Page 75 of Going to Hell
My attention drifted to the twig I still held, and my stomach churned with understanding. I’d made a verbal deal with Hades. He’d kept his end of the bargain, and now I would need to keep mine.
“Thank you for the shower. And the toothbrush,” I said lamely, holding up the twig. “I can wash your back now if you want.”
Was it my imagination or had he just flinched?
Before I could wonder if he’d changed his mind, the overly large tub from last night appeared in the center of the room along with some rinse buckets and a scrub brush.
“No soap?” I asked when he rose to his feet.
A small dish with soap chips appeared at my feet. Resolute, I bent down to pick it up. When I straightened, Hades was already naked and striding toward the tub. Stunned, I stared.
He hadn’t worn a shirt since we’d met, but that didn’t desensitize me to the beautiful expanse of his golden chest. The torch light danced over his skin as he moved toward me, and my gaze drifted down his tapered length to his chiseled abs. The man was absolute perfection. Every detail called to me, and my stomach dipped with the knowledge that I would be doing more than looking in a few moments. Especially when my gaze dipped even lower.
His hips, and what moved freely there, stole my breath. He had no hair, just the heavy length of his oh-my-godliness framed by muscled thighs.
I looked at the soap and brought the dish to my nose for a sniff and to hide my flaming face.
Hades stepped into the tub, and I had to peek again. Gods, the man was built. There was something mesmerizing about his nudity, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away until he sank below the water with a hiss.
I hurried forward with the bowl of soap chips. My willingness to hold up my end of our bargain had two purposes. First, I didn’t want to find out what the consequences were for going back on my word. Second, I was hoping to get him in a good mood so he’d let me use the shower in private.
Kneeling beside the tub, I set the soap aside and picked up the scrub brush. He leaned forward, creating enough room for me to dip it into the water and gently swipe it over his back a few times. Once the broad expanse of his back glistened, I picked up several soap chips and dipped my hand in the water to wet them.
It was beyond frigid. I gasped and jerked my hand out, getting water everywhere.
“Why is it so cold?”
He turned and looked back at me, his gaze accusing.
“It helps slow the blood flow so you can scrub longer before I lose consciousness.”
My mouth dropped open as pieces clicked into place. The filthy woman and the way she’d rubbed her skin. How Hades had gotten angry and locked her back up then offered himself up in a bath to pay my price for cleanliness.
I snapped my mouth closed and swallowed hard.
“Are you saying I’m supposed to use this scrub brush on you until you bleed?”
Instead of answering, he faced forward. I stared at his back, considering my options. Our agreement had been loosely worded. Without specifics, how I bathed his back was up to interpretation. His or mine, though? Considering what I knew, I didn’t think he would insist on me scrubbing him until he bled. At least, I desperately hoped not.
I touched the water again. How were his lips not turning blue?
“When I offered to wash your back, I meant with warm water.”
The water immediately began to steam, and when I checked it again, it was perfect. Rewetting the soap, I lathered it between my hands, then spread the suds on his back. His muscles twitched under my fingers, and I felt him glance at me but didn’t acknowledge it.
The scrub brush’s bristles were more like tiny twigs than bristles.
“Is there a softer version of this? Something that only removes dirt and not skin?”
The brush changed in my hand, the bristles softening to the stiffness of a soft toothbrush back home. Figuring it was good enough, I carefully stroked it over his back. When the skin started to turn a little pink, I moved on.
He sighed, and I watched the tension ease from his shoulders, which made his next words that much more surprising.
“Why must you continue to torture me?”
“Is it hurting? I was trying to be gentle.”
He reached back and ripped the brush from my grasp. The angry way he tossed it to the floor shocked me. But not more than when he grabbed me under the arms and pulled me into the tub with him. Like a cat thrown into water, I scrambled to get back out, but his hold was firm.
