Chapter 35 Jasmine #2
“Hi,” I say, soft, quiet.
He blinks.
He seems content to simply hold me, so I study him for clues of his distress, noticing his face is speckled with something dark… and so is his neck, his chest plate, his arms. His t-shirt is worse, spreading through the fabric like…
Blood.
I search him frantically, hands and slivers tracing his sides, searching any part I can reach for injuries. I unclench my legs, shifting on his lap to check lower—he leans in, and I still. Slowly, he presses his blood-smeared forehead against mine.
And then he breathes.
I sit there, frozen, hands resting at his waist, eyes wide as I watch him inhale deeply.
I can’t see or feel any injuries, he doesn’t seem hurt, at least not physically. Just… terror. So heavy and soul-deep even as I keep gnawing at it.
And now we’re so close, I can see every individual eyelash, every raised line of the silvery scar etched through his brow. The deep depth of his endless gaze as his darkness stares back.
I try to lean away, hands falling from his waist, just enough to not be nose-to-nose. He grunts and closes the space I tried to make. Foreheads touching again.
I frown. “I don’t understand—”
Before I can finish, his normally metallic tendrils slither out, twisted with more black than I remember, curling around his right bicep.
But they’re not tendrils for long, they merge together into one and create… Smudge.
It slithers down his arm, and before I can think to pull away, onto mine. Ezekial’s normal soothing warmth is laced with a chilling cold that makes me shiver as Smudge coils around my wrist, then tugs, bringing my arm back over Ezekial’s shoulder.
“You... want me to touch you?”
Again, no words. He just stares.
The little snake slithers along Ezekial’s shoulders, lifting its head beside his cheek so its beady, empty sockets can stare at me too.
“Maybe we should, uh… get some of this blood off you?” I try with a small smile.
He doesn’t return it. Smudge blinks.
Okay, let’s try again.
“If you let me clean you up, we can do more of this.” I brush my fingers along the nape of his neck. “I just really don’t want someone else’s blood on me.”
Ezekial stands abruptly, holding me with one arm, and flits. Next thing I know, I’m set down on the counter in the bathroom. His hands on my hips, staring down at me.
I smile at him. “Great! Now...”
But the light reveals more than I was ready for. He’s covered. His arms, his chest, his neck. Blood so thick it’s crusting. More than one person, more than several, whatever he came from… it was a massacre.
One Kane was still in, and I just sent my remaining bonds into it.
Fingers slide under my chin, tilting it up to meet his bottomless gaze. His darkness stares out at me, waiting.
“I’m worried about them,” I whisper. I think he hears. Smudge flicks its tongue once, then melts back into his arm. “Can you feel them? Are they okay?”
His thumb brushes the edge of my jaw, my cheek, as though he’s using touch to reassure me. Then he slowly blinks once, and I take that as a sign.
“Can you take this off?” I nod at his chest plate. His hand never leaves my face, thumb still brushing. “…Please?”
His dark gaze is locked, but gradually, his hand drops.
He steps back, reaching behind him to unbuckle the ruined armour, letting it fall to the ground in a heavy thud.
All the while, his eyes never leave mine.
Even as he uses one hand to grip the back of his t-shirt, and pulls it off in a smooth, effortless motion.
Fuck, that was sexy.
No. No, no. I cannot objectify Ezekial while he’s like this. Vulnerable and fractured.
But then he starts on his belt.
The soft clink of the buckle is all it takes to reignite the memories of us together, on the kitchen counter…
Another small grunt, and my eyes snap to his. And I swear, for just a second, his lips twitch like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Then my mouth drops open, because he’s standing in front of me in nothing but boxers. Ezekial kept his clothes on the last time we were intimate, and now…
His body is...
Wow.
Large doesn’t quite cover it. Muscular, toned, broad, those impossibly wide shoulders I’ve had countless fantasies about on full display.
And so much of him is covered in thin black lines. I feel cold remembering how he got them, darkness being injected into his veins.
Even though they were caused by something horrific… they’re dauntingly beautiful. Patterns of varying thickness, sharp, spiked designs, like an abstract painting of cobwebs inked across caramel skin.
When his thumbs slip under the elastic of his boxers, my brain restarts. I jump down from the sink and rush to him, hand landing on his.
“Easy there, big boy,” I say with a nervous trill. He stills, staring down at me. I swallow. “You can keep those on.”
He doesn’t move, so I assume that’s understood.
