Page 110 of Wicked Games

“Okay,” I mumble and drop my head on his shoulder again.

Killian pulls me into the shower and props me up so I’m sitting against the back of the tub.

The water is cool, but not cold, and it soothes my burning skin as it rains down on my chest, torso, and thighs. I expect Killian to leave me in here so I can cool off, but he kneels next to the tub and takes off my wet shoes and socks. It takes a bit more work to get my pants off, but his touch is gentle as he slides them down my legs.

When I’m naked, he goes to the sink and fills a cup with water. He brings it to me, but I can’t seem to get my hand to work when he tries to give it to me.

“Here.” He puts the cup against my lip and tilts some of the contents into my mouth. The cool liquid is like a balm on my parched throat, and I can actually feel my insides cooling down as he feeds me the entire glass.

“Can you drink another one?”

I shake my head and lean back against the tiled wall.

He puts his hand against my forehead, then leans in and presses his lips against it.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he pulls away, my voice breathy and hoarse.

“Checking your temperature. Eden told me it’s more accurate to check with your lips than your hand. No clue if she’s right, but it can’t hurt.”

“She told me that too. Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask as he kicks off his shoes.

“Because you need it.” He pushes his sweats over his hips and steps out of them.

“Aren’t you mad at me for leaving the room? You told me not to.”

“Shift forward a bit.” He helps me slide down the tub.

“Are you mad at me?” I press when he doesn’t answer.

“No, I’m not mad.”

“Liar.”

He steps into the tub and sinks down behind me. It’s a tight squeeze, but he fixes that by shifting me so I’m on his lap with my back against his chest and my ass on his thighs.

His half-hard dick presses into my lower back, and he gently guides my head so it’s resting against his shoulder.

I melt against him and let out a contented sigh. I can’t explain it, but I feel safe when he’s surrounding me.

“You’re mad at me,” I say again.

“No, I’m not,” he says. “I’m pissed off about everything that happened, but I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you just saying that because I’m dying and you’re trying to be nice?”

“No. And you’re not dying.” He brushes a wet lock of hair back from my forehead, and something inside me flutters at the seemingly unconscious move. It feels…affectionate.

Needing to stop those thoughts in their tracks and wanting to feel more of him around me, I grab his wrist and hug it against my chest.

He rubs his free hand over my stomach. “And it’s not like I don’t know that telling you not to do something is basically asking for you to do it. You’re the biggest brat I’ve ever met.”

I snicker. “True story.”

“And the lock-picking thing is damn impressive. I had no idea you could do that, and that’s not an easy lock to tumble.”

“I had a lot of free time to practice at school. Kinda happens when you don’t have friends.” I exhale a soft sigh. “You promise you’re not mad?”

“Not at you. This isn’t your fault.”

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