Page 43 of Cold-Blooded Creatures

Gedeon stood in the doorway, gripping the top of the frame and leaning forward. His thin, long-sleeved cotton shirt was stretched taut across his chest, outlining every large and minuscule muscle, and the sliver of brown skin above the hem of his faded black jeans beckoned tingles to swarm low in my stomach.

“What are you doing here?” I hurriedly brought my knees to my chest to cover up. He’d already found his way into my pants a few days ago, but there was no way I’d give him a show right now.

“Watching you.” He crossed his ankle over another, and his shirt rose higher, revealing a strip of curly hair right above his belt buckle. “Something we have done twenty-three times by now.”

He kept track of the number of times he’d stalked me.

“In the forest, not the bathroom,” I spat out.

What did he want now? BecauseIwanted to spend an hour alone. I’d given up on escaping today. Wagered Zion would stay in the hallway throughout the entire night.

“Talking about that.” Gedeon unlaced his dark leather boots, tucked the worn laces inside, and put them by the door neatly, the shoes an inch apart, aligned with the white-colored wall.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Joining you. I deserve a treat after you tested my patience all evening.” Hooking the hem of his shirt, he ripped it over his head.

My throat closed up at how appetizing he looked.

Light and uneven scars marked his chest, stomach, and arms, but a small, still-fresh cut above his hip caught my attention. The one I’d given him. If it scarred, he’d carry it for the rest of his life—a reminder of me, someone who wouldn’t go easy on him.

I continued my inspection upward, pausing on a circular scar below his right collarbone. An old gunshot wound?

His broad shoulders held a certain power to them, as if with a flick of those muscles he could call for that authority surrounding him wherever he went. But now I knew where it originated from. Blotches of ink marked the top of his shoulders and the sides of his waist. His back had to be overfilling as themultiple tattoos seemed to crawl from behind. Like claws or talons creeping up, a hint of the coming violence to anyone who had the audacity to oppose him.

As if my perusal had made it ache, he rolled his shoulder with the gunshot scar. “Like what you see?”

My cheeks heated, but I lifted my head higher, deciding not to give a shit. He thought me to become his, so I could act similarly. Shamelessly. He did have a body carved from the night—like his eyes. All his raised scars resembled the disorderly black streaks in his dark brown irises.

He unhurriedly pulled his belt out of the loops and my pussy pulsed in tandem with the clings of the belt buckle being undone.

Oh, no.

I swiftly turned around and fixated on the white tiles lining the wall the bathtub was pressed against. There was no way I was letting my body win.

“Move forward,” he said from right beside me, and water rippled as I jolted. I hadn’t heard him come closer from how loud my pulse had been rushing in my ears.

“You’re not getting in here,” I sputtered.

He was not taking a bath with me. Over my dead body.

“What the?—”

Firm hands sliding behind my knees and back and shifting me forward squashed my protest. Water sloshed over the bathtub’s edge, enlarging the puddles on the shining but cracked marble tiles, as he seated himself behind me and stretched his legs down either side of me.

Hugging my knees, I gaped forward without a clue on what to do. I was naked in a bathtub. I couldn’t get up and run—Zion was on watch, and from what I knew about him so far, he’d go feral if he saw me dripping wet.

Large hands landed on my shoulders, and I stiffened. Not from fear or Gedeon’s touch—no, for some reason, he didn’t evoke such apprehension—but old habits didn’t break easily. Self-preservation had instilled wariness into the marrow of my bones.

“Breathe,” he said, his knuckles digging into my upper back.

A couple of minutes later, I couldn’t pretend I hated this anymore. His thumbs massaged my muscles and kneaded the knots at the top of my spine.So good, so mind-numbingly good.

His thigh scratched against my own, and I blinked a few times, just to be sure. “Are you wearing pants in abath?” He hadn’t taken his pants off.

“Would you like me to take them off?”

“No,” I rushed out, but a trace of hesitation was evident in my voice.