Page 103 of Endless Anger
I grunt, catching myself on the edge of the bowl. “Excuse you.”
Seconds later, I feel his hand on the back of my head. Fear lashes down my back like a whip, immobilizing me for the briefest moment.
My eyes are level with the faucet when he lowers my face into the bowl, turning me to the side. He lets go again, taking one of the red sections of my hair in both hands.
Gently, he brings the dyed pieces beneath the spray, coaxing the color out with long, nimble fingers.
Crimson water fills the sink, and my vision starts to spin as thoughts of Celeste begin making their way in, trudging up from my throat and threatening to sew it shut?—
“Close your eyes.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I do as he says, cutting off that sense from the increasing discomfort.
The only problem now is that I’m hyperaware ofhim, especially as he moves so his legs bracket mine, his groin grinding against my hip. I don’t feel what I did that day in his dorm, but Irememberhow it felt—how thick and long he seemed—and arousal burns behind the wall of my chest, flowing into my belly and making it hard to remain standing.
We don’t speak as he starts to put more of my hair beneath the spray, massaging my scalp with the blunt ends of his fingertips. My breathing gets heavier, and I grip the sink tighter, trying to ignore the storm of volatile emotions swirling in my stomach.
Eventually, he shuts off the water and then spends a few extra minutes wringing out my wet hair. His fingers wrap around the strands, pulling at the roots like a squeegee, and I bite my tongue as I pretend the gesture doesn’t feel amazing.
There’s no way he’d let me live down a moan right now.
One of his hands finds my back, and he presses softly on my spine at the same time as he’s squeezing water from my hair.
My eyes pop open, and I swallow. A shiver skates across my skin.
Asher clears his throat, stepping away. I stand upright, letting out a wobbly breath, and meet his dark gaze in the mirror.
His stare this time is heated. Fiery. I feel it all the way in my toes.
Slowly, I turn around to face him, realizing a second too late that he didn’t move far. My shoulder grazes his chest, and I tilt my chin, letting my eyes soak in the strain of muscles in his neck, the splash of dried blood on his jaw, and the scar through his lip.
He gulps audibly, lifting a hand to my face. His thumb swipes over my cheek, then my ear, and he pulls away to show me the red droplets there on his skin.
I can’t focus on anything except how close he is, how good he smells.
“Luce,” he says in the lowest voice. It’s almost a whisper. “Can I…”
My mouth is dry as a desert. “I should be getting to my date.”
Something shifts in his expression, turning sinister. “Don’t.”
“Why?” I quirk a brow, the most movement I can manage. “Are you jealous or some?—”
“Yes.”
He steps in, our chests brushing. Bending down, he plants his hands on either side of the sink, trapping me.
“Yes, I’mjealous. I want to be the only one who ever sees you this close.”
His hand finds my jaw, angling my head as he leans in.
My chest tightens.
“The only one who touches you like this.”
Unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth becomes a priority. My gaze darts between his lips and his intense stare, unsure of which to land on.
I should stop him. When he leans in, his eyelashes flutter like he’s as nervous as me, and I’m completely stuck, unable to do anything except breathe and watch, my desperation rooting me in place.
