What Happens When Frogs Park Illegally? #2
“Demon said it was fine as long as you didn’t scrub the area. Just let the water run over them. He gave me some antiseptic wipes we can use to gently clean the area when you’re done. I need to take a good look at the area anyway, just to be safe, but I’ll do that after you feel human again.”
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. When he set her on her feet, she saw there was clothing already lying over the edge of the pedestal sink.
“The owner’s wife is about your size. I figured you’d want something that fit a little better.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
A glance at the freestanding bathtub and the shower curtain that encircled it made her nervous.
While she was feeling better each day, yet sore from all the jostling around in the truck, she was still weak, and she knew it.
Standing in the shower gave her pause. What if she got dizzy and fell?
It would be difficult to climb over the side.
What if she fell and ripped the stitches open?
If she could take a bath, she wouldn’t be so worried, but soaking her stitches wasn’t allowed.
Triumph must have seen the worry start to work its way through her thoughts.
“Hey, just relax. Breathe. In and out,” he whispered.
His hands framed her face, his gaze intently holding hers, as he exaggerated an inhale and exhale until she was breathing in time with him.
“There you go,” he said with a smile. “Now. Important question for you.”
Oh good lord, what was he going to ask her? If she needed help undressing? If she needed help getting into the tub? If she needed help showering?
Words wouldn’t come out of her mouth, and jerkily, she nodded, letting him know he could ask.
“What happens when frogs park illegally?”
What the fuck? A gasp of a laugh broke through her lips, and calm washed over her. This was the man she knew and didn’t turn her inside out, but made her love being beside him just the same.
“I don’t know.”
“They get toad,” he replied.
Groaning, then laughing reluctantly, she felt comfort blanket her in the enclosed space.
His smile felt like warm sunshine. “That’s it.
There’s my girl. Now, I’m going to start the water for you.
There’s shampoo, soap, and a washcloth already inside.
I’ll step outside, and you can undress and wrap yourself in the towel.
” He nodded toward the sink, where it lay draped next to her clean clothes.
“Just leave the clothes where you drop them, and I’ll take care of them.
Don’t want you bending and popping any stitches.
When you’re ready, call me, and I’ll help you into the tub because it’s a huge step over.
You can take the towel off and hand it to me through the curtain.
Take as long as you want, and when you’re ready, we’ll just repeat the process in reverse, all right? ”
She nodded. Of course, he already had a plan in place to help her. She panicked for no reason, and when he saw her thoughts overwhelm her, he knew just how to soothe her.
“Okay. Let me get your shoes off for you, then I’ll go.” He knelt on the floor, untied one shoe, took her hands to put on his shoulders to steady her, then slid it off her foot.
He repeated the process and was about to walk out the door when she called to him. “You don’t need to leave.”
He stopped. Held his place for a few seconds. Then he turned toward her, the move slow and smooth, his look once again heated.
“You sure about that, little spy?”
Holy crap on a cracker. Was she really about to do this?
“Yes.”
Apparently, she was doing this.
Her fingers rose to the hem of her shirt, pulling it upward. She must have made a sound of distress because he was in front of her in an instant, helping her ease it over her head and arms.
He dropped it on the floor.
She fumbled with the buckle on the belt she’d had to cut an extra notch in to keep them up, and he brushed her hands away. “Let me. Hands at your sides, little spy.”
She obeyed. But he really needed to stop using that voice with her. Stop looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive.
Who the fuck was she kidding? If he did, she’d scream with frustration. Did he understand he was killing her?
Deftly, he undid the buckle and whisked the leather through the belt loops, making a sound that made her shiver. Why? Why did that sound so good?
He didn’t even have to unbutton the pants, really; they hung so low on her hips.
But he did it anyway, heightening her arousal as his knuckles brushed against her skin.
He released it from the notch, lowered the zipper, and slid his hands inside the waist, curling his fingers into the band of her underwear and pulling them and the pants down her hips until they dropped to the floor and pooled at her feet.
The water began to warm up behind the curtain, and with each second, the air in the room pressurized, taking on a close feeling, like the tropics in the heat of the afternoon.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. If he didn’t touch her again, she was going to die. Literally. Just stop breathing, fall down, and die.
He touched her. His hands reached around her, unhooked her bra, and traced his pointer fingers up the backs of the straps, over her shoulders, hooking the undersides and dragging it down her arms.
Unbelievably, he didn’t look down right away. Just kept staring at her.
She heard a soft noise as her bra hit the material at her feet, where he’d dropped it.
He withdrew. Then his eyes dropped down to take in her body.
“Fucking beautiful,” he whispered. One finger traced from her jaw, down her throat, down her chest, to the valley between her breasts. He stopped at the top of the cleft, his eyes returning to hers. “You better get in that shower, or you won’t be in there alone anymore.”
Eep! Grown women did not make that sound, but as long as it was in her head, she allowed it.
“Okay.”
“Arm around my neck.”
She complied, and he lifted her over the edge of the tub.
Once she was on her feet inside the tub, he made sure she was steady before letting go of her.
“Be careful moving around. There are no rubber ducks or anything on the floor of that tub, and it’s slippery. I don’t want you to fall.”
“Rubber ducks?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t everybody have those? My shower is full of them.”
She couldn’t help giggling, trying to picture the man standing on rubber yellow ducks as he showered, then shivered uncomfortably, even under the warm water, at the thought of his naked body wrapped in steam.
“Hey,” he chastised. “Don’t make fun of my ducks. They’re whimsical.”
Striving to control her laughter, she promised, “I would never.” However, the laughter wouldn’t stay trapped inside, and she began giggling again. “And by the way. The secret of the big bad Dom and his yellow duckies is safe with me. Wouldn’t want to ruin your alpha cred.”
“Brat,” he teased. “I’ll leave the door open so I can hear you. Just call when you’re ready for me to help you out.”
“Will do.”
For the first few minutes, she simply stood under the spray, letting the heated water drizzle down over her and soothe her battered muscles. He was right. The water pressure did suck, which was one of her biggest pet peeves, but it was warm, and the idea of being clean was too heavenly to pass up.
As she finally began washing her skin, she marveled at the grime she’d collected on herself. The parts covered by clothing were relatively clean, protected by the material. But the exposed areas of skin, including under her nails and on her scalp, were itchy and gross.
Finally, the water ran cold, and she could no longer stand the chill, so she shut it off and called out to Triumph. Within seconds, he was inside the bathroom, handing her a towel, then lifting her out of the tub.
He squeezed the water out of her hair with a thin towel, then patted her down with a second, mindful of her stitches.
Reaching for the sink, he ignored the pile of clothes he’d left there before and shook out a black T-shirt, which he pulled over her head and helped her put her arms through the sleeves.
She looked down. It barely reached past her ass, and there was a motorcycle stretched across her chest, the wheels almost perfectly resting on her tits.
When she looked up at him, she smiled wryly at his little-boy smirk and the shrug he gave her.
“I have a Y chromosome. Can’t help it. It’s a marking thing.”
“I hate to tell you this, but no one’s going to see me in it but you. Not a very successful marking tool.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know you’re wearing it. It’s enough.”
Oh lord. She was done for.