13 Asher #2
Her breathing trembles slightly when I kneel in front of her and slide her underwear down her legs carefully.
The vulnerability of the moment settles heavily between us.
I stand slowly again before reaching for my own shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside.
Scarlett watches silently, her eyes moving over me slowly before dropping away again.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my sweats and push them down next.
Then I step toward the tub and climb in first.
The hot water shifts around me while steam curls through the candlelight. I hold my hand out toward her.
“Come here.”
Scarlett tilts her lips in a small smile before placing her hand in mine.
I guide her carefully into the bath until she settles against my chest between my legs.
The second the warm water surrounds her, she exhales shakily.
Finally relaxing. I wrap one arm securely around her waist while the other brushes damp strands of hair away from her face.
Neither of us speaks for a long time. Her head slowly tips back against my shoulder.
And for the first time tonight—Scarlett stops shaking.
After just lying there for a while, I grab her shampoo and begin massaging it gently into her scalp.
My fingers work slowly through her hair, careful around every tangle.
Scarlett lets out these tiny little moans that are absolutely wrecking me and making my cock painfully hard beneath the water.
I try to think of literally anything else.
Dead bodies. Grant yelling. My last mission.
None of it fucking helps. Her eyes flutter closed while I continue working the shampoo through her hair, my fingertips dragging softly over her scalp in slow circles.
“That feels really nice,” she whispers sleepily. I smile against the side of her head.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Another soft sound leaves her lips. “I think I could fall asleep right here.”
Once I finish rinsing the shampoo from her hair, I reach for the conditioner and work it carefully through the ends.
Her hair feels like silk sliding through my fingers.
I gather her wet hair over one shoulder and slowly run my fingers through it again to work the conditioner deeper.
She turns her face slightly toward me, her cheeks flushed pink.
Nobody has ever looked at me the way she does.
Like I’m something worth loving. Once I finish rinsing the conditioner out, I reach for the body wash sitting beside the tub.
I pour some onto the washcloth before slowly running it along her shoulder.
Every movement is gentle and careful like she’s something fragile I’m terrified of breaking.
I wash her arms first, then down her back and along her sides.
When she shivers slightly, I tighten my arm around her waist instinctively.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispers softly. “This just… feels amazing.”
I continue slowly, washing every bruise and scrape with the kind of care I wish someone had shown her long before me.
By the time I finally slide the cloth down her legs and back up again, she’s practically melted against me.
When I finish, I set the washcloth aside and kiss the side of her neck softly.
“All done, baby.” Instead of relaxing back against me again, Scarlett slowly turns in my arms until she’s facing me. Water beads along her lashes while she studies me quietly. Then without a word, she reaches for the body wash herself.
“Your turn.”
“Red, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Her voice is soft but certain.
She pours some onto the cloth before moving closer between my legs.
The warm water shifts around us while her hands slowly slide across my chest.
I swear she touches me like I’m something sacred.
Not dangerous or broken, not the monster most people see.
Her fingers trace lightly over one of the scars on my shoulder.
“How did you get this one?”
“Knife,” I answer quietly.
Her eyes flick up to mine briefly before she keeps washing me slowly.
“This one?”
“Bullet graze.” She shakes her head softly.
“You’ve been hurt so much.” The sadness in her voice catches me off guard.
“Comes with the job.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Jesus Christ, I don’t think she realizes the effect she has on me when she says things like that. She continues washing me carefully, her hands moving over my chest, shoulders, and arms while steam curls around us in the candlelight. When she reaches the tattoos covering my arm, her fingers slow.
“These are beautiful.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Most people think they are intimidating.”
“They are intimidating,” she says softly while tracing one of the Italian phrases. “But they’re still beautiful.” My hand slides along her jaw gently.
“So are you.”
Her eyes meet mine again and suddenly the room feels too small with the amount of emotion sitting between us.
No chaos. No fear. No violence. Just us touching each other like we’re trying to memorize every broken piece.
Scarlett finally settles back against my chest afterward, warm and exhausted and completely relaxed in my arms, and honestly?
I think this might be the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire fucking life.
We stay there until the water slowly starts turning cold.
Reluctantly, I reach for the drain before grabbing two warm towels from the towel warmer beside the tub.
I wrap one carefully around Scarlett’s body before drying myself off quickly.
Then I grab the oversized shirt she’d been wearing earlier and pull it gently back over her head.
Seeing her in my clothes is seriously becoming a fucking problem.
My shirt hangs off one shoulder and falls halfway down her thighs, making her look small and soft and completely mine all at once.
“You know,” she says quietly while watching me, “you could just move your stuff in here.”
I glance over at her.
“What?”
She shrugs slightly; cheeks pink.
“I mean… you practically live in here already. You sleep in here every night. It’s kind of stupid watching you go back and forth across the hall constantly.”
Something dangerously domestic settles in my chest at her words, I grab her by the waist and pull her in close.
“You asking me to move in, Red?” A sleepy smile pulls at her lips.
“I’m asking you to stop making unnecessary trips across the hallway.”
I laugh quietly and press a kiss to the top of her head.
“I’ll be right back.”
“And yes,” she adds while climbing into bed, “I just want to relax tonight. It’s only like five o’clock and I already feel like I could pass out from exhaustion.”
“You’ve had a rough couple weeks, baby.”
I head across the hall and grab a duffle bag before shoving clothes, toiletries, extra ammo, and a few weapons into it out of habit.
I change into a pair of dark sweats and a black T-shirt before slinging the bag over my shoulder.
A quiet night with just the two of us honestly sounds fucking perfect.
I leave the duffle outside Scarlett’s room for a second and jog downstairs toward the kitchen.
Roman is leaning against the counter watching something on his phone while Declan sits at the island typing away on his laptop.
“How’s she doing?” Declan asks without looking up.
“She’s exhausted,” I answer while grabbing drinks from the fridge. “I told her to rest. I’m just grabbing snacks and stuff in case she gets hungry later.”
Roman eyes me knowingly.
“You’ve got it bad.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He grins.
“I filled Grant in after you two disappeared upstairs,” Declan says, steering the conversation back to business. “He’s contacting the lawyer tonight. He’s gonna see exactly what the attorney knows without tipping him off.”
“And if he’s knows?”
Roman finally speaks up from across the kitchen.
“Then Grant will know.” I lean back against the counter.
“Anything new they pull from the wire taps?”
Declan turns the laptop toward me slightly. “Enough to ask some questions.” That immediately gets my attention.
“Thomas has been having private meetings almost all day in the upstairs study. Same unidentified male voice keeps showing up.”
“Can we ID him?”
“Not yet,” Declan says. “But that’s not the weird part.”
I wait.
“The guy asked Thomas if ‘the girl has started showing signs yet.’”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask quietly.
“No clue,” Declan says grimly. “But that’s not all.”
He clicks another file.
“Thomas also mentioned that ‘the bloodline can’t stay dormant forever.’”
“What the hell are we dealing with?” Roman mutters.
“I don’t know,” Declan admits. “But Thomas sounds terrified.”
That doesn’t make me feel better. Not even a little, because powerful men like Thomas Vale don’t scare easily.
Which means whatever he’s hiding? It’s worse than we thought.