Page 13 of Cry, Little Dove

I manage a tired laugh. “Itwasincredible.”

He straightens and my eyes open. I’m met with his broad, lipstick-smeared grin as he tugs up his pants with one hand and carries me to the bathroom. My brows rise with a silent question.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. That cut on your neck needs to be disinfected, too.” He stops in front of the shower. “Unless you want me to fuck off right now?”

I hesitate before I shake my head. Having some more company during my last night sounds nice.

“No, please stay a while, Cain.”

He untangles himself from me and I’m surprised how sharply I feel the loss of him, like a part of myself disconnecting from my body. His cum oozes faster from my pussy as he sets me on my feet. When my legs give in a bit, he holds on to my shoulders to stabilize me.

“Can you stand, darlin’?”

I give a lazy nod.

He unzips my dress and pulls it over my head. I flush as he kneels to take off my heels. Then Cain undresses himself. Boots first, his tops come off second, revealing a drool-worthy upper body.

His forearm tattoos are actually breath-taking full sleeves, covering his impressive biceps up to his wide shoulders. The nature scape on his left arm continues into a waterfall with horses drinking by the river and a mountain range with the sun behind it. The snake on his right arm winds its tail around a skeletal version of itself, coiling over his shoulder to his chest. Its skull sits below his collarbone.

I love his tattoos, but the rest of him is a feast for the eyes, too.

Cain has subtle abs below a toned, broad chest with a shadow of dark hair on it. When he takes off his jeans and boxer briefs, I spot a thin happy trail leading to his well-groomed groin. He turns away to kick his pants into the corner, showing off a horned demon skull covering his muscular back.

How did I get so lucky?

Cain takes my hand and leads me into the shower, making me stand with my back against his chest. His dick twitches at the contact, soon ready for another round. He reaches over me and turns on the water. I squeal as the stream hits me, hot and cold, and when he chuckles, I jab a gentle elbow into his stomach.

The water is kind of nice. Refreshing. The clashing temperatures remind me of the sex we had. Fire and ice. Pain and pleasure.

Cain twists me toward him and frames my face with his hands. He smiles so softly, my knees turn to jelly. “Hold still. Let me take care of you, little dove.”

Nobody has said those words to me before.

Let me take care of you.

“Okay,” I mumble and close my eyes again.

I hear the pop of the body wash bottle opening. His soapy fingers coast over my skin and I lean into his touch. For a few minutes, I want to forget everything but him. Just for a moment, I let Cain wash away my worries.

The side of my neck itches. Drowsy, I raise a hand to scratch the spot, but my arm doesn’t move.

My eyelids are leaden, too heavy to open. The memories of last night are a blur, and trying to piece them together is like watching myself in slow-motion through milky, splintered glass.

Vague movements. Heat in my veins. Lust. Terror. Exhaustion.

Did I take the sleeping pills? Did I end it all?

Did I die?

I try to raise my head, wiggle my toes or bend a single finger. Nothing. I’m a puppet with its strings cut.

Panic spikes in my chest.

My breathing turns shallow, too quick to fill my lungs, but that smell… It’s impossible to miss. I want to grimace, but not even the corners of my mouth move.

Such a sharp, chemical scent. Bleach? Or disinfectant? Whatever it is, my motel room never smells like that.

My heart races. Faster and faster. Before I realize it, I’m hyperventilating.

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