Page 11

Sean

“Bath time,” I grunt from the other side of Louhi’s cage door. She shoves off the back wall of her cell and shuffles toward the barred entrance just as I swing open her door. Coming to a stop before me, she folds her arms below her plump breasts, jutting them upward. Her eyes trace my body as she looks me up and down before arching an eyebrow at my masked face. I’m certain she’s just taken stock of the absence of my rifle, but the presence of my Glock and tactical knives still strapped to me. She never seems to miss a damn thing.

“Does this bath happen to include a clawfoot tub, an endless supply of hot water, loads of foaming bubbles, and maybe a bath bomb? Oh, and wine, please tell me there’s wine.”

A snort threatens to escape, but I glare at her instead, locking onto her eyes the color of the bark on a pine tree. I jerk my head in the direction of the mouth of the cell block where Jace and Stuco wait for us. Her keen gaze slides in their direction, assessing the situation.

I’ve been waiting for the moment when she untethers her self-restraint, but that’s yet to happen. If Thompson’s warning is to be believed, this woman could take me on without a problem. So, what’s stopping her ?

Most inmates thrash and fight like hell is nipping at their heels—in a way, it is—when they arrive here, pitching all manners of fits, but not Lou. Lou’s maintained a surprising level of decorum and restraint, and I wonder what it’ll take for her to show her teeth.

Stepping into the hallway, she glances back at me. “Just so I’m aware going forward, what is the bath schedule? I didn’t see it mentioned in the welcome packet.”

Again, I stifle the huff of laughter, but I don’t bother to stop the roll of my eyes since she’s now walking in front of me.

As we pass Samuel’s cell, he leers at her, and my fists clench at my sides. He’s in here for being one of the most prolific cyber terrorists the western world has seen. Like Louhi, he’s given us a few answers, but I still like to torture him for the hell of it sometimes. Louhi sticks her tongue out at him, and I mentally admonish her for it. It’s not a good idea to get on Samuel’s radar, but it’s still not as bad as ending up on Kazi’s. That fucker is the one most likely to find a way to break out of his steel-enforced cell like a starving animal and rape her. Planning ahead, I had Borman take Kazi to the playpen for a session before I collected Lou.

When we reach my counterparts, the two men lead us down the hallway and toward the shower room. The inmates don’t get showers very often here, but when they do, they all have to be escorted and monitored the entire time. Fucking tedious.

As we reach our destination, Stuco and Jace take up their posts outside the door, and I usher Louhi inside, shutting the thick metal door behind us.

I had the shower room prepped for her ahead of time so that a fresh uniform waits for her on a bench next to a clean, but dingy towel. The shower stalls in here aren’t enclosed, so I watch as she reaches inside and flips on the water, letting it heat up. She’s lucky I’m not feeling like being a complete dickwad today and allowed her the use of the hot water. Alright, it’s not hot , per se, but it’s not cold. I’m rarely this generous, and I curse myself for going soft .

Leaning against the wall, I survey the scene before me. Louhi wastes no time stripping out of her dirty clothes, tossing them in a pile on the floor, and in the light of day, she’s even sexier than she was on screen. When she’s bared before me, she tosses me a coquettish wink, her expression dripping in sin. Fuck me.

She steps into the stall, the spray from the showerhead drenching her instantly. Her head tilts back and her eyes close as the meager spray cascades down her body. She has a lone tattoo: a delicate black snake that slithers and winds itself along her left side. Halfway up her ribcage, the serpent coils around her breast, its head placed just over her heart, baring its fangs in a clear attack. I have a hard time pulling my eyes from the mesmerizing artwork. It looks so incredibly lifelike.

Eventually, she begins soaping herself down. My eyes are glued to that tiny bar of soap as it glides over her skin, leaving a trail of sudsy bubbles behind that the water whisks away. What I would give to be that bar of soap .

The soap skims over her calves, ankles, then feet. “Do you wash your legs and feet?” she asks, never glancing in my direction.

“What?” I grunt, confused as all fuck.

“You know, do you actually wash your lower body, or are you one of those heathens who lets the soap just slide down your torso as you rinse?”

“Who the fuck does that?” I reply, keeping my gaze hard and cool, like granite. Of course I wash my goddamn body.

She shrugs, the bone in her shoulder moving, my eyes tracking the movement as I resist the urge to run my tongue along the osseous matter hidden beneath her skin. “I should’ve known that would never be you. I bet you wash every inch of yourself…thoroughly, not leaving a single speck of your skin untouched.”

She is not working to alleviate my raging erection whatsoever, and I have to assume that’s intentional. Fuck, this woman is a handful .

An incredibly hot handful, my brain supplies rather unhelpfully.

