Page 252 of Fatality

My fingers disappear into her hair, slow and deliberate, working the lather from her hairline to the nape of her neck.

Her hair is silk—softer than it has any right to be.

I shake my head slowly in disbelief.

I fuck her until she can’t walk and now, I’m taking a bath and washing her hair.

Fucking unbelievable.

I can’t even believe myself right now. How in the hell did she get me wrapped around her finger?

Fucking hate, it.

Fucking love it.

But there is no way I’m admitting it to her, or to anyone ever.

I massage her scalp with my thumbs, she lets out the faintest sigh.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

“Don't ruin it by talking.”

There she is.

I huff a quiet chuckle and continue my work.

White foam clings to the dark strands before I gather them together and let the warm water rinse everything clean.

My shampoo carries cedar and pink pepper scent.

By tomorrow, her hair will smell like me, and every man will know she belongs to me.

The thought settles somewhere deep in my chest, and a possessive feeling flares through me.

I let my fingers sink through the ends to make sure I've rinsed everything out.

“You missed a spot.” she murmurs without opening her eyes.

“Did I?”

“Mm.” She hums softly.

Maybe she's right, or maybe she just wants to piss me off.

Maybe she just wants me to keep touching her.

Knowing her, the pissing me off option is the more likely one.

Brat.

Steam drifts between us, blurring the mirror.

“You're lucky I'm bored.” I shift slightly to get more comfortable and stretch my legs out. “Otherwise, you'd be washing your hair like a grown-ass woman. You’re just being a spoiled one right now.”

“You can be a softie when you want to be.” she says softly.

My hands are still for a heartbeat.