Chapter 35 Jasmine #3
Two large hands grip my waist, stopping me. My eyes widen as I stare up at the dripping wet Ezekial who’s reaching for the shampoo I just used. He pours far too much into his hands, and—oh.
He’s washing my hair.
Dark Ezekial.
Lock-him-in-the-pit Ezekial.
Is washing. My. Hair.
I’m so stunned I almost miss his expression shifting with slight concentration. The way his dark eyes narrow as he tries to cover every stand.
Then he starts to massage my scalp.
Oh.
Dear.
Holy.
Goddesses.
This man knows how to use his hands. His fingers press and caress in ways I didn’t know my scalp could be touched. It’s borderline spiritual.
By the time he’s done, I’m swaying on my feet, eyes shut, breaths uneven. When his hands leave my hair, I almost cry that it’s over… but it isn’t.
He begins washing everywhere else.
He’s not being sexual. Not exactly. Even when his palms skim gently over my breasts, between my thighs, his touch is careful and delicate. Not meant to intentionally arouse.
But I am aroused.
Very, very aroused.
If he decides to stay between my legs for longer than strictly necessary, I’m honestly not sure I’ll have the resolve to stop him.
Thankfully—or not—his touches stop, and the spray rinses the lather away.
When his hand cups my cheek, gently lifting my face, my eyes flutter open.
His are still so dark, but the terror is fading.
“Out,” he murmurs, mimicking me, though the word is grittier and less sure.
I huff out a soft laugh, but do as he says, stepping out and quickly grabbing a towel, wrapping it around me and tucking it in at the top.
Ezekial watches me take another towel, step closer, and lift it slowly to his chest. I dab away the water, studying the black lines embedded in his skin, noticing the way they shift beneath my touch.
I must pause too long, because his fingers curl around mine, guiding them in small circles, a silent instruction to keep drying. His dark eyes stay fixed on me, almost pleading. It’s… kinda sweet.
I smile softly and stretch onto my toes to reach his shoulders, a strained groan slipping out when I still can’t quite—
He scoops me up and sets me gently on the counter by the sink. I let out a small laugh, but he’s already guiding my hand, pulling it up over his shoulder. I’m fairly sure he could dry himself at this point, but…
When I’ve finished what I can reach, I toss the towel over his head and ruffle his hair. I’ve never dried a man’s hair before, but Ezekial doesn’t object, so I guess it’s fine.
When I ease the towel away, he’s staring—first at me, then at my hair, watching the water drip from the ends.
He grabs another towel and tosses it over my head—
“Wait!” I squeak, pulling the towel off. “If you do to my hair what I did to yours, I’ll never get the knots out.”
I quickly show him, wringing out the ends into the sink, then clamping the towel along my hair and working upward, pressing gently to draw out the excess.
Ezekial watches the entire process, enamoured, like I’m performing some sacred ritual.
“Done.” I smile. “I’d usually blow dry it, but…” He’s staring at me, a soft furrow between his brows. I point to the dryer on the other side of the counter. “That thing.”
He doesn’t look, just keeps watching me.
I lean over, grab it, and aim it at my hair before switching it on. He flinches at the sound, stepping back.
“Shit—sorry,” I blurt, guilt surging. “I was just showing you. I do this.” I run the dryer up and down once, then switch it off. “Like that. But it takes a while, ‘cause my hair’s so long. We can skip—”
He takes it from my hand, staring at it like he’s assessing the threat level. Then hot air touches my skin and…
He starts to dry my hair. Now I’m the one staring.
I drink in every moment, because there’s no way the others will believe this unless I show them the memory. I barely believe it, and I’m the one living it.
Whilst he dries one side, I grab a wide-tooth comb and brush out the other.
Dark Ezekial learns fast; as soon as one side is nearly dry, he switches to the other.
Although we don’t speak, it’s actually… nice. Comforting. This simple act of taking care of each other on such a basic level. Without the need for words, just gentle touches.
When the dryer clicks off, he sets it down and looks over me with a softness I can’t quite name.
I twist towards the mirror behind us and smile. “Perfect.”
Turning back, I catch the faintest flicker of silver in his gaze. But then it’s gone.
I hop down, grab one of his large hands, guiding him into the bedroom and straight to the set of drawers before he can think to carry me again.
Thank both Goddesses there are actual clothes inside, because being in bed naked together would’ve been a challenge I’m not entirely sure we’d survive.
But then I spot them—the grey joggers. Yet another challenge.
“Here.” I turn, holding out those sinful joggers. He doesn’t take them. I let go of his hand and put them there instead. “Go on, put them on.”
He blinks at the joggers, then me.
I shake my head, lowering my voice. “No, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m saying.” I point firmly to his legs. “Put. Them. On.”
Eyes on mine, he drops the pants. My gaze narrows, but he’s stepping towards me, like he’s about to grab me again.