Nodding to myself, I head for the shower, turn it on, and let it run a few seconds before testing the water with my fingers.
“Do you want me to wait outside while—”
I turn around, and stop. Staring.
Naked Ezekial.
Fully naked Ezekial.
My eyes cannot be blamed for the immediate and involuntary descent to the extremely erect and extremely large penis now just… there.
Before I can process how much of a pervert I’m being, Ezekial is moving, closing the distance in long, purposeful strides until he’s towering over me.
I’m in shock, again. At the closeness. At his penis being right there. And hard.
He reaches behind me, and something tugs. I blink, still frozen.
Another tug, more insistent, and I realise he’s pulling on my hood. “Oh. You want this?”
He gives the barest shake of his head. Then tugs again, harder.
“Hey.” I frown, stepping back until the spray from the shower catches my hair.
Ezekial lifts a hand, points to my hoodie, the floor, then nods to the falling water. He steps closer.
If I move back again, I’ll be soaked, and he knows it.
“Ze, I don’t need a shower.” The nickname slips out, and his gaze darkens. “I’m not the one covered in blood.”
He comes closer, but I lift my chin, crossing my arms and fixing him with my sternest glare. If he thinks I’m getting into that shower with him, he can—
“Please.”
Even with all the darkness threading through him, he tries to soften his voice. It comes out rough, gritty, but still… a plea.
Oh, this is so unfair—
He gently tugs my hood again. His gaze is dark, bottomless, but somehow more open.
He wants me in there with him. I mean… he has already seen me naked. We’ve already been much more intimate.
Is it really such a big deal?
He must read something in my face, because the next thing I know, my hoodie is being pulled off and I’m naked again. His arm curls around my waist, carrying me into the shower with him.
We’re both hit by the full force of the spray, the monsoon head drenching us from every angle. The shower is massive, almost its own wet room, but Ezekial makes it look small.
I watch the bright grey streak in his hair darken with the water, fading until it nearly disappears into the black strands.
Now we’re both soaked. Both naked. But I need to stay focused.
I send a silent prayer to the Goddesses.
“Down,” I say, pairing the command with a downward sweep of my fingers.
This time, there’s no hesitation.
One knee. Then the other. His eyes stay locked on mine as he sinks obediently, until he’s staring up at me.
Oh.
My.
Goddesses.
I grit my teeth. No. This is not the time to admire the way Ezekial looks.
Not with water streaming over his face, blurring the sharp lines of it. Not with dark strands of hair plastered to his skin. Not with droplets sliding down the ridges of his muscles, gathering in the hollows before falling lower.
Especially not while he stares up at me like I’m the answer to every prayer he’s never dared to whisper. Like I’m the entity who hears those prayers, and he’s desperate to worship.
I force my gaze away, distracting myself by searching through the bottles on the shelf. Quickly finding what I need, I emulsify a generous amount of shampoo between my palms before slowly, cautiously reaching forwards to spread it through his damp, blood-matted hair.
The moment my fingers slip into his hair, nails grazing his scalp, his hands find my waist, warm and steady, pulling me gently closer. He doesn’t stop until his forehead rests against my sternum, just beneath my breasts.
Each hot breath that fans against my stomach is painfully erotic.
I swallow, and it takes me a good few seconds before I can make my hands move again.
With him kneeling beneath me, I block most of the water. When I shift to the side to let it rinse through his hair, he’s reluctant to let me go. Still, I manage enough for the stream to wash the shampoo away.
The whole process is... challenging.
Ezekial is more than happy for me to touch him, clean him, but when it comes to rinsing, which means removing my touch, that’s when the angry grunts come.
Still, I’m fairly pleased with what I manage, all things considered. It’s my first time showering someone and, for a first attempt—especially with this particular client—stripping down and stepping in feels like exceptional service.
“I think you’re pretty clean now,” I say, running my fingers through his hair. “Ready to get out?”
I can’t see his face, only the top of his head, the inky lines curling over his shoulders.
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move.
I swallow and try again. “Ezekial.” Apparently, his name is the password.
With his chin still pressed to my stomach, he tilts his head back so he’s staring up at me. Another image to sear into my brain.
This massive, terrifyingly beautiful man kneeling, looking up like I’m the only thing in existence—even with my breasts obscuring the view.
I point outside the shower. “Out.”
His brows furrow softly. Then he rises, and I smile in quiet triumph, starting to leave—