16.
“F ucking pristine ,” Dorran grumbles as he takes in the stunning guest room. “Also, why does it smell like lemons in here?”
I shut and lock the door behind us, then roll my eyes at him. “You’ve always had an issue with luxury.”
His brows droop as he narrows his eyes at me. “It’s wasteful.”
“I like to think it’s tasteful .”
He waves a hand around the black-stone walls and the floor-to-ceiling windows in the room. “Isn’t this…I dunno, extra ?”
I glance at the golden lights and chic furniture.
“It’s lovely, Dor; learn to appreciate some goddamn beauty in this world.
” I walk over to the frost-white wardrobe and push aside its sliding door.
“ Whoa .” My mouth hangs open at the elegant collection of ironed shirts and pants hung from the wardrobe’s wooden hangers. “Pick a color.”
“Aren’t you the fashion expert?”
I smile. “True.” Grabbing an olive-green satin shirt and a pair of black pants, I turn and wiggle them at him.
“That’s a nice set,” he says, impressed.
“The power of luxury ,” I tease.
He scoffs and shakes his head, then goes to take the clothes from me, but I step back and move them out of his grasp.
“Clean up first, you filthy animal.”
He lets go of a surprised laughter. “You’re such a menace.”
I flash my teeth at him. “Tell me something I don’t know, babe.” Dropping the hangers on the plush bed, I make my way to the bathroom. One quick scan of the room, and I can’t help but laugh, because if the outside was beautiful, then the bathroom – it’s fucking opulent .
With an ivory-tiled floor, a white ceiling with circular LED lights adorning it, and the estate’s signature black-stone walls, the bathroom looks polished and modern.
There’s a shower area with a glass door to the very inside of the room, and adjacent to it is a long counter, accented with oakwood and white marble.
Shiny silver faucets are set up on it, with pale sinks under them.
There’s a rectangular tray – also white – between the sinks, which holds a couple of soaps, a bottle of handwash, some toothbrushes, and a tube of toothpaste.
Two oval mirrors with wooded borders are hung directly above the counter, with a small, golden bulb installed atop both of them.
“Jesus,” Dorran whispers as he enters the bathroom. “Do they hold photoshoots in here or somethin’? Because they should.”
“We should take some inspiration from this and redesign our condo’s bathroom,” I say, pursing my lips.
He gives me a subtle scowl. “Absolutely not .”
I laugh. “Oh, it’s so much fun getting these reactions out of you,” I all but sing.
His scowl deepens as he steps in front of a sink. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
I place my clutch on the counter, then push back the sleeves of his turtleneck all the way up to his elbows. “You love it, though,” I state, smirking when he meets my eyes.
“It’s a habit, so I’m unfortunately bounded to it,” he retorts, returning my smirk.
I shove him a little. “Wash up, asshole.”
He chuckles and places his bloody hands, along with his soiled switchblade under the faucet. “Dirtying up luxury is so satisfying,” he muses, watching as the water turns red, staining the porcelain.
I would have argued with him about it, but I’m fully lost in the way the tainted droplets drip down the veins on the back of his hand, and how his forearms flex when he rubs the pads of his long fingers over his sharp blade in order to clean it.
The muscles on his bicep and shoulder quirk with each of his firm movements, and I can’t help but ask myself: how, on God’s demented earth, can a man look this hot while washing his hands ? Just… how ?
“Cigs?”
I blink and look up, meeting his smug face and gleaming eyes. “What?”
“Soap, please.” He knows exactly what he does to me, and the dipshit revels in it like it’s nobody’s business.
I grab the bottle of handwash and squirt some of the translucent liquid into his palms, then put it back in its place before clearing my throat. “Make sure to wash between your fingers as well,” I say, then wipe the sweat off my upper lip. Wait, why the hell am I flustered?
“Uh huh,” Dorran responds, enjoying my current state.
Fuck my life.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” I ask.
“What, washing blood and gore off my skin? No, baby; I’m doing it because it’s the most reasonable thing to do.” He gives me an innocent smile, which does absolutely nothing to calm me the fuck down.
“If I wasn’t so taken by you, I’d have smashed the bottle of handwash in your face,” I tell him. “Did I mention it’s a glass bottle? Yeah, it’s a glass bottle, so you bet your ass it’d hurt.”
“You’re so violent tonight,” he says around an airy laugh.
“Yeah, well, you bring out the best in me and all.”
He continues to laugh as he sets his switchblade next to my clutch, grabs a toothbrush from the tray, and squeezes some of the toothpaste on it. Giving me a wink, he then starts brushing his teeth, fixing his curls while looking at himself in the mirror.
Beautiful bastard.
Once he’s done, he spits and rinses his mouth, places the toothbrush back, and pats his hands dry on the towel that’s hung on a silver rack right next to the counter.
Pulling his sleeves down, he makes sure to keep his eyes on me as he grips the hem of his turtleneck, then lifts it up and over his head.
“I thought you were here to help me,” he states.
“But by the looks of it, you aren’t exactly doing a good job of it, are you, Cigs?
” He throws his turtleneck into the hamper on the other side of the room, then unbuckles his belt.
“You should be in a cheesy porno,” I tell him as I walk over to him. “The shit you say every time you wanna get your dick wet is just hilarious.” I tug his belt from the hoops on his pants, then all but slam it on the counter.
“It works, though, doesn’t it?” he questions darkly.
I put a finger behind his waistband, then curl it before pulling him to me.
With our lips now brushing against each other’s, I smile as I whisper, “ Always . But…” I pull him closer still, and his warm, minty breaths fan my face.
“Just to further prove your point, how about you take off my clothes, along with the rest of yours, and fuck me until I’m dripping all over your goddamn cock, hmm, babe? ”