Chapter 55 Jasmine
“How do you feel?” Kane’s fingers brush my cheek, but I can’t see him, because I can’t open my eyes. That would take too much energy. Energy I don’t have, because they’ve fucked it out of me.
“I... I’m… good.”
I’m slumped against Ezekial’s chest, my back pressed to his warmth, head tipped to the side. His arms bracket me, steady and unmoving, the heavy rise and fall of his breath so soothing as I lay here.
“The rune?” Kane asks, but I somehow know it isn’t to me. His voice isn’t as soft.
“Yeah… it’s altered.” Hearing Ezekial’s breathless voice makes me want to preen with pride.
Instead, I smile lazily. Which probably looks crazy with my skirt pushed up, blouse hanging open, body laying limp against his…
Then I’m being moved, pulled off Ezekial.
I whimper from the sudden loss, but then I’m cradled against a cool hard chest, which eases all the burning aches. Especially the one between my legs. Which are very… wet.
I squirm in his arms, trying to get Kane to put me down, but he doesn’t budge. When I finally open my eyes, he’s staring down at me with a confused frown.
“I need to…” I glance at my thighs which are clamped tightly together. “Clean up.”
“We will,” he murmurs, lowering his face to brush his lips over mine in a chaste kiss.
Then another, just as soft but slower, longer. He continues the kiss as we flit, and I don’t open my eyes, I keep sinking deeper into the press of his mouth, the chill of his touch.
When we finally part, I realise we’re back in the apartment, in one of the large ensuite bathrooms.
Ezekial is crouched by the bath, the sleeves of his suit jacket rolled to the elbows. His biceps flex as he stirs the water in slow, steady circles and steam curls around us.
“Is that… for me?” I ask. “I can just shower. You don’t need to waste your—”
“I really need you to think about what you’re about to say, Jasmine,” Ezekial cuts in, gentle but firm, still facing the bath.
The steam in the room thickens, or maybe that’s the sudden shift in mood. It’s not anger—not exactly—but Kane’s grip tightens around me too.
Ezekial stands, walking towards us. “Go on,” he murmurs. “Finish your sentence.”
I swallow. “Showers are just… more efficient.”
“Efficient,” he repeats, smooth—until the bitten-off ‘t’. His silver gaze dims, dipping into something darker.
“I prefer showers,” I offer, more firmly.
“Because you don’t want to waste time?” He steps closer. “Because comfort is a luxury? Because you think you’re not worth the indulgence?”
“Erm…” I glance up at Kane. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me like I’ve missed something obvious.
Have I?
I didn’t have a bath in the club. Just a small, grey shower stall. Functional and perfect for me. But I’ve seen baths in films, the ones with glamorous women lounging in thick bubbles, legs smooth and shining.
Showers got you clean. Baths were… extra.
“I’ve never had a bath before,” I admit, voice small, almost foreign to me. And something tightens in my chest as I say it.
Shame? Vulnerability? I don’t know, but I shrink back into Kane’s hold.
Why is admitting that so—embarrassing? I bet thousands of people haven’t had a bath before.
“Oh,” Ezekial breathes, softer now. “Shit.” He steps even closer, brushing my cheek with warm, damp fingers. “We thought you were brushing it off, like you didn’t want the effort.” His gaze flicks to Kane, then back to me. “Not that you’d never been given it.”
Kane dips his chin, voice low against my hair. “We rushed in without thinking.”
“I didn’t think people could care this much about a bath,” I whisper, trying to make it a joke. But it comes out hoarse and uncertain.
Ezekial’s fingers keep stroking my cheek. “We care about you. Not the bath.”
Kane moves then, carrying me towards the tub, the scent of lavender building until I’m staring down at the milky water and thick foam of bubbles.
“It’s not going to work.” I look at Kane, then Ezekial, both men frowning at my words until I smile softly. “It’s not big enough for all of us.”
“This is for you,” Kane murmurs, brushing his lips over my temple. “Only you.”
I’m still not sure I want a bath, but watching Ezekial lean back over the tub to trail his fingers through the bubbles, testing the temperature, before turning off the tap with a small nod, it makes me want to try. For them.
