Page 29 of Brutal Vows

“You went into my locker but didn’t bring my clothes?”

I don’t respond. I can’t. If I move at all, I’ll reach out, yank the curtain open, and drag her into my arms. The anticipation is too much.

She slides the curtain open and glares at me.

“Is this meant to humiliate me?”

I cease breathing. Standing in my t-shirt with her hair wet and her skin flushed, she’s a wet dream in the flesh.

“Gattina, the only one who might humiliate themselves is me,” I groan.

Even as she deepens her scowl, she rubs her thighs together and pulls at the hem of my shirt.

Unable to resist, I stand and offer her my hand. When she slips her palm into mine, delight travels up my arm, but I help her out of the shower and guide her to the sink. She catalogues the products lined along the back of the counter. Her eyes flash when she notices the deodorant and lotion I took from her locker.

She scowls at me through my reflection as I stand behind her.

I allow my lips to curl in amusement, but her pallor and the lines of exhaustion around her eyes urge me to pamper her backto full fighting force. She stiffens when I lean closer to her, but I reach over her shoulder and take the brush from the counter.

When I gather her hair into my fist, she white-knuckles the edge of the counter and vibrates with tension.

“I’m not a life-sized doll. I can do my own hair,” she says.

I meet and hold her gaze in the mirror. After a few moments, she swallows and looks away. No matter how much she protests, I will take care of her.

I may not fully trust her yet or like her profession, but she’s mine.

Mine to question. Mine to protect. Mine to pamper.

Mine to do whatever I want with, and right now, what I want is to brush her hair.

Her fingers tighten on the counter, and she grows more awkward the longer I take, but I run first the brush, then my fingers, through her smooth locks, savoring the moment as bittersweet memories rise in me.

In her last few years,mia mamma’sarthritis made braiding her hair too difficult for her, so at firstmio papàwould do it, but then I took over a few days a week when I noticed his gnarled fingers struggled to manage the delicate process.

When I brush her hair straight back, Loretta’s eyelids dip over her gorgeous green orbs. She tries to disguise the delight flashing over her features, but it arrows straight to my cock.

I’ll have blue balls before the end of the night, but nothing will stop me from touching and teasingmia gattina.

I set the brush on the counter. Loretta exhales in relief then stiffens in surprise when I start braiding her hair. It’s been a while since I practiced, so I opt for a simple French braid down the center of her head.

I pinch the end and nudge her hip to move her so I can open the top drawer. She takes a stiff step to the side and crosses herarms over her chest as I pull a hair tie from the drawer and fasten the end of her braid.

Her eyes judge me as she glares at my reflection.

I lift two toothbrushes and a small tube of toothpaste from the drawer. After unwrapping the brushes and crowding Loretta against the counter, I reach around her and wet them in the sink. I open the toothpaste and squirt a healthy dose on both sets of bristles before offering her one and watching with amusement as she gives me a skeptical once-over. When she finally takes her toothbrush from me, I scoff and drop my hand to her hip but don’t grind my hard cock against her ass.

She sticks the bristles in her mouth and brushes with fury in every move.

I rest my chin on the top of her braid and smirk.

“Ismia gattinajealous?”

She stops mid-stroke and lifts an incredulous brow. My cock and chest brush against her as I chuckle.

I lean down so my lips hover beside her ear.

“Aren’t you upset because you’re imagining how many women I had to bring home to learn how to braid hair? Well, guess what,gattina—” I flick my tongue over her earlobe. “I can do so much more than a French braid.”

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