Trapped (The Condemned Series #1) - Alison Aimes Page 0,10
how to actually talk to someone else. But beyond that, she had no idea what was going on here. Why he was taking the time to give her soap. Clean her up.
She hated not being able to read him at all. She hated not knowing if the brief flashes of humanity she’d seen in his gaze were real or not.
“Thank you.” It took all her courage to reach out and take the bar from his hand, the brush of her fingertips against his rough palm sending adrenaline surging through her. But when he remained still, when he allowed her to draw back her hand, soap clutched tight, her heartbeat slowed to something just below painful. “I—I’ve never used one before. The Academy only allows lasers for cleaning. The use of water was banned a long time ago.” She stopped short.
Of course, he knew that. He wasn’t from some distant galaxy. He was from Earth. He just wasn’t welcome there anymore.
His lips flat lined. “I’ve been here a while, but not as long as that.”
Was that a joke? His expression offered no clue.
“Of course.” Hands shaking, she took the soap and rubbed it against her arm. The blood stayed put. She rubbed harder.
She hadn’t expected this…this talking. Or the kindness of a bath—with soap. It was confusing.
“You need the water to make it work.” Rough hands reached out and took the soap, dunking it under the water, making that same foamy circle she’d seen before.
“Turn around.” His voice had gone husky again.
That overworked heart of hers started up double time once again. Her feet remained planted where they were.
He waited for longer than she would have expected before he spoke again, his jaw locked tight. “Anything?” It was a reminder. A reproach. A challenge.
And her last chance to change her mind.
Her eyes sunk shut. I can do this. I need to do this.
She whirled around, bracing for a grab. A strike. But the deliberate slow glide of a calloused fingertip down the bumps of her spine slammed through her with more force than any blow.
Chapter Four
“Pull your hair to one side.” 673’s voice was gruffer than intended, but staying in control was taking all his effort. The creature he’d become roared at him to throw her down and ram inside. To take what was his. The Dragath25 way.
And he could. He could do whatever he wanted with her. His strength gave him that right. Her defenselessness made her easy prey. There were no rules here on Dragath25. No honor. Only violence and might.
But he didn’t throw her down. He didn’t ram inside. The feel of soft silk beneath his fingertip too good to rush. Hazy memories of the man he’d once been whispered that the smells and the sighs and the hot little mewling sounds of a woman on the edge were worth the wait.
That even a bit of the man he’d been still existed confused him almost as much as it angered him. But all of that was secondary to the feel of her smooth skin as he dragged his fingertip down her spine.
She’d stayed. He’d thought several times she wouldn’t. He’d braced himself for the reversal. Lectured the man he’d once been to damn well walk away before he became even more of a monster. But she’d surprised him. And he wasn’t about to lose the chance to experience something he’d never thought to feel again.
He leaned forward, skimming his nose just above the smooth line of her shoulder. Holy hell. The scent of her…of woman. Of light. Of softness. The faint hint of vanilla still clinging to her skin.
The soap cracked in his palm.
It was a good reminder. Control was essential. Control was imperative or the fragile, trembling woman before him would turn to dust in his hands. Like everything else he’d ever had.
He’d told her to turn around because the sight of her body—of all that creamy white skin, full lush breasts tipped by perfect pink nipples, hourglass curves, and bare, mouthwatering mound—had made going slow impossible. But even with her back to him he was in trouble. That ass….it called to him even now.
He leaned in close. “You smell…good.”
She started. Then seemed to force herself to relax. “That’s hard to imagine, but thanks.” Her voice had a high-pitched forced nonchalance he didn’t like as much as the one she used when bossing that bastard soldier around. “I’m covered in soot and dirt and dust. Even my hair must stink.”