Page 5 of Thrown to the Wolves
“I don’t need to look away.”
For the first time, her confidence wavers. “It’s…been a minute since I’ve done this. I need to concentrate, and I can’t if you’re staring at me like that.”
At least she didn’t call me out for staring down her top, I guess. I roll my eyes hard, so she knows how dumb I think it is, and then I turn my head away, taking in the apartment again. And I try not to wince as the needle enters my skin.
“There, all done,” she says a second later. I turn back to find Scarlett studying me with an intense scrutiny, searching, weighing. My skin prickles beneath her stare, the urge to squirm almost overpowering.
“You done?” I say, looking down to where she still holds my arms. She takes her hand away slowly.
“Um. There are towels in the bathroom if you’d like to shower. You have…blood in your hair.”
I pull my blonde ponytail around to check. She’s right, and I’d rather not walk around with sticky hair. I can’t resist leaning in a fraction closer. “You got a little blood on you there, too,” I say, nodding at a smear on her wrist, below where the gloves end. “Feel like joining me?”
Not subtle, I know, but subtlety has never been my strong suit. Especially not where beautiful women are involved.
For a heartbeat, something dances across Scarlett’s face. Surprise, maybe. Followed by resolve. Then a sly smile curves those full lips, and the gentle forest pools of her eyes turn even deeper and darker.
“You know what? I could use a shower.”
I stand, and she does too, stepping well inside my personal space. The scent of her surrounds me, her eyes inviting me in, and I raise an eyebrow at her unexpected boldness. This isn’t the cowering, anxious woman from the alleyway. This Scarlett is all sin and temptation and challenge.
And I’ll be damned if I’m not enthralled.
“Then let’s get you out of all those dirty clothes,” I tell her.
The smile slides into a smirk again, and she pulls off her top, slow and seductive, until she’s standing there in that pretty lace demi-bra, the tops of her breasts quivering as they threaten to spill out.
“Come on,” she says, brushing past me and heading out of the room. “Time to get wet.”
CHAPTER 3
Lyssa
In the bathroom (which is tiny and stuck in the ‘80s), Scarlett turns on the shower, the spray cascading in a warm rush into the minuscule bathtub below. She meets my gaze, hazel eyes dark again with an emotion I can’t quite?—
Before I can process it, she shimmies out of her tight jeans, and when she turns to set them, folded, on the side of the wash basin, I see that she’s wearing a thong that matches her bra.
God help me. I can die happy tonight.
She reaches behind to unhook the bra and pauses, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Are you going to join me, or do I have to wash off the grime alone?”
Her voice is a low purr. Where the hell did that come from? Must be this reckless side she’s so eager to indulge tonight. As I rip off the rest of my clothes, I feel her watching me still, tracing the contours of my body.
“You can get that wet,” she says, nodding at the patch on my arm. “It’s waterproof. But don’t take it off for at least seven days. Okay?”
I would literally agree to anything at all she suggested right now. “Sure.”
Steam swirls around us as we step gingerly into the shower, the water running over her body in the same way I’d like to run my hands over her. Her hair darkens to black, and rivulets of water trickle off the tight peaks of her nipples.
Oh, I am a very lucky woman tonight, Sokolovs notwithstanding.
Scarlett moves closer, her eyes locked on mine. “I’m glad you let me take care of you,” she murmurs, reaching up to trace the edge of the patch on my arm. “Maybe you’ll let me do a little more?”
She leans in and presses her lips to my shoulder, just above the cut. Slowly, she trails a path of kisses down my arm, avoiding the waterproof plaster, while her fingers feather over my hip, teasing. Unable to resist any longer, I cup her face and pull her lips to mine in a kiss. She moans softly against my mouth, our bodies pressing together, skin against slick skin, the water cascading over us nowhere near as hot as the furnace building between my legs.
When she pulls back, she seems almost…puzzled. I move in to kiss her again, but she avoids my mouth, teasing, looking up at me with a smirk from beneath wet, star-fish eyelashes.
“You want me to beg for your mouth?” I ask her.