Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,99

like I’d never orgasmed before her. Like all previous climaxes were a trial run leading up to the real thing. Panting, I folded forward and dragged an openmouthed kiss over her rounded back. Knees weak, fingertips tingling, vision spotted with black dots, I could have easily collapsed onto her, both of us crashing to the floor—and in a cleaner setting, I might have. Instead, I forced myself upright and released her wrists, both bruised from my hold, then her hair. Gently as I could, I helped her straighten with a shaky arm around her waist, then let her lean on me, head tucked under my chin as she caught her breath. Behind me, I groped around for the shower nozzle, then turned it and shielded her from the meager assault of a barely lukewarm spray.

Katja yelped, sheltering in my chest, until it warmed just a fraction more to her liking. Only then did I feel secure in letting her stand on her own two feet, leaving her for a few moments to shuffle over to my toiletries hamper—which was the envy of the cellblock and one of the most expensive items at the store. Still struggling through the sluggishness of my climax, I dug around inside for what we needed, then sauntered back to her.

Bruised and flushed, Katja was a vision. Standing beneath the shower’s halfway decent water pressure, she watched my approach while nibbling on her lower lip, looking neither guilty nor ashamed—but relaxed. Possibly even… content?

“Right.” I held up a tiny travel-sized bottle of shampoo. “I will trade you one deep-throating blowjob for this full bottle. Note the seal is unbroken—”

She smacked my chest with a carefree laugh, shoving at me while I chuckled, both of us halfhearted in our play fighting. As I fended off her attack, I steered us back under the water—then kissed her, all sugar and very little spice. With my eyes closed, I could pretend we were kissing in the rain somewhere far, far away from Xargi Penitentiary.

Katja had taken my mind off this shithole, and as I kissed her, as I cracked open my shampoo and washed her hair, then let her wash mine, I hoped this had distracted her too.

That I hadn’t failed now that I’d actually tried at something.

Because if I could make her happy, even for a short while, then…

Well, then that made me happy.

And all things considered, that was a victory worth savoring.

19

Katja

“It must have been terrifying,” Lloyd mused, finger slowly circling the rim of his coffee mug, that hawkish grey gaze never once leaving my face, “to be hunted within a lake he knew so well… To feel the predator nipping at his heels with the shoreline so very far away.” He leaned over his obviously-compensating-for-something mahogany desk, fighting to catch my eye. “Did you hear him screaming that fateful day?”

Even though I was almost too aware of him, I focused on the huge windows across his office. Lightning skittered through a black sky, a storm sweeping across the terrain and pounding into Xargi like a battering ram. I’d only just walked back into Cellblock C, trailing along behind a forever grinning Fintan, both of us soaked to the bone, when Cooper grabbed me by the arm and hauled me back out. At the time, I hadn’t bothered to ask where we were going. I knew, dread mounting with each step deeper into corridors stamped with upscale décor and tiled floors.

Today was the story of Ewan’s death. Practically giddy, Lloyd had been waiting for me by his ostentatious hearth as Cooper shoved me into the same chair as last time, even dried me off with a lazy flick of his wand, the rush of hot air wicking away rainwater making my stomach turn.

He had offered the same out: accept the blood contract signed by my mom, acknowledge him as my lord and master, and leave Xargi with him this evening. Biting down hard on my cheeks, bones weary from a full day of harvesting sunflowers, I had planted my elbow on the armrest, my chin on my fist, and tried to lose myself in the storm. Tried to track the fattest rain droplets as they parachuted down the windowpanes, all the while wishing the thunder would drown out his smoker’s rasp, his husky baritone.

Hating that his cologne was so strong, like he had put on more just for me.

Sure, he smelled great—all masculine and spicy and rich—but Lloyd Guthrie was rotten to the core, and no amount