Page 45 of A Bargain with the Fae King

Unwilling to glimpsethatview as he rises from the water, I spin around.

I hug my knees, regret sloshing within me worse than the water in the tub. I’d scolded him, but I hadn’t meant to hurt him in the process, especially not over his mother. Had she been kind? Beloved? Everything pointed to that, which only made the pain sharper. I remember little of my mother, not enough to know whether she had been loving toward me before she left us, but the leaving tells me all I need to know. Dad refused to talk about it for a long time, and when he finally did, he simply said she wasn’t ready to be a wife and mother. She’d wanted her freedom. She’d taken it and never looked back.

I inhale a sharp breath as Riven returns to the tub.

The steaming water embraces me as he settles in once more. His return brings a flush that burns away my painful memories. He tugs my hair. A moment later, the ribbon securing my braid hangs over the edge of the tub, sopping wet. Citrus perfumes the air as he rubs soap into the mangled mess.

“Lean back,” he says.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Just a bath. I’ll keep my hands…well, not to myself.” A deep rumble of laughter rolls through the air.

Such a bad idea.

I sink further beneath the water and tip my head back to the fae behind me.

He lathers in the suds, inching up the length of my hair. “Further.”

I bite my lip, giving in to the hand that tilts my shoulders back until they touch the water, and my head floats just above the surface. Hooded eyes flick to my arms, covering my breasts, barely exposed above the water’s surface. Riven’s hands fall still in my hair.

“Aren’t you supposed to be washing something?” I tease.

The water ripples with laughter, but he resumes his activity. Long fingers massage my scalp as he works the mess free.

I dip my head, rinsing out the suds.

“Let me return the favor.” My words are slow, thick, like cool syrup. I turn toward him in the tub and pull my wet locks over my shoulders, shielding my chest as best I can. Too bad it likes to float.

My breath catches in my throat at the greedy gaze he aims my way.

When he finally turns, giving me his scarred back, I can breathe again. Unable to help myself, I trace a curved scar down one shoulder with one finger.

Oh, to know the stories his body tells.

“The soap?” My voice wobbles.

He leans out of the tub, giving a generous view of his firm, shapely ass, to grab the vial. Riven’s head floats on the water above my lap as I massage in the soap, scrubbing his hair clean as he did for me.

His eyes close under my ministrations, leaving his face peaceful in a way I’ve never seen.

I ease my hands under his neck, around his shoulders, and over the top of his chest, soothing away the day’s worries and clouding the water with soap and other things I try to forget. Even my own anxiety has eased in the cooling water.

“I wish I knew your thoughts,” he says.

When did he open his eyes?

“Do you?” I raise my eyebrows at him, refusing to relinquish even a hint via my words, though my hands as they trail down his chest tell their own tale.

“Would you like to know mine?”

“Yes.”

Riven flips over onto his knees. Water splashes in a torrent over the side. Just as quickly, he pulls me to him. My chest crashes against his, wet, slick, and warm. My knees press against the stony bottom as I hover over his lap. An unmistakable hardness brushes my stomach.

“Riven,” I gasp.

“Please.” Those long fingers slide down my back to cup my bottom.

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