After I’ve thrown off my dress and have released the straps of my bra, he notices. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing,” I answer as I step out of my panties.
His eyes take in my body like a hungry wolf desperate for some relief.
He’s visibly affected, swallowing, licking his lips, muscles still thrumming with pent-up rage.
I want to help him, console him, make him feel good again, so I step into the shower with him.
“Why?” he asks, looking down at me with those lust-filled eyes.
“Because my Master needs me.”
He makes a face. “I don’t need you. I don’t want to need you. And I sure as hell don’t want you to think that your Master needs you.”
“Then it’s because I want you,” I say.
The water splashes his back as he traps me within his arms. “I killed for you. I murdered a man. Blood is on my hands. You should despise me. Be disgusted by me.”
“I’m not,” I say softly.
“And you want to help me?”
“I want you to feel good,” I say. “And I’ll do anything to make it happen, Master.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and push myself against him, rubbing my breasts against his chest. His growing dick pushes against my belly.
His brows draw together. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” I ask, pressing a kiss to the side of his lips.
He groans with desire, and his hand grips my shoulder. “I don’t deserve you,” he says. “Not after … what I did.”
“Master. You told me I should speak my mind and that my feelings are okay. So I will tell you right now my feelings for you have only grown. You are not a monster. You’re a kind man … let me be kind to you as well. Let me thank you for what you did.”
I press another kiss to the other side of his lips, and soon, they find their way to his mouth. We draw toward each other like an unstoppable force pulls us in. Our kisses hot, furious, ignited by passion and the heat of drops clattering down on us. His body tenses against me as his arms wrap around my body to pull me to him.
As our lips unlatch, I catch a drop of blood running down his cheek. It’s not his, but it doesn’t scare me. I wipe it off and show it to him, and he looks concerned.
“Why aren’t you scared?” he asks.
“Because I choose not to be,” I answer. “And I also choose to thank you for it.”
I leave a peck on his chest, scattering kisses wherever I can. A deep, rumbling groan leaves his mouth, setting my senses on fire. I love that sound of primal need rushing to the surface. And even though he refuses to do something about it, I will do it for him because that’s what good girls do.
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