Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
He’s grinning. He’s enjoying this.
“I am definitely not getting used to that.” I turn my back on him. “We’re married, but come on, Carson. There need to be some boundaries.”
“I don’t like boundaries. They’re inconvenient.” His voice is horrifyingly close.
I shiver, turn around, but he’s not there. The bathroom door is open and the shower water starts to run.
I stand completely still, brain whirring as I try to think of what to do next.
Run back to the theater and hope he doesn’t find me. Crawl into bed, hide under the covers, pray I fall asleep before he comes out. Sprint screaming into the night.
All terrible options.
Instead, I let the blanket fall to the floor, raise my chin, and decide to play his stupid game.
I follow him into the bathroom.
Steam fogs the glass shower, but it doesn’t hide much. The form of his incredible masculine body drives a spike of desire deep into my core. I glance behind me, toward the bloody shirt, then back to where he’s slowly soaping himself, moving with a painful weariness.
“How bad was it?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Curiosity’s getting the better of me.
He glances over. If he’s surprised to see me standing here, staring at his naked body, he doesn’t seem to mind. “It was a trying evening, but worthwhile.”
“What happened? Is Iain okay?”
“Iain’s the same.” His hands curl into fists. “Though I found out what he did to fuck everything up.”
I move toward him. “Tell me. Please.”
He leans back against the wall, closing his eyes. Water sprays onto his chest, rolling down in rivulets along his skin. It’s erotic, borderline pornographic, and I can’t look away.
He’s gorgeous. Strong legs, long, thick cock, still half hard which is just bonkers, with black tattoos etched on most of his skin, everywhere that would be covered by a suit. He lets out a long breath. “I’ll tell you if you come wash my back for me. I think I have some blood where I can’t reach it.”
I blink rapidly. “You want me to clean blood off you?”
“Unless you’d prefer it if I remained dirty. Some people are into that.”
“I’m definitely not one of them.” I shake my head. “I’m not getting in there.”
“I can keep my hands to myself.” He looks over, and for the first time today, a hint of softness slips into his expression. “Please, Ash.”
That please devastates me.
This is Carson asking—but Carson only ever demands.
I stare at him, heart racing, mind bending around all the ways this is wrong.
Then slowly, I take off my tank top.
Chapter 22
Ash
He stares, unmoving. Water continues dripping down his perfect body. My nipples are hard and heat’s burning between my legs. This is crazy. This is dumb. It’s only going to make everything complicated. I hate this guy.
But he’s beautiful.
And I like it when he calls me angel.
As weird as that is.
Once I’m naked, I climb into the shower with him. He stares at me, hunger lancing through his gaze like spears. I let him look. I wet my hair, figuring I might as well. He stares at my breasts, at my nipples, at my shoulders and arms and thighs and lips. He drinks me in, gazing like a man possessed.
His cock stiffens without so much as touching me. I take that as the highest form of praise.
“Come on, turn around,” I say, blushing like crazy, wondering how I’m doing this without losing my mind. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Thank you.”
Fuck. I nearly let out a soft whimper hearing him say that.
I lather him using a loofah then rinse him clean. If he really did have blood, I didn’t notice it. Not that I’d notice much at this point. I’m pulsing with desire in heavy waves.
“Your turn,” I say, running my fingers down his spine. “Tell me what happened.”
“My men caught one of the Polish captains,” he says without looking back. “I spent the last few hours having a conversation with him.”
“And? What did he say?”
He’s breathing fast like he’s barely restraining himself. I stare at his body, at his massive arms. This beast, this killer. He could tear a grown man to pieces with his fingers if he wanted. He could do worse with less effort to me.
“He told me a story about your brother. About how Iain met a girl. A nice Polish girl. They danced a few times together, and one night, he brought her home. They had sex. She got pregnant. He was in love. So was she. Only problem is, she’s the Polish boss’s daughter, and when he found out that an Irish gangster fucked his girl and knocked her up, he lost his mind. He decided the only way to make things right was to kill Iain, kill everyone in Iain’s family, all to make sure the city understood what happened when anyone got too close to his precious baby.”