Page 51 of Power
“I know,” he says and squeezes my hand. “Turn to me.”
I open my eyes and do as he says if only to stop the shards of glass in the form of water drops from directly hitting the cuts on my back.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, grabbing the sponge and soap and meticulously starts to clean me carefully, gently, and with a focus that piques my curiosity. He is doing a wonderful job. I close my eyes and tilt my head back to let the warm water cascade into my face, the exact opposite of the dousings I received.
When Owen runs the sponge up my inner thighs, I open my eyes. He is on his knees in the shower.
“You’re wet,” I murmur.
“I’ll live,” he replies with that smile that does things to my heart.
“At least take your clothes off.”
His gaze pins mine with an intensity that thrills me. I’ve swung completely in the opposite direction. I want him in here with me. The other two can get fucked after hurting me, but Owen hasn’t touched me unless you count holding me while I was sliced into by his psycho brother.
He swallows and licks his lip. Rising, he places the sponge and soap on the dish and asks, “Are you sure?”
I nod.
I want comfort now. I need it.
He strips off slowly, making it look sexy as hell. I take in his gorgeous body with a soft pant. He steps in closer, naked with the drops of water running down his hairless chest to form rivulets in his washboard abs. I reach out and run my finger through the grooves, delighting him. His cock is already semi-hard and is deliciously long and thick. I shiver as I imagine it inside me, pounding me.
I take his hand and draw him closer.
“Do you want to see what we did to you?” he asks earnestly.
I frown. Why did he have to bring that up?
He turns around to show me his muscled back. I gasp when I take in the scars on his shoulders and lower back. Four hearts etched into his otherwise perfect skin. I can’t resist tracing my fingertip lightly over them, one by one. His are old scars. He was initiated a while ago.
“How long?” I croak.
“Seven years ago.”
My breath catches. He was eighteen. Fuck. Fuck.
My eyes are drawn to the letters tattooed all the way down his spine.
W O N D E R L A N D
I run my finger down the letters, seeing him flex his shoulders and hear his rasp at my caress.
He turns around and places one hand on my waist, the other coming up to brush my wet hair from my face. I glance at his inner arm, which is in my eyeline. I frown again and grasp his arm, looking closer at the tattoo inked under his skin.
“The Jack of Hearts,” I murmur, running my hand over it. “That’s you.” Somehow, this thing makes sense to me. If Archer is the King of Hearts, I’m betting he has a similar tattoo; then it makes sense that Owen is the Jack.
“The Knave, even,” I mutter more to myself than him.
“Yes.” He tilts my chin up, his eyes searching mine.
My lips part slightly at his heated gaze.
He leans forward and presses his lips to mine. “Bailey,” he murmurs. “Let me have you.”
I lower my head, pulling away from his mouth. “Let me have you first.”
I drop to my knees, his full-on erection ready for me to suck like a lollipop.
