Spinning, I head to the bathroom. I take my time running the bath, keeping one ear cocked toward the bedroom even though there’s no way she’s escaping me save crawling up the chimney. I have everything bolted down tighter than a whiskey cork in January.
When I return, she’s still on the bed, wide-eyed but pliant. I scoop her up, carry her into the bathroom, and set her on the stool beside the tub.
Her dress is still hanging in jagged tatters. I strip it away in silence, bite the tip of my tongue to keep from howling at the raw perfection of her beauty when she’s fully exposed to me.
She doesn’t fight me. Just breathes quick, her cheeks flushed as shedropsher lashes.
The bra follows, tossed aside, leaving her bare. My throat thickens, and the log in my pants screams for mercy.
I lower her carefully into the water, cupping her under the arms, easing her down until steam licks over her skin. She sighs and tips her head back, her beautiful eyes fluttering closed.
I wash her in careful, reverent silence.
My hands are steady, rough with scars, but I’m gentle as I run the cloth over her shoulders, down her arms, across her back.
She shivers but leans into it.
I don’t linger where I shouldn’t, not after wringing two orgasms out of her already. She’s replete, soft with exhaustion, pliant in a way that pleases me a helluva lot more than it should.
When she’s clean, I pull the plug, rinse her with a jug of warm water, and lift her from the tub. She’s small, slippery, fragile in my arms, but she curls against my chest like she belongs there.
I set her down on the bed again and pull one of my smallest T-shirts over her head. It still swallows her whole, the hem brushing her thighs, the sleeves sliding past her elbows. She looks like mine in a way that cuts too deep.
That thought terrifies me more than anything.
I lift the comforter. “Get in, little rabbit.”
She scrambles up and darts to the far side, eyeing me half warily. I sigh and shake my head. Pat the center of my bed—the place shallowly concave from the shape of my body. That’s where she belongs now.
“No, baby. Right in the middle.”
Her eyes widen, but she slowly settles plump in the center of my bed, her bare legs against my sheets.
I stand back, fists clenched at my sides, chest heaving, fighting the need to roar in fucking satisfaction.
The need to join her is a weight so colossal I can barely move for fear of being crushed by it.
But I take one step back. Then another.
She whispers, “What are you doing?”
Watching you. Wanting you. Losing myself to you.
I drag my gaze away, stalk to the armchair in the corner. Another chair carved with my bare hands. Scarred leather with a heavy frame. I drop into it with a groan and lean forward, elbows on my knees.
“Go to sleep, Lily. I’ll be here,” I tell her. “All night.”
Making damn fucking sure you don’t run. Or some fucker doesn’t try to steal you from me in the middle of the night.
She swallows, her tiny hands fisting in my sheets. “You’re just…going to sit there?” she asks huskily.
“Yes.”
Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t argue. She shifts down into the blankets, tugging them up to her chin like a barrier. Her eyes flutter closed, lashes trembling.
I watch every second.
Until her breathing evens out.
