Page 35 of Paved in Hate
“I think you might be worrying too much.”
He lifts a dark brow at me. “You think so?”
“Yes.”
He steps closer, and all I can think about is how easily he made me come last night. I’ve never experienced anything like it, and I’m still reeling from it. It was my first orgasm, my first several actually, and it’s not because I don’t have urges like everybody else or because I’m some sort of angelic saint. I’ve just been very miserable for a very long time, and sex has never been portrayed as anything good to me. After the shit I’ve seen, I decided long ago that I’d be better off without it. Vitaly’s making me rethink that position.
Cupping my face, he keeps his eyes on mine. “You came very close to needing stitches on those ridiculously cute feet of yours, and you need to let them heal. So, no, you’re not going to take a shower and stand in a bunch of water. You’re going to take a bath with your feet hanging over the edge.”
Without waiting for a response, he walks to the tub and starts to fill it, even taking the time to add in some of my bubble bath before backing away and grabbing his toothbrush. Resting his ass against the counter, he watches me while he brushes his teeth, looking way sexier than any man has a right to this damn early in the morning.
“How am I supposed to get in without getting my feet wet?”
He smirks around his toothbrush.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I quickly say, crossing my arms over my chest.
He spits in the sink and puts his toothbrush next to mine before turning back around. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
“Like last night?”
He smiles even bigger at the memory while my face heats up. “I won’t touch you in any sort of intimate way unless you want me to. Feel better?”
“Not really,” I say, making him laugh.
When the tub is full, he turns off the water and motions for me to step closer. “Get naked,ptichka, or I’ll do it for you.”
I hesitate too long for his liking, and he reaches down and grabs the bottom of my sweater dress, pulling it up and off my head in seconds. I feel like an idiot standing before him in nothing but my pink, cotton panties and bra. I’m sure this man is used to expensive lacy lingerie and the model bodies that wear them.
And then there’s me, his new wife, with hips and thighs that are probably way bigger than he likes or is used to. I can’t meet his eyes, so I focus on the bubbles in the bath instead. I’d rather not see the disappointment written on his face.
His fingers run up my sides before sliding along my back and unhooking my bra in a seamless move that lets me know exactly how many times he’s done this. No awkward fumbling for this guy. No, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Last night was proof enough of that. When my bra falls to the floor, he lets out a soft groan before hooking his fingers under my panties and pulling them down my legs.
“Jesus Christ,” he growls, kneeling down just inches from my pussy. In one quick motion, he scoops me up and gently places me in the tub, making sure my feet are hanging off the end on either side. Swiping a hand through his hair, he leaves his thick, dark strands wet but doesn’t seem to notice or care. When I dare to meet his eyes, it’s not disgust or disappointment I see in them. He looks like a man who’s seconds away from hopping into this tub and burying himself inside me. Despite how that thought makes my heart speed up and my pussy ache with need, I still feel a shiver of fear at the thought of that giant dick sliding into me. Just because he’s been sweet to me doesn’t mean he’ll continue to be that way while he fucks. What if he likes it hard and rough? What if it’s too much and I can’t handle it? I remember how the women had looked after my brothers were done with them. The bruise I’d seen on the maid’s neck before I left was nothing compared to the other women I’ve seen—the ones who could barely walk with blood running down their inner thighs and eyes so vacant I feared they’d completely lost their grip on reality.
“So many fears,” he murmurs, cupping my cheek and running his wet thumb along my skin. “It’s just a bath,ptichka. I promise.”
I nod and grip the sides of the tub. The bubbles are thick enough to hide most of my body, but when he grabs the handheld nozzle and gently scoots me into more of a sitting position, my breasts rise above the water. His eyes run over me, but he makes no move to touch me beyond using the nozzle to wet my hair.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m washing your hair.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Did it occur to you that maybe I want to?”
“No, not for a second.”
His sexy mouth curls up in a smile. “Well, I do, so let me take care of you.”
Sitting on the edge of the tub, he lathers up my hair, his movements so gentle they border on being reverent.
“I love your hair,” he murmurs as he runs his hands through the long strands.
“You do?”
When I look over, he gives me a quick wink that makes my heart speed up.