“So, I just get in and… sit?”
Ezekial stands and lifts his arms towards me, like I’m meant to be handed off again. “We can help if you—”
“Oh, no.” I give him a wry smile. “No, thank you. I think I’ve felt enough embarrassment already.”
He frowns. “Why would you be embarrassed?”
“The carrying is… nice, I’ll take that.” Kane’s arms pull me a little closer. “But only because I’m still recovering from…” Ezekial’s frown tips into a smug smile. Kane’s lips quirk against my temple. “But I’m very capable of undressing and washing myself—”
“We can help.” Ezekial moves closer, silver gaze darkening, his low voice thick with heated suggestion.
“And I appreciate the offer, but…” I squirm in Kane’s grip, a subtle hint to be set down. Which he ignores. I look up at him, raising my brows until, with a quiet sigh, he lowers me to the floor.
I step closer to the tub, tugging down my skirt as I go to regain some semblance of dignity. Even if my underwear’s long gone and my blouse is half-open.
“I can do this,” I say, leaning back against the edge of the bath to face them. “Alone,” I emphasise, but neither of them look pleased, if anything they seem… worried. “What’s wrong? Why do you feel like that?”
Ezekial struggles to hold my gaze, glancing at his brother before fixing on the tub. “You want us to leave.”
An icy ache blooms in my chest, sharp and stinging, like a thousand frosty nettles.
“We rushed you.” Kane’s words are so soft they barely sound like him.
“You’d just found out about your age, and I…” Ezekial grimaces, his eyes finally meeting mine. “If you need space. We understand.”
They think I regret being with them? They think I’m pulling away?
“Listen, that was… perfect,” I breathe, and their eyes lock on me. “You were both perfect.”
Neither of them speak, but they stare, their faces filled with disbelief, like I’ve given them something they didn’t know how to believe, didn’t know they needed.
“I want to do this alone because I’m about to get into a bath for the first time, and I do not want my bonds witnessing what could easily turn into a comedy sketch.” I smile, they don’t return it. “But as soon as I’m in, you can come back.”
They’re still silent, still lost in my previous words.
“You didn’t rush me, I promise.”
The tension finally drains from them a little, and the prickling ache in my chest thaws.
I nod to the door, and thankfully, they take the hint. Although they both glance back when they reach it.
I offer another gentle smile. “Go on.”
Ezekial places a hand on his brother’s back, steering them out rather than flitting, and the door clicks softly shut behind them.
Now alone, I turn to the bath.
Did they have baths? Ezekial must, he prepared this like an intricate ritual. But Kane… The thought of him in a bath surrounded by bubbles has me giggling.
“What is it?”
My mouth drops open. “Are you standing behind the door?”
A pause. Then, Ezekial again, but from slightly further away. “Not now.”
I huff out a laugh before making quick work of my clothes.
I twist my hair up into a bun, trying to mimic the ones from the films, before I tackle entering the bath.
I highly doubt there’s an elegant way to do this.
With both hands on the edge, I swing one leg over and tentatively dip my toes.
Heat blooms across my skin, sinking into my bones.
I give myself a moment before lowering further, melting into the bubbles until I’m fully submerged and let out a soft sigh.
Maybe even a moan based on the sharp pulse spiking our bond.
Smiling, I swirl my hands through the bubbles, cupping them in my palms then blowing, watching the pastel pink water glide over my skin and leave a soft shimmer.
I quickly realise... I like baths.
Leaning back, I rest my head against the cold porcelain, letting the contrast soothe me—heat wrapping my muscles, coolness against my skin. My shoulders and knees peek just above the water, the rest is hidden by scented bubbles.
“I like the bath!” I call, knowing they’re close enough to hear.
They take that as their cue, and the door creaks open.
I turn to face them, cheek resting against the edge of the tub.
“And the bubbles. I really like those.” I smile, lift a handful, then blow them in their direction.
They stand frozen in the doorway.
Is this… not a thing people do? Are you not supposed to invite witnesses to your bath time?
Then there’s another spike in the bond. Tantalising crackles accompanied by rushing heat.