I step back. “No, Ze,” I warn, voice firm. He stops. “I won’t touch you again if you don’t put them on.”
Did this fucker just grunt at me? Again?
I cross my arms, nodding at the pants now on the ground. “No pants. No touching.”
His jaw clenches. My arms stay crossed.
Slowly, he bends to get them, but never takes his eyes off me, and my smug little smile vanishes when his towel suddenly drops.
I swear my gaze only briefly flicks down. Barely a second.
But he notices, and the tiniest quirk of his lip has me glaring as he finally puts the joggers on.
Is it better than him being fully naked? No. No, it is not.
They do nothing to hide his very prominent bulge. They sit low on his hips, drawing my gaze up to his defined V-line. His abs, his chest, his arms—those shoulders—
He’s smiling. This fucker is smiling at me because he thinks he knows what I’m thinking. And he’s completely right.
“Shut up,” I huff, yanking on a t-shirt from the same drawer, then pulling the towel off underneath.
He frowns when he realises he won’t get a show, and I grin. Now I just need to find some boxers—
I’m being manhandled again, and I don’t stop him, I simply let it be because I’m finally over his big shoulder.
Not exactly how I imagined it happening, but the heat curling in my lower stomach is exactly what I pictured.
Until I see the shadows stirring, reaching towards us.
“No!” I yelp, kicking my legs, and the darkness stops. “No, we’re not flitting. We’re staying right here!”
It’s very hard to sound commanding and threatening when you’re hanging over someone’s shoulder with your bare ass on display, but the shadows do pull away.
He grabs my waist, slowly lowering me down the front of his body, but my feet never touch the floor.
I point to the ground. “Stay here—” I tap his chest, then mine. “Both of us—” Then I nod at the bed. “Sleep.”
Any soft confusion once in his expression vanishes, and a shining glint emerges. A wicked spark in his dark gaze that ignites nervous flutters deep in my belly.
I’m airborne, thrown onto the bed. I bounce twice before I can even process it, and when I have, I see him.
Prowling towards me.
Oh. Fuck.
I scoot up the bed, pushing myself back with my hands and shaking my head hard. “No, Ezekial.”
He doesn’t stop. I know that look, and I feel his intentions, thick and dark and hungry.
He reaches the edge of the bed, knees dipping the mattress. My shoulders hit the headboard. There’s nowhere left to go.
And then he…
He starts to…
Crawl to me.
What the fuck is this? What cruel, cruel trick are the Goddesses playing?
I will never pray to them again.
If this was fully conscious Ezekial, maybe I’d allow this. Who am I kidding, I’d have been on my knees in the shower.
But this Ezekial? The version still half-lost to whatever took hold of him? Was he even present? Did he even know what he’s doing right now?
“Ze—Ezekial, listen to me,” I say, breathless.
Because he’s still crawling.
“Sleep.” I press my palms together, cheek to hands. “Me and you, sleep—”
His fingers curl around my ankle and I yelp when I’m yanked down, pulled underneath him.
I swallow, but don’t move, barely breathe.
What do I do? Would trying to escape make it worse? Like when Sai and Julien warned me not to run? Would it trigger his darkness further?
He’s holding himself above me with one arm—one. How is that even possible? His body is massive, all muscle and tension, yet he balances effortlessly.
Warm fingers trace over my cheek, again and again, soft and slow. His eyes drink me in: my face, my throat, my hair. Every detail. Every breath.
A new emotion seeps into the air, a soft chill of concern and worry laced with disbelief.
“I’m here,” I whisper, wrapping my fingers around his, guiding his palm to my cheek. “I’m here.”
With our eyes locked, his hand holding my face, the worry melts away.
When I release his hand, and start to inch out from beneath him, he lets me. Pulling back the covers, I slip underneath and pat the empty space beside me.
“Come here,” I whisper, offering a soft smile.
He closes the distance quickly, settling beside me, elbow bent as he leans on one arm to study me. I pull the covers over him, finally hiding that ridiculous body from my poor, overworked imagination, and rest my head on the pillow.
“Now,” I murmur, closing my eyes, “we sleep.”
I slow my breathing, hoping that he’ll copy. But I feel his heavy gaze on me.
I sigh and open one eye. He’s closer now, almost sharing my pillow, still staring. Then his large hand slides over my waist, hauling me into him. My leg falls over his hip, and my knee brushes something very hard.
His chest rises and falls beneath my palm, his heartbeat wild against my touch. I meet his gaze, dark and unreadable, but somehow softer.
Everything is so quiet. Peaceful.
The terror that gripped him earlier still lingers beneath it all, but a ghost of what it was. A pale thing, eclipsed by the calm we’ve made.
I could easily lean in, press my mouth to his… but it would feel like an intrusion. A lesser thing. It would diminish this.
This moment isn’t about want, it’s about something deeper. As though he hears my thoughts, he closes his eyes.
Without hesitation, I follow.