Page 47 of Dark Fey Captive

I wet her hair and lathered the shampoo. It took a few minutes to get all of my seed out. The conditioner helped remove the tangles, and I noticed how she relaxed when I rubbed her scalp. It gave me hope that she was starting to like some of my touches.

“Stay here. I will get a towel,” I said when I finished.

“Don’t bother.” She squeezed the water from her hair and flipped it back. “I’ll probably get wet washing you anyway.”

I watched her pull off her outer shirt. “Can you check the fire while I move some of this water to the bathroom? I’d rather not freeze before we finish.”

“We can wait until⁠—”

She glanced at me. “I might not be as willing later.”

I was torn. Arena lost heat so quickly. It would be better to wait until the room was warmer. But…

Again, I felt the lingering sensation of her tongue on me.

“Will you tell me if you get too cold?” I asked.

“Sure.”

Her tone did not carry a promise, but doubt.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ARENA

Who was he trying to kid? He’d come within two seconds. Bath time wasn’t going to last much longer than that. Well, maybe it would. Usually it took men some time to re-prime…especially with a cannon his size.

I glanced at his ever-present hard-on as he turned away, and I felt a moment of concern. Why didn’t it ever go down? Even if I was the first woman he’d been with, it should have wilted a little after popping one off in my ear.

It didn’t matter. Once I gave him a handjob, he’d probably want to nap like most men did post dip-drip-and-dash. If the door hadn’t been broken, he likely would’ve passed out already.

Although I never again wanted to repeat an infected interrupting oral time, the experience had been a little hot. The blissed-out look on his face and his premature misfire had backed up his claim that I was the first girl to blow him. I couldn’t really blame my predecessors for refusing the daunting task. He was more than a mouthful. It could get dangerous if he were the forceful type.

I was banking on him being honest about preferring willing women.

Picking up the pitcher, I carried it to the bathroom. He arrived with a steaming pot of water. I plugged the bathroom sink and had him pour it in there. While he refilled the pot, I added cool water and put a towel down on the tiled floor.

My plan was simple: use the pitcher to wet him down in the shower, soap him up, and rub him until he came again. If he didn’t hit me with anything, I’d be nice and help him rinse. If he hit me again, he was on his own.

I already had my clothes off when he returned.

His hungry gaze swept over me.

“Into the shower,” I said. “The ceiling height is impressive. We might be able to set up a temporary shower in here. It won’t be hot like if we have power, but it’ll be decent.”

As I spoke, I moved to stand in the tub with the pitcher of water. He joined me, his expression a mix of uncertainty, anticipation, and curiosity. I poured water over his front sparingly, then set it down to reach for the soap. Hands lathered, I started washing. He watched me, his gaze taking on a slightly unfocused edge.

Why did I like that so much? It made me want to touch him more.

My hands slipped down his chest to his abs. I had to add more water and more soap. But not when I went lower. Fisting him with both hands, I stroked his length, turning my wrists when I reached the tip.

He closed his eyes.

His breathing grew harsh.

“Arena. I⁠—”

“You were interrupted last time. Just relax and let it happen.”