His eyes meet mine. “If that’s okay?”
I turn so it’s easier for him to reach me. “Knock yourself out.”
He takes the shampoo from me and rubs it into my hair, massaging my scalp in a way that feels way too damn good.
I let my eyes close and just enjoy his hands on me. “The first night I was here, did you wash my hair?”
He doesn’t answer me, just takes the handheld showerhead and washes off the shampoo.
I turn back toward him when he’s done, a brow raised in question.
“You had been in the ocean, Sloane, you needed it.”
My eyes narrow. “How was I that out of it that I let you wash my hair?”
His face becomes more serious. “I might have slipped you a sedative. Don’t overreact, you were really distressed, and I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”
“You drugged me?” I glare back at him. I already knew it had to be something like that, but fuck, the way he just admits to it like it’s no big deal.
He turns me so I’m facing the wall again, his hands back in my hair. “Don’t pout, it was a mild sedative, just to help you sleep.” I feel him massage in the conditioner.
“So, you could wash me, dress me, and get me into bed. You have to know how bad that sounds.”
His fingers dig into my scalp, and I almost groan out loud. What is he, some master hair washer? It feels so damn good. “I would do it again if you passed out and needed to be taken care of.”
“You have major boundary issues,” I snip back. I’m not letting him get away with thinking what he did to me that night was okay.
He rinses out my hair and turns me back toward him. “Only when it comes to you, treasure.”
I tilt my head, wondering how he thinks this is okay. “What if the roles were reversed?”
“You want to take care of me?” His brow rises, surprised.
That wasn’t quite what I was getting at, but now that he says it, maybe. “Take off your pants.”
He takes a step back, but he humors me, unzipping them. Stepping out of them, he looks almost nervous. And now I feel like the predator because I can’t help the way my eyes travel down his chiseled torso and land on his package. He has on white boxer briefs, his massive cock straining at the fabric to be freed. “Now what, Sloane?”
“Take it all off, Orlando.”
He removes his underwear, but he doesn’t step any closer.
My mouth nearly falls open, but I keep myself in check and keep my lips shut up tight. He has one gorgeous cock, long and thick. I have the sudden urge to drop down to my knees and suck him into my mouth. “Get under the spray, I won’t bite,” I say instead.
Tentatively he walks toward me. I step back to give him space to get all wet under the spray of the shower. He runs a hand through his hair, making sure it’s all wet.
My fingers itch to reach out and touch him, but I wait.
He cocks his head to the side. “Now what?”
“Now I wash your hair.”
His lips curl up at the sides as if I amuse him, but he moves so I can access his hair.
It’s not as easy for me to wash his hair, as he’s so damn tall compared to me, but I do my best, trying to massage just the way he did, all the while getting distracted by his insanely hot body just inches from me. His ass is insane, his arms rippled with muscles. His back is toned as well, under all the scars, and up this close, I can see them in more detail. They look painful. Like he was whipped or beaten so hard it left permanent scars.
“There you go,” I say when I rinse out the conditioner. Unable to help myself, I reach out and trace along one of the old wounds.
He flinches away from me. Turning quickly, he grabs my wrists, and pinning them above my head, he backs me into the tile wall. “Did I give you permission to touch me?”
