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"Chris..." It was a breath, her voice a threadbare sound against the weight of the air between us.
"Stay still." The rasp in my throat sounded foreign.
My fingers grazed lower and she tensed, a shiver running through her. The reaction, instinctive and raw, sent a jolt straight to my cock. I watched her struggle to relax, the subtle dance of her muscles beneath the thin layer of soap and water.
"Tell me if you need me to stop," I said, the offer feeling like a blade's edge—beautiful but dangerous.
"I won't."
"Brave little ember." I wasn't sure if I admired her or wanted to break that courage, bend it to my will. The sponge continued its descent, dipping into the curve of her waist, skirting the rise of her hips.
"Too brave for your own good." My breath ghosted over her skin as I leaned closer, suds clinging to my hands.
She clenched her legs, a telltale sign of her body reacting, betraying her just as mine betrayed me. My hands roamed with purpose now, a blend of roughness and something dangerously close to care. Shit, what was this pull she had on me?
"Chris..." The way she said my name, fuck, it was like a caress, a balm to the wounds etched deep within my psyche.
"Stop saying my name like that." My jaw clenched, muscles twitching with the effort to maintain control.
"Like what?" Innocence laced her question, but we both knew the power she had.
"Like you know me," I growled.
"Chris," she whispered again, a test, a challenge.
"Fuck! Shut the fuck up, Ella." I stepped away, my back to her, hands braced on the cold wall. The violence in my pulse didn't match the quiet of the room, the stillness of her waiting form. I turned back towards her and grabbed the black dress off the bed.
"We're gunna put this on."
I yanked the dress down over Ella's frame, watched it cling to her as I struggled to get it down her wet skin. Her pulse fluttered at her throat.
"Turn around," I growled, no room for argument. She obeyed, slow, each movement deliberate. My hands clenched at my sides, tattoos stretching with the tension. A raw need clawed at my gut—the primal urge to claim, to own.
"Chris..." Her voice was a whisper, but it might as well have been a scream in the silence of the room.
"Shut up," I snapped back, commanding the space between us. But my mind, goddamn it, my mind was a war zone—morals against monsters, right against ruin.
I traced the zipper up her back, fucking relishing the way her skin raised at my touch. Every inch I covered with the fabric felt like a mile of road I was putting between the man I was and the one I wanted to be. One without blood on his hands, without lies on his lips.
"Done." A lie. I wasn't done. Not by a long shot.
Her breath hitched, and she stepped away, a subtle defiance in her posture. The same defiance that had me wanting to break her, or worse, protect her.
"Chris, why—" She started, turning towards me, those brown eyes searching mine for something, anything.
"Enough!" I cut her off, the edge in my voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
There was a darkness in me, a pit so deep not even her light could shine through. Yet here she was, a flicker of warmth in my cold world. And fuck me if I didn't burn for more.
"Please, I—" she tried again, a crack in her composure.
"Stop." I towered over her, a statue chiseled from ice, all harsh lines and frigid intent. "Just stop." My chest heaved, every breath a battle.
"Okay." Her submission was a blade twisting in my ribs. Shit, since when did I care about hurting anyone?
"Good." I spat the word out, turning my back to her, needing distance. "Stay put until I come get you."
"Where are you going?" Desperation tinged her voice, a note that sang of fear.
