But I kept moving forward until I was within touching distance. Stopping, I held up the sponge and gestured to the bowl of hot water. Clearing my throat, trying to chase away the nerves starting to overwhelm my body, I said quietly, “Can I keep going? Can I continue to clean you?”
He didn’t react, but his cheek twitched, then twitched again. I didn’t know if that meant he wanted me to or not. Deciding to continue regardless, I carefully dipped the sponge into the soapy water. Zaal’s torso was on full display and he tensed, as though I was about to strike him.
My heart fell again.
Had he not had any human contact at all? Had no one ever cared for him? Touched him? Spoke to him other than to issue a command to kill, or to pump him full with drugs?
He didn’t move as I approached very slowly, but his eyes watched me like a hawk. Holding out the sponge, I said just as quietly, “I’m going to run it along your arm, is this okay?”
There was no answer, just another twitch of his jaw and a narrowing of his green eyes.
Averting my attention from his face to his large arm, I pressed the sponge against his skin and met hard muscle. My lips parted and my heart raced. I could feel him watching me; I blushed under his scrutiny.
The deathly silence in the room only intensified the mood of the situation and his wet skin bumped in my wake. He was solid muscle. His skin was nearly golden in tone, but my chest tightened at seeing the mass of jagged scars marring his skin up close. They were everywhere, more than I’d realized. Round marks that looked like they’d once been open holes, red raised scars that looked like burn marks. I’d seen them through the surveillance feed, but up close? They were horrific. I didn’t even want to imagine how they could have been caused.
Swallowing back my shock, I glanced at Zaal, who was still watching me. His head was angled slightly to the side. I tried to cast him a smile. And when I did, his lips parted, the top boasting a perfectly shaped cupid’s bow.
Snapping myself from my stupor, I sank the sponge into the bowl and made quick work of his arm and tattooed back. Reaching for the towel, I dried him off, then said, “Can I clean your front?”
Zaal didn’t move from where he sat, prompting me to shift to place myself in front of him. His chains were in the way, but at least he could move his arms, baring his packed torso. Eyes widening, I drank in every sculpted inch as he allowed me to clean his broad chest.
The bold 221 tattoo glared at me; his black hair was clumped and fell in knotted disarray. Offering the sponge for him to see, I shuffled on my knees until I was positioned between his legs, cradled in close proximity to his imposing frame.
For a moment I entertained the certainty that this close, if he wanted to, Zaal could easily kill me. If he was truly the untamed savage, the crazed monster he’d been acting for the two weeks here at the house, he should kill me now.
But when I found myself mere inches from his face, my eyes met those stunning jade irises, and any fear I had fell away like butter sliding off a hot knife.
Electricity seemed to crackle between us as we breathed the same air. Zaal stared and stared, until, raising the sponge, I pressed its wet warmth to his chest. This close, with my ear hovering just below his mouth I caught his sharp inhale of breath.
My thighs clenched at the desperate sound and warmth spread between my legs. I could feel myself blushing, and my hands trembled.
Overcome with a heady attraction, I focused on the task of cleaning the traces of blood and dirt from his skin. My hands ran over his muscled chest, over his bulging traps that sat perfectly on top of large round shoulders.