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I actually thought the style suited my face more than any of the ones I’d fought so hard to maintain before. And the fae version of shampoo never seemed to dry out my hair, leaving it soft and bouncy.
My curls remained pointed to the sky even after I tugged the hair tie out and tossed it toward the sink. Ervo caught it before it landed, lifting the fabric to his nose and inhaling lightly, then slipping it over his wrist.
When I shook my hair out, pushing it down with my fingers, most of the strands finally fell around my shoulders. Sunny had been a hair stylist back on Earth, so she always trimmed it for me before it got too long. I wasn’t a fan of ultra-long curls because they were a pain in the ass, and would make my puff extremely huge. She’d taught me how to cut her hair too, so we always joked that we kept each other looking hot.
Ervo’s gaze was molten, his jaw clenched as he watched me step into the shower. It didn’t have a door at all, or a wall to block anything out. But it was pretty damn huge, so I didn’t think the water would splash outside of the area.
Feeling him watch me that closely, knowing he was watching my every move, made me hot.
My eyes closed, my head tipping back as the warm water moved over my skin. Ervo growled, and I glanced over at the sink in surprise when I heard a loud cracking noise.
Shit.
He’d legitimately cracked the side of the sink.
I studied him, as he stared at me.
He was always so controlled. And I understood—I had spent most of my life hiding in the shadows in an attempt to avoid being noticed.
Sometimes, keeping your expression neutral and your mouth shut was the only way to survive.
Ervo seemed to have adopted the same mindset as I had—but to an extreme.
He was always worried about me, taking care of me, and never caring about himself.
If we were ever going to have a shot at being together, though, he needed to open up a little. Admit what he wanted.
If looking at me naked was intense enough for him to break the sink, there had to be some desire behind it. The desire to touch me, or taste me, or hold me, I would suspect.
“Why aren’t you in here with me?” I asked him, closing my eyes and lifting my face back up toward the running water.
“I wasn’t invited,” he said, his voice low.
“You didn’t ask for an invitation.”
Silence answered me.
I gave him time to process what I’d said, remaining quiet as I reached for the soap on a small shelf against the far side of the shower.
“It’s my job to provide for you,” he finally said. “Not to take what I want.”
“Don’t you think providing warm hugs and soft touches is part of that? And what about orgasms?”
His chest rumbled at that.
“Besides, asking if you can get in the shower with me isnottaking what you want. I could say no. Any time that I could say no, you’re not taking from me.”
He rumbled louder, but said nothing.
I grabbed the bar of shampoo, but when he spoke, stopped it a few inches from my curls.
“Can I wash your hair?” he asked roughly.
Finally.
“Sure. You’d have to get in here for that, though.” I gestured to the open space around me.
He rumbled more loudly, and stepped toward me.
