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“I can undress myself, thanks.” My voice only shook a little.
“Not today.” He gripped my hips, then bent down, guiding one foot after the other as I stepped out of my pants. “Today, you’re mine to undress.”
I shivered, a mix of apprehension, arousal, and fear swirling inside me.
Gabe straightened again. Then he focused on my arm. “Getting the stitches wet, isn’t ideal, but we’ll keep it dry as much as we can. There could be toxic powder on the wound, which would be worse. We’ll make sure to clean it properly and apply a new dressing later.
Gabe slid his fingers around my arm and prodded against the wound.
His fingertips on my skin felt so different from before.
Before, his touches were almost clinical, detached; now, he spread heat and desire wherever he touched me.
Or maybe it was just me.
I straightened.
“All done; hop in.”
I shook my head.
He cupped my chin and stepped closer until he was flush against me.
I gasped at the feel of his hard length pressed against my belly.
Holy fuck.
“Eyes on me,” he commanded softly.
I dragged my gaze up to meet his, my cheeks flaming. His eyes were dark and hungry as they roved over my face. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “And all mine.”
One of his hands slid around to skim up my side, his thumb just grazing the underside of my breast.
I sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation, heat pooling between my legs. I didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to crave his touch. But my traitorous body wasn’t listening.
Gabe dipped his head, nuzzling my neck. “Relax. I won’t do anything you don’t like.” His lips brushed the sensitive spot under my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “But you have to trust me.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Trust you? You kidnapped me!”
“Shh.” He turned me in his arms and urged me forward under the warm spray of the shower.
I gasped as the water hit my overheated skin, droplets trailing down my body.
He switched to the manual showered.
“Lean back.”
I did, and he sprayed my hair, then poured shampoo from a dispenser into his hand before he spread it with his fingers.
He massaged my scalp, gently but firmly, then he rinsed it as if he’d done so millions of times.
Having longish hair himself, he probably had plenty of experience.
After finishing with my hair, he switched back to the overhead shower head, then grabbed a washcloth and lathered it with soap. “Hold still.”
He began to gently wash my skin, starting at my neck.
I tensed at the intimate touch, and my heart pounded.
