JARED-1(Lane Brothers, Book 4)(17)

“Arms up, Cupcake.”

“What? No, really, I’ll be fine,” I squeak, snatching at the fabric when he manages to clear my thighs and I feel cool air hit my naked sex.

“Dirty it is, then,” he says, dropping the hem and going to pick me up.

No! I need a bath. I can still smell myself even after that mortifying sponge bath yesterday and the thought of staying this way makes my skin crawl.

I want to wash it all off me, every bad memory still lurking in the back of my mind, and no way can I go back to bed with their touch still on my skin.

“Agh, fine! Just, just don’t look, okay?” I beg softly, grabbing the hem to pull it up over myself.

When it’s gone and I’m naked in front of him, I feel so exposed and raw that it’s a miracle I don’t scream when he leans down and hoists me into his arms.

“Relax. I won’t hurt you,” he says when I shiver and close my eyes at the feel of his naked forearms on my skin.

It feels so good to have him touching me that I forget my embarrassment and feelings of uncertainty and I look up at him, gasping at the rage I see in his eyes.

“I-I know,” I whisper, groaning when he bends and lowers me into the hot water, my skin soaking up the heat as he submerges me almost to my neck.

My words seem to calm him, for whatever reason, and I lean back with a sigh, closing my eyes against the need to cry.

“Lift your head, Cupcake. I’ll wash your hair,” he says, sounding strangled and annoyed when I scoot forward and wrap my arms around my knees to give him better access.

I groan when he starts lathering and just stop myself from leaning into his touch when he massages my scalp and starts working his fingers through my hair gently.

It feels so good that I’m boneless by the time he rinses the shampoo and repeats with the conditioner before shoving his arms beneath me and hoisting me up onto the inbuilt seat.

My eyes pop open and I forcefully stop a moan when I look down to see him staring at my breasts with so much intensity that I feel my nipples bead and shoot arousal straight to my core.

It’s ridiculous to want him this much so soon after…

I cut that thought short and focus on him, unable to pull my eyes from his face as he starts lathering his hands and soaping my shoulders.

I almost jump out of the tub when he eventually reaches my breasts and spends a long time soaping them before moving down my stomach and to my legs.

I’m fully wet and aching as he runs his rough palms from thigh to ankle and starts rubbing my feet with a slow and steady pressure that I feel all the way to my clit and empty sheath.

I want him badly, and I can’t help the gasp of need that escapes when he finishes with my lower limbs and pulls me up to stand. Those magical hands go around me and I feel his breath on my belly as he cups my butt and washes me all over, slipping his hand into the crack and washing me so thoroughly, I blush.

Suddenly, I grab his wrist, squeezing tightly when one of his hands reaches around, going for my sex. I can’t let him wash me for fear that he’ll feel my arousal and I know it.

The thought of him knowing that I want him while he despises me is almost too much for me, and I hang on for dear life, meeting his stony eyes, silently pleading with him to stop.

“Please don’t,” I beg, pulling at his wrist when he tugs and brings his hand to my inner thigh.

“You don’t need to be afraid, Cupcake. I would never hurt you.”

“I know. I just…”

“I know what they did to you, baby. I know and it kills me, but I swear I would never…” His voice is so thick with emotion that I don’t even think about what he’s saying and the memories that I won’t ever let escape.

All I hear is that he thinks that I would equate him with those monsters and I can’t have that, not even to save myself from humiliation.

“That’s not why. I just, I don’t want you to know,” I whisper, closing my eyes against the coldness in his.

“Cupcake—”

“There. Feel,” I say, shoving his hand between my legs so that he can’t miss the liquid heat building there.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting him to see me as vulnerability engulfs me.

I want to rub all along his hand and soothe the aching throb beating in my sex, and a big part of me is so needy that I’d offer myself to him, beg him to touch me, but instead I stand completely still and avoid his gaze, not wanting to see his revulsion.

When he starts rubbing and cleansing me, spreading my inner lips to get at every crease and fold, I almost moan with need and thrust my hips into his touch.

The only reason I don’t is because I would never use him that way, no matter how much I want to.