I shut off the water and exit the shower. Findin’ a towel on a shelf, I use it to dry off. Wrappin’ it ‘round my hips when I’m done, I move to the bedroom. The house is quiet. I pick up my bloody clothes from the floor where I’d thrown them and go in search of the washin’ machine.
When I locate the laundry room, I stop in the doorway, takin’ in the view of Anya in nothin’ but a tight black cami and the sexiest pair of black underwear I’ve ever seen in my life. In truth, they’re just normal underwear really, but they’re coverin’ her so they’re enough to make my entire body flush. She has her head in the dryer next to the washin’ machine. I have to readjust my towel before I clear my throat, “Urr hum.”
Anya lifts her head fast and smacks it on the edge of the dryer. She stumbles back a step. “Uhh,” she moans, putting her hand to the back of her head.
“Aww, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” I put out my hand as I move to her. Droppin’ my clothes in front of the machine, I ease her hand away from her head so I can see if there’s a bump growin’ on her scalp. On impulse, I lean down and kiss her hair. “I think it’s okay,” I murmur. “What were you doin’ with your head in the dryer?”
Anya turns in my arms to face me. A soft pink blush is colorin’ her cheeks. “I was trying to make it go—I don’t know how it works,” she admits with a frustrated frown.
“You don’t have to figure it out on your own. You just have to ask one of us and we’ll help you.” I smile down at her as I rest my hands on her upper arms.
She blinks at me for a second, like she’s unsure of why I’m smilin’. Her lips turn down as she waves her hand in the air, disregardin’ my comment. “Zephyr and the Reapers have gone for food, you were in the shower and I’m capable of dissecting a problem and finding a solution.”
Turnin’ away, she gathers up our clothes from the floor and shoves them in the dryer. She grasps the laundry detergent, twistin’ off the cap with the aim of pourin’ it into the dryer. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I pluck the bottle of detergent from her grasp. “You don’t wanna do that.”
Her eyebrow raises as she watches me pull the clothes back out. “This is a dryer,” I nod toward the appliance in question with an easy smile. “You use it after you wash your stuff. This,” I nod toward the front loader, “is a washin’ machine—it cleans ‘em.” I dump our tangled pile into it. “You wanna use the cold cycle so the color doesn’t fade.” I turn her away from me to face the washer. With her back to my chest, I trap her between my arms. Liftin’ her hand to the button, I slide my hand over hers, usin’ her finger to press the settin’ on the washer. The soft heat of her skin against mine is enough to make me ache inside.
My lips brush the top of her ear as I murmur, “You don’t want to mix light clothes with dark—especially anythin’ white with anythin’ red ‘cuz your whites will come out pink—and then people will laugh at you.”
She leans back into me. “You sound as if you speak from experience.” She turns her cheek to brush against mine.
“Let’s just say my sisters inherited a few of my t-shirts when I was learnin’ to do my own laundry.” I release her hand and unscrew the cap from the detergent, placin’ it in her grasp. “You’d usually just want a little detergent for a small load like this, but our clothes are sort of destroyed, so...” I pour out the soap, before slidin’ open the dispenser drawer, allowin’ her to pour the contents of the cap into it.
“Do you have anythin’ else you want to put in there before we start it?” I ask. I close my eyes, breathin’ in the perfume of her hair; it clouds my brain. I open them again as Anya turns ‘round in my arms. Facin’ me once more, her silky skin causes mine to vibrate at her touch. She lifts her hand and grasps the towel ‘round my waist. With a gentle tug, she takes it from me, reachin’ behind her and stuffin’ it into the washer at her back. A smile plays upon her lips.
Standin’ in front of her without a shred of clothing, I don’t feel vulnerable—I’m powerful. I move so that we’re a hair’s breath away. Towerin’ over her, her head only reaches my chin. I’m not fooled though; she’s delicate, but she’s ferocious—a warrior. She has the cunnin’ to turn me inside out. “You forgot this,” I murmur, reachin’ for the hem of her cami. I ease it over her head; her long, hair falls through it, black silk against her flawless skin. I toss her cami behind her into the washer.
My finger traces her shoulder, before windin’ down her. She bites her bottom lip. I run my thumb over it, rescuin’ it from her cruel mouth. I want to feel it pout against mine. She traps my thumb with her mouth, sucking it in, doin’ things to it that makes my knees weak.