drink from here.”
He could…he could drink from there ? “I don’t have an issue with any of those things.”
He made that rough, needy sound again. “Your body has been through a lot, Poppy, and in a very short period of time. You may feel fine. You might even be, but less than two days ago, you barely had a drop of blood left in you. I’m not going to risk feeding from you.
Not today. So, one of us needs to be the responsible party. ”
A throaty laugh left me. “You’re the responsible one?”
“Obviously.” He skimmed a finger through the dampness gathering at my center, stroking the fire already flaming to life in my veins.
“I don’t think you know what being responsible means.”
“You might be right.” Casteel kissed me, tugging at my lower lip. “So, you need to be the responsible one.”
“I don’t want to.”
He chuckled against my mouth and then kissed me again, slipping his hand out from between my thighs. “Shower,” he reminded me—or himself.
The level of disappointment I felt when he took my hand was quite shameful, especially when he turned, and the hard length of him brushed my thigh.
Another wanton pulse rolled through me as he led me into the stall.
He stepped into the shower and turned to me, water wetting his hair, coursing over his shoulders, and droplets— warm droplets—sprinkling my outstretched arm.
His heated gaze was so intense it was like a physical caress as it swept over me.
My body trembled as I stood there, letting him look his fill.
It wasn’t exactly easy. I fought the urge to shield myself as he held onto my hand.
It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable around him or ashamed of the numerous imperfections.
No matter how much I trained with weapons and my body, my waist would never be narrow, nor would my hips ever be slender like the Ladies in Wait in Solis.
I liked cheese and bacon and chocolate-covered everything too much for that.
I wasn’t embarrassed by my scars, either. Not when he looked at me like he did now, as if I could very well be a deity or a goddess. Not when those scars, like his, were proof of the life I’d lived and the things I’d survived.
It was just this…openness was new to me.
I’d spent the better part of my life clothed from chin to floor, and more than half of my face covered.
I knew how to hide. I was only now learning how to be seen.
I fought that urge, feeling a little giddy with pride and awareness, and with each second, I grew more comfortable.
“You’re beautiful.” Casteel’s voice was like a balmy summer night. “And you’re mine.”
I was, completely.
And that didn’t make my skin feel itchy, or my tongue burn with words of denial. It wasn’t a statement of dominance or control. I knew exactly what those two things were. This was simply the truth. I was his.
And he was mine.
Casteel tugged me forward, and I went. Water fell over me, and I squeaked at the sensation of the spray pattering over my skin. “Did you forget you were in a shower?” he asked, letting go of my hand.
“I think so.” I turned my palms up, watching the water form shallow puddles.
It bordered on almost too hot, just like I liked it.
Tipping my head back, I gasped as the water fell over my face and through my hair.
It was like a heated rain shower. I turned in a slow circle, thrilled by how the water felt against my skin, even the raw and achy parts.
Opening my eyes, I glanced over at him. He was smiling—a real one. A rare one, both dimples on display. “Do I look foolish?”
“You look perfect.”
I grinned as I moved under the next pipe, where the water fell heavier. It plastered the hair to my face, and I laughed. Shoving the strands back, I saw him grab one of the bottles from the shelf near the faucets. The liquid was clear and smelled of lemons and pine.
As I played in the water, moving between what Casteel explained were showerheads, he bathed himself. When he was finished, he came up behind me, more of that enticingly scented soap in hand.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
I obeyed, enjoying the feeling of his fingers against my scalp as he worked the soap into a lather. “I could get used to this,” I whispered.
“So could I.” He moved closer, and I felt the heated brand of him against my lower back. “Tip your head back and keep your eyes closed.”
I did as he requested. His lips touched mine, and I smiled. He then gathered my hair, rinsing the soap out. It was so much easier in a shower. All I had to do was stand there.
I may just move into the shower and never leave.
The idea continued to grow in its appeal as Casteel left my side briefly, returning with a soapy square.
Foam followed the soft sponge as he dragged it over my arms, chest, stomach, and then to my lower back.
He was careful with the small cuts the stones had left behind, and the tenderness of his care tugged at my heart.
My chest swelled with all the love I felt for him and it grew achy, heavy even as the sponge seemed to vanish, replaced by the roughened glide of Casteel’s soapy palms.
My eyes drifted shut once more, and my mind wandered to pure, sinful places as his hands took the same path the sponge had minutes before.
I thought about what he’d said he would do with his fangs and…
his cock. My blood heated as the fire roared to life inside me once more.
Could he do that here, under the shower?
That seemed quite slippery, but if anyone could do it, it would be Casteel.
He glided his hands over my breasts. My head fell back against his chest as they lingered there.
I bit down on my lip as one of his hands coasted over my belly.
My skin tightened as pleasure curled low.
His fingers on the hardened peak of my breast wrung a gasp from me as his other hand made its way below my navel.
My body reacted without thought, widening the space between my thighs.