I stay rooted to the spot, my arms crossed over my chest, my jaw ticking behind my mask. Fuck, she really is beautiful. Her proud nipples stand at attention as she runs the soap over them. She glances my way as she gives them a little squeeze, nibbling on her full bottom lip. Holding my gaze, she slides the fucking soap lower, lower, lower through the smattering of bald skin, and settles the soap between her legs. I kind of want to ask how she’s managed not to grow any hair, but I don’t. It’s none of my business and I don’t care. Instead, I grind my teeth and attempt to tether myself to this spot against the wall. Do. Not. Move, I tell myself.

“I’d say that you can look, but not touch, but we seem to be past that now that you have my toenails in your possession,” she taunts, wiggling her toes dramatically.

Her tantalization is all it takes to snap my weak, pathetic tether in half, and I launch myself at her. Grabbing her by the throat, I shove her against the tiled shower wall, ignoring the way the water soaks my clothes.

She can’t see through my mask, but I’m snarling as I growl, “That’s where you’re wrong, Lou. This place is mine, and I do what I want within these walls. If I want to touch, I will.”

Her pulse spikes beneath my thumb, and I tighten my grip as I cup her sex with my free hand. Before she can see it coming, I pull my hand back and slap her pussy. Hard.

She gasps, but her mouth quickly spreads into a wide, feral grin. It’s a smile that begs me to kiss it, fill it with my cock, and fuck it.

She’s still grinning when I release her and march back to my post against the wall, not caring about the water falling from my clothes in fat drops and pooling on the floor beneath me.

My eyes narrow on her still standing where I shoved her against the wall as I bite out a command. “Hurry up.”

Louhi bites her lower lip again, slowly moving back underneath the spray. I’m halfway surprised that she hasn’t complained about the lack of amenities, but she hasn’t said a word. She works the bar of soap into a lather and attempts to wash her jet-black hair. Seeing as she’s the first female prisoner we’ve had here, it’s not as if we have girl shit—not that we’d let her use it if we had it.

Thinking about ‘girl shit’ leads me to making a mental note to talk to Jace later about the fact that she’s been here a whole month and, to my knowledge, hasn’t bled. I have a sister, so I know that should’ve happened already. Right? I swear to heaven and hell that she better not be pregnant. I don’t know much about menstruation, but she’s too young to have already gone through menopause, so what’s the alternative?

Zeroing in on her stomach, she doesn’t look pregnant, the skin and muscle toned and taut, her abs on display as she moves the soap over herself.

Maybe she’s on some kind of birth control or something? That’s probably the more logical explanation. I could call Callie and ask her about this. Ah, fuck that, I’d rather just search online. I am not talking to my sister about birth control methods.

She rinses her hair free of the suds and shuts off the water before dragging the towel over her body, drying off and wrapping her shoulder-length hair into the towel. After donning the clean clothes, she looks at me and audaciously snaps, “What about brushing my teeth?”

I pull a brand-new pre-pasted toothbrush from my pocket and pass it to her. I’m not a total Neanderthal—I am, but that’s not the point. Of course, I planned to let her brush her teeth. It’s been nearly six weeks since she got here and this is the first time she’s been to use the washroom, so letting her brush her teeth seemed like the half-decent thing to do.

When she’s finished, I hold my hand out for both the trash and the toothbrush. No way am I letting her leave with that. Just because she hasn’t tried anything yet, doesn’t mean I don’t think she will.

She slaps the toothbrush into my palm as she asks, “Have you got a comb?”

I show no emotion as I pull the comb I spent far too long digging around for this afternoon from my pocket and pass it to her.

Taking it from me, she unwraps the towel from around her head, moving to stand in front of the lone mirror on the adjacent wall. I watch her make a face as she takes in her appearance in the mirror. I wonder what she sees, what she’s thinking, but her expression quickly morphs back into one that’s inscrutable and emotionless.

Thankfully, she makes hasty work of combing out her hair. Something tells me that this woman would take forever to get ready for a night out, though.

Once again, she smacks the comb back into my hand at the same time that her lips quirk into a smile drenched in impertinence. My patience wanes. Does she have no regard for her own life?

I’ve never been particularly tolerant of disrespect, but even less so now. The men in my unit know better than to talk back to me or question my authority. My word is law, with no one daring to push me. But this girl? She’s done nothing but crawl beneath my skin like an incurable rash, festering and itching, persisting no matter how hard I try to throw her from my mind.

“Time to go,” I grumble as I reach for the door, but Lou slides past me, brushing her long, slender fingers over my crotch—which has been harder than the concrete walls of this prison since we walked in the washroom. Halting her movements, I grab her delicate wrist, my fist swallowing it entirely.

I glare down at her, but she purrs, “It turns out that camouflage can’t hide a hard-on.”

The only thing worse than what she told me was the way her delicate fingers felt grazing the fabric of my pants .

Fuck me. This woman is going to be the death of me.

She swings open the door before I can reply and struts back down the hallway, Stuco hastening to catch up to her. Jace’s eyes track down my entire body, and when they reach my face, he states the obvious. “You’re wet.”

“No shit,” I mutter before stalking after Stuco and Louhi, Jace on my heels.