Page 37 of Craving Chaos

He dries his hands and stands opposite me, and I swear his penetrating stare reaches deep enough inside me to examine the rough-hewn patchwork pieces of my soul. Eventually, he gives a single nod. “You’re not back in ten, I will come looking for you.”

“You better.” I offer him a shy smile before grabbing the bucket and bolting from the cabin to escape the sweltering tension.

The number of unspoken words that fill the air when we’re together could compete in length with a Tolkien manuscript, should they ever be put on paper. I don’t even know what words would be spoken on my end. Maybe that’s what makes them feel so heavy. The uncertainty. A part of me is fascinated by Renzo Donati, and the rest is sure any interest in him is a terrible, awful idea.

Unfortunately, that’s never stopped me before.

Again, the meat is incredible. We savor every bite, then sit back and relish the feeling of being full.

“We still have half the day left,” Renzo comments. “I’m thinking of trying to construct some sort of storage container on the side of the cabin in case we can catch enough meat to store some for our trip to town.”

“Will that small box of nails with the tools be enough?” I raise my hands and run my fingers through my hair, letting the nails scratch at my filthy scalp.

God, what I wouldn’t give for a shower.

“It’s worth a try. Guess it’ll depend on what wood I can round up. We’ll have to either chop down a tree soon or start gathering wood from farther out as it is. I hate to use good firewood for the box, but it’s just as important to our survival.”

“Agreed. You need any help?”

“Don’t think so at the moment.” He watches me go to the water bucket and stand over it.

Those five-gallon paint buckets are tall. I bend at the waist and consider how I might get my head down into the water to wash my hair. The bucket gets heavy with too much water. I only filled it with enough to get us by without straining myself on the walk back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Renzo finally asks.

“Trying to figure out how to wash my hair,” I answer absently.

He stands and closes the distance between us, hitting me with that devastating stare again. “Go lie on the bed.” His words are soft yet frayed at the edges.

I have to swallow twice before I can summon my voice. “That fever coming back? You seem to be a little confused.”

His hands lift to cup either side of my neck, his thumbs sliding along my jaw. His presence suddenly feels immense, like he fills every square inch of space, leaving no room for oxygen. And when he brings his face an inch away from mine, I forget how to breathe.

“I know exactly what I’m doing. You—” His thumb sweeps across my cheek. “Just need to trust me, Chaos. Now, lie on your back on the bed. I’m going to wash your hair.”

My entire body sways when he releases me. Or maybe I’m floating. I could be floating.

He called me chaos again, and I swear it sounded even better this time than the last.

“Um, yeah. Okay.” I do as I’m told because, Jesus Christ, I’m only human, and Renzo is obviously not. Be it deity or wizard or voodoo shaman, I’m not sure, but he’s definitely not playing fair.

He sets the bucket and the stool at the end of the bed while I get situated, lying on my back with my head hanging over the edge. My insides riot when his hands move with deft confidence through my short hair. Electric bolts of pleasure shoot from my scalp to my nipples and lower. It takes all my control to keep from arching with need.

Am I simply horny, or is Renzo that adept with his hands? I’m scared to know the answer because if he’s truly that gifted, a girl could become addicted.

The first cup of water poured into my hair is a shock to the system. It’s cold as a witch’s tit, but each round is more tolerable than the one before. He continues until my hair is fully soaked, my scalp tingling, and I’m feeling pleasantly relaxed. Then he begins to massage my head.

If I were a cat, I’d purr.

“You’re better with your hands than I would expect.”

“Why wouldn’t I be good with my hands?”

“Seems like most men aren’t very intuitive about touch.”

He stills. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience.” When his hands resume their circular motion, my eyes drift shut in ecstasy, preventing me from seeing him lean in toward me. I almost gasp when he continues from an inch away. With so little distance between us, the deep timbre of his voice vibrates a path from my ear directly to my clit. “I thought you said you have a girlfriend.”

“I do.” It’s the breathiest two words I’ve ever spoken. I have to get a grip on myself.

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