Page 40 of Ruthless Obsession

“You can clean it the way you want when we’re done,” I tell her.

“I want to take a bath after this,” she says.

“You understand you are mine, right?”

Her brows lower. “I want nothing to do with you.”

I lather each of her breasts and pussy.

“I can manage washing my private parts,” she hisses.

“Say my name, Sophie.”

“No. I also don’t want to look at your pretty fucking biker face either.”

I chuckle. “Pretty, huh? What does a biker face look like?”

“Brooding. You look like you want to burn down the world all the time.”

“Right, I want to do just that. Because your ex-boyfriend stole from us. I won’t rest until I squeeze the last bit of air from his lungs,” I snarl.

She shrugs. “Figures you’d take that from me too.”

I grab the shampoo off the shelf and pour a generous amount in my hand. I work the shampoo into her hair, massaging her scalp.

She moans.

Did I just pull a moan from her pouty lips?

I continue washing her hair, scrubbing her scalp with my fingertips.

She steps away from the four-shower head jets and massages her scalp.

“Was I doing it wrong?” I ask.

“You’re trying to make me like you again. That won’t happen.”

I shake my head and grab a detachable showerhead and rinse every inch of her body free of soap.

Sophie steps under the spray allowing the water to cascade over her hair. I take that time to eye fuck her. