Chapter 6
SUMMER
By the time we reach the villa, I’m trembling.
He carries me straight to the bathroom, sets me on my feet, and turns the shower on.
Steam fills the room as he pulls his shirt off, and for the first time I see him, all of him.
He has scars on his body, not just his hands.
They cover his torso, ribs, and back. Then I watch in fascination as he pulls his shorts off, and dammit, his cock is beautiful.
It’s as large as the dildo he made me sit on at dinner, it’s veiny and thick, he has trimmed hair, and his balls hang nicely.
Of course, he has a good dick. Kairo then reaches for me, and I swat his hands away.
He just gives me a look that says don’t test him, and I give up.
I’m too tired to fight. Kairo slides the tee up over my head and pulls my shorts off.
I step out of them as he kicks them away, then he steps into the shower and plays with the temperature while I stand there naked, but I do get a chance to take him in as I watch the muscles in his back move.
He grins as he knows I’m checking him out.
Whatever, it’s not like I can look at anything else.
He then holds out his hand to me. The gesture surprises me, and I take it as I step into the shower with him.
I don’t need to slip over and crack my head open.
The water is hot, and it stings the cuts on my feet and the scrapes on my back.
He turns me around, his hands gentle on my shoulders as he starts to work soap all over my body.
He’s too gentle.
Kairo’s palms glide slowly over my skin, spreading thick, fragrant suds across my shoulders, down my arms, then back up again.
He takes his time, pressing his thumbs lightly into the knots in my neck, washing away the dirt, sweat, and blood from the jungle.
The contrast is dizzying. Moments ago he was fucking me raw against a tree like an animal, and now he’s touching me like I’m fragile, precious even.
His hands slide down my back, carefully avoiding the worst of the scrapes, then lower, cupping my ass, massaging the soap into my skin with slow, deliberate circles.
I shiver even under the hot water. He doesn’t grope, he doesn’t squeeze hard.
He just … washes me, thoroughly, as if tracing every inch of my body and committing it to memory.
One large, soapy hand moves over my stomach, then higher, cupping my breast. His thumb brushes lightly over my sensitive nipples, circling them until they tighten under his touch.
A soft, involuntary sound escapes my throat.
He doesn’t comment on it, he just continues lathering every inch of me like he has all the time in the world.
His other hand slides between my legs, gentle again, carefully cleaning the mess he left there. His fingers part my folds with care, washing away his cum with slow strokes, the tenderness of it making my stomach twist. This feels more intimate than when he was inside me.
And I hate it.
I hate how my body leans into his touch. I hate how safe his hands feel right now, especially after everything he’s done to me this morning.
“Why are you being so gentle?” I whisper, my voice shaky.
His lips brush against my wet shoulder, barely a kiss. “Because you’re mine,” he murmurs against my skin. “And I take care of what’s mine.”
His hands keep moving, slow, sensual, soapy strokes over my thighs, my hips, the curve of my waist. He washes every bruise, every scrape, every mark he left on me with the same careful attention.
It’s terrifying.
Because for the first time, I’m not sure which version of him is more dangerous, the brutal one who fucks me against trees …
or this one. The same hands that pinned me to a tree five minutes ago are now carefully working tangles out of my hair, his fingers moving slowly and methodically through the wet strands.
I don't understand him. I don't understand any of this.
I turn around and face him and let the water run down my back.
His chest is right in front of me, and I can see every scar up close, every mark, every tattoo.
There's a lot of ink. Black and gray work covers his arms, chest, and shoulders. A snake winding up his left forearm. Roman numerals across his ribs. Then there’s what looks like a cross on his back.
I reach out without thinking and trace a burn mark on his ribs. "Where did this come from?"
He looks down at my hand on his skin. "A man who thought fire would make me talk."
"Did it?"
"No."
I move to the other scars. "These?"
"Prison." He says it flatly. No story, no elaboration.
My fingers travel up his arm to a line of Greek text on his inner bicep. The letters are clean and black against his skin. I trace the word with my fingertip.
"What does this say?"
He watches my finger move across the letters. His face shifts, a flicker behind his eyes that's gone before I can name it. "It's a name."
"Whose name?"
"Someone who means the most to me."
My finger stops, and I pull my hand back. A hot, ugly feeling twists in my stomach that I refuse to call jealousy. "Is it a woman?"
He nods.
"Who is she?"
He doesn't answer. The water runs over both of us, the steam is thick in the air, and he just looks at me with those amber eyes and says nothing.
"Who is she, Kairo?"
“Someone important, that’s all you need to know,” he states flatly.
“I’m your wife. Tell me who she is?” I demand.
"Get on your knees." His voice drops, and the softness is gone, just like that, wiped clean like it was never there.
"Excuse me?" I’m confused by the sudden change.
"Jealousy looks good on you, Summer." He grips the back of my neck and pushes down, not hard enough to force me, but hard enough that my knees bend on instinct. "Now open your mouth. I need to shut you up."
I'm on my knees on the wet tile, looking up at him through the steam. He's hard again, thick and heavy, the water running down his stomach and over his cock.
I hate him.
And I hate that I'm already opening my mouth.
"And, Summer?" He tilts my chin up with one finger. "If you bite my dick off, I'll kill you."
I’m sure he will. I’m tempted. But I also don’t want to die, because I need to stay alive to kill him myself.
I take him in my mouth and don't bite. Kairo groans low in his throat, the sound rough and guttural as my lips stretch around his thick cock.
His hand fists tighter in my wet hair, guiding but not forcing …
yet. The water cascades over his chest, running down the hard ridges of his abs and over the scars I was just tracing minutes ago.
I hollow my cheeks and suck him slowly, deliberately, letting my tongue swirl around the underside of his shaft as I pull back.
When I get to the head, I lick around it messily before sinking back down until he bumps the back of my throat.
“Fuck, Summer …” His voice is wrecked. “Just like that.”
I do it again, deeper this time, relaxing my throat and taking him until my nose presses against his pelvis.
I hold there, swallowing around him, letting my throat massage his cock while I look up through the steam and water.
His amber eyes are locked on mine, dark and burning.
The muscle in his jaw flexes as he watches his cock disappear between my lips.
“Good girl,” he rasps, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Look at you, on your knees with my cock down your throat like you were made for it.”
I moan around him, the vibration making his hips twitch.
That seems to break him. His grip tightens, and he starts fucking my mouth with slow, deep thrusts that make my eyes water.
I don’t pull away, I take it, sucking harder on every pull back, tongue working the underside, spit dripping down my chin and mixing with the shower water.
“Shit … that’s it. Suck me like you hate me,” he growls.
I do.
I suck him like I want to punish him with pleasure.
Like I want to ruin him the way he ruins me.
I bob faster, taking him as deep as I can, gagging softly when he hits the back of my throat but not stopping.
One hand comes up to cup his heavy balls, rolling them gently while I work him with my mouth.
Kairo’s head falls back against the tile with a thud. “Fuck, baby … you’re too good at this.”
The pet name slips out, and it catches me off-guard, making my stomach dip.
I pull off just long enough to drag my tongue slowly up the entire length of him, looking straight into his eyes, before sucking him back down again, sloppy, wet, filthy.
Spit runs down my chin but I don’t care, I just keep going, faster, tighter, hollowing my cheeks and moaning around his cock like I’m starving for it.
His breathing grows ragged, and his thighs tremble.
“I’m gonna come,” he warns, voice strained. “You’re going to swallow every fucking drop like a good wife.”
I don’t pull away.
I take him even deeper, sucking hard, eyes watering, but never breaking eye contact.
Kairo curses viciously as he comes. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood my mouth and throat.
I swallow around him, milking every pulse, every drop, until he’s shaking and groaning my name like a curse and a prayer at the same time.
When he finally pulls out, I’m gasping, lips swollen, chin messy. He looks down at me with a look that is almost like awe mixed with pure possession. He drags his thumb across my bottom lip, pushing a stray drop of his cum back into my mouth.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Fucking perfect.”
Then he steps out of the shower, grabs a towel, and leaves.
Huh.
I stay on the tile, confused and needy. The water beats down on my shoulders, and I stare at the drain. I don't move for a long time. I press my forehead to the wet tile and close my eyes.