“What are you doing? Did you just… smell me?” I ask, suddenly wishing I had put on panties this morning.
“There’s not a better aroma in the world than the smell of my Katie aroused,” he says.
I don’t respond. I can’t. Does he even realize he called me his? Why do I like that? Why does that make me happy? Crap.
“Stop it. You’re weirding me out,” I tell him. By “weirding me out”, I mean he’s totally weakening my defense system. I’ve already softened towards him; I can’t weaken even more.
He stands up. Right back in its place is that easy, cocky grin I’m so used to seeing on him.
“Really?” he asks. “Because I think I’m making you wet.”
He’s not wrong. Before I can respond, he pulls me up in his arms and carries me off to the bathroom. He lets me down, unlatches my bra, then tosses it to the ground. The tub is small, but larger than others I’ve seen in motel rooms, especially for the dive this one is. I sit down. Torch slides in across from me minutes later. This is a new experience for me. I’ve never bathed with a man before, unless you count the shower with Torch that first night. This seems more intimate, though. Apparently not intimate enough for him; he situates my legs so that they overlap his, then pulls my hips so we’re mere inches apart.
“That’s better.”
“Is it?” I ask, confused and distracted by the sight of this man devouring me with his eyes. Me.
“Now, I can take care of you,” he says with a grin.
“You could have done that in the bedroom,” I tell him, not really kidding.
“I meant wash you, dirty girl,” he says taking the soap and lathering it between his hands. For some reason, my eyes are glued on his every movement. Watching how the soap slides between his hands, the white foam emerging between his fingers, I soon find out that’s nothing compared to the way it feels when his slick hands caresses my body with the soap. He starts with my neck, leaving magic in his wake as his fingers tease and torture every inch of what might be the most erogenous zone on my body.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to move on to my breasts. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he goes down my shoulder, then my arm, and finally arrives at my hands. He uses his thumbs to massage the palms of my hands.
My eyes close in pleasure. “That feels so good,” I whisper.
“I have been told I have magic fingers,” he says. I’m not watching him, but I can hear the smile he’s wearing on his face right now.
“Please, do not tell me about the millions of women who have stroked your ego,” I tell him, half-joking. For the first time I can remember, it bothers me to hear about the women this man has had before me.
“You make me forget them all,” he says softly.
The importance of what he just said makes me open my eyes. He doesn’t look up, though. I’m not sure he’s aware he said that out loud. His hands move down to my leg, the one that’s been hurting so bad I could barely walk. He begins to massage it, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes as he kneads the flesh there.
“How did you get the scars, Katydid?” he asks, his finger brushing against the faint scars and following their line down. They aren’t as bad as they used to be, and definitely not as bad as they could have been. Still, they make me uncomfortable. I’m not use to putting myself out there with a man.
“Why does it matter?” I ask, trying to divert him. “If they turn you off…”
He stops me from pulling away. “I didn’t say that, sweetness. There’s not a fucking thing about you that turns me off. I just want to know how you got them. They remind me of some of the scars my brother Beast has.”
I swallow. Bethie has talked incessantly about the club. She thought of them as her family before Skull’s note. I know right away who Beast is and I know what scars he would have. They would be very much like mine, I’d imagine, except Beast got his heroically. He got his willingly. I was just a guinea pig, a way to further my father’s great plan. Collateral damage.
“There was a fire…” I tell him, which isn’t the truth, but close enough.
“Sweetness,” he groans, the word sounding haunted. My legs are in the water, but because they’re draped over his, the tops are out. He bends down and kisses the scar. I swallow in response.
I’m feeling self-conscious and on-display—neither emotion is good for me. I need to divert him, and fast. “Torch…” He looks at me. I see the disappointment in his eyes, and just like that, the moment’s broken.
“Hold your head back, Katydid,” he says, grabbing a plastic cup off the edge of the tub. It’s white, but has the motel name on it. I hold my head back just as Torch pulls me up on his lap.
“What—?”
“I just needed you closer for this. Now, hold your head back,” he instructs me again, and I do it, but it’s hard to concentrate when I can feel his dick pushing against my ass.