Page 80 of Carved Obsession

“Not yet. Sit,” I tell her, walking toward the wooden chest to look for something that could help me take care of her.

“I’m fine,” she argues.

“I saidsit.”

Her eyes widen, the protest shining bright in her fire-lit gaze, but something else, something moreprimal,glows just a bit brighter. Then she sits, hands clasped together in her lap, attention fixed on me, complete absence of protest, but the defiance is there...in the goosebumps marring her skin.

Thatdoes something to me. Her obedience to my words. The responsiveness. It makes me wonder how else I could bend her to my will.

It makes my cock twitch. Hard. It heats my blood and brings to the surface cravings I’ve been ignoring. Desires that exist for her and her alone.

I don’t know if the stove is doing its job or it’s me who’s suddenly hot, but it takes me a moment to gather myself and turn back to the task at hand.

“This is useful.” I pull out the rack I find folded and tucked next to the wooden chest.

“What’s that?”

“A clothes rack. To dry them.” I unfold it and set it in front of the door, next to the stove, before I grab our wet clothes and hang them there.

Scarlet wants to help, but I stop her. She’s done enough.

With a screech, the lid of the wooden chest gives way as I lift it open, revealing all sorts of treasures inside. A weathered fur, a couple of blankets, a pillow, and a few towels. I’m not sure how clean they are, but they’ll be perfect to attempt to dry our hair with, Scarlet’s especially.

I grab the pillow, blankets, and towels, running one of the latter quickly through my hair before I set them all next to her on the bed.

“I can do it.” Scarlet attempts to stop me as I capture her hair in the towel and squeeze the water out.

But I respond with a stern look that settles her instantly. Calmly, I massage her hair, her scalp, allowing myself a few extra moments.

When most of the excess water is absorbed, I gently pat down her skin, then tend to her wound once more.

“It’s bleeding, but it’s not too bad.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Yet again, I don’t hear the little strain in her voice that I’d expect from someone in pain. Or at least discomfort.

“Up,” I order.

She cocks an eyebrow, and I don’t miss how she sheepishly chews on her bottom lip before she does as she’s told. I drape a blanket over her shoulders, wrapping her tightly in it, then peel off the cover so that I can inspect the bed.

“It’s clean,” she exclaims.

“I think whoever uses this brings clean linen with them and takes away the used one each time, based on the contents of that chest.”

“We’ll have to make it up to them.”

I nod in agreement.

“Take off your underwear and slide in.”

“My underwear?”

“It’s wet.” I briefly turn to her, cocking an eyebrow as I grab the towel and dry myself before laying it over the lid of the chest.

I put the pillow in place, carefully folding the second towel over it to avoid getting it too wet, then gesture for Scarlet to get in. She listens, jumping in and setting all blankets over her shivering body.

“What about you?” she asks.