Fangs for Nothing(61)

“Finished. May I have a towel?” She popped her head out from behind the curtain.

Damn it, she was beautiful. It was making him grouchy. But he stood up without hesitation and grabbed her a towel. “Need help drying off?”

“No, thank you.”

Of course she didn’t. Because that would be fun for him. “I’m coming in,” he told her, the dried blood on his shoulder and neck starting to pull at his skin. He was just about out of patience.

But she was quick, emerging from the shower wrapped in the towel. “It’s all yours.”

They traded positions, and she managed to avoid any contact with him whatsoever in the transition.

Funny how when he was the one standing in there, his arm was still stretched to capacity and he was hunched over. She had half of his arm out of the shower as she toweled her hair dry, while he felt like a chimpanzee trying to learn to use tools. He was all bent over and bouncing around on the balls of his feet trying to get some shampoo onto his head one-handed.

What the fuck.

Her French pussy had clearly whipped him.

Because he wasn’t complaining. He was just one-handed washing while his arm went completely numb and water slapped him in the face.

Lizette didn’t offer to dry him off. Not that he expected her to, but it would have been a nice gesture.

“Our clothes are in the kitchen,” she told him, still burrito-wrapped in her towel, her damp hair falling over her shoulders in waves.

“Your clothes are trashed. How about I find something of mine for you to wear.” Not bothering with a towel, because well, he liked to be naked, and she couldn’t stop him, he went over to his dresser.

Rifling through his T-shirt drawer, he found a union   Jack shirt. “Oh, look, here’s one for you.”

“Ha-ha. Aside from the subject matter, I cannot wear a T-shirt with these handcuffs.”

She was right. She would need a sweatshirt or something, which was ridiculous because it was ten million degrees outside. “You’re going to have to wear a T-shirt. It’s too hot for anything else.” He found one that was loose, and just a plain gray cotton. “Here, try this.”

Lizette turned her back slightly, which was ridiculous, but she did, and edged her towel to her waist to put the shirt on. Of course, her left arm fit in normally but the right one couldn’t, so her flank was completely exposed. But Johnny could fix that. He rifled through his dresser and found a stapler.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding alarmed.

“Trust me.” He stapled the shirt together, closing the gap from waist to arm pit. It looked weird, but she was in, and it was clean, even though the shoulder was bunching.

“But . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t have my bra on.”

He hated to tell her that no one would ever notice. She wasn’t exactly a busty chick. But he just told her quite honestly, “You can’t tell. I swear.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. The shirt’s really baggy, there is no way you can tell.”

“I feel ridiculous. I wish I had panties.”

He wasn’t sure what the one statement had to do with the other, but he could at least fix the second problem. “Do you want to borrow a pair of my underwear?”

“No! Of course not. That would be . . .”

“Inappropriate?” he asked, pulling a pair out of his drawer for himself. He bent over and stepped into them. Of course, the motion caused her to have to bend over, too, putting her face in very close proximity to his cock.

This had potential.

“I know precisely what you are thinking.”

“Yeah?” Good, then he wouldn’t even have to ask or suggest.

“It is not going to happen.”

Damn. “You’re sure? Because I would return the favor.”

“No. That is not something I have ever done.”

Was she kidding? She’d never blown a guy? Wow. “Because you think it’s gross or because it’s just never happened?”

He wasn’t sure how anyone could go several hundred years and never at least have the option of sucking cock presented to her, but then again, they didn’t move in the same circles. Maybe Paris was dead these days. His unintended pun made him want to grin, but he controlled himself and just stood in his underwear waiting for her response.

“I have limited experience with men, as I mentioned. Jean-Baptiste, he considered that particular action reserved for a mistress, not a lady.”

Jean-Baptiste sounded like a pretentious prick. “So wait a minute, you’re telling me he’d let a prostitute blow him, but not you? That he wasn’t even faithful to you?”

She swallowed visibly. Her words were defensive, but her tone was soft, maybe even sad. “Yes. But that was the way of our world. I never expected him to be satisfied with me alone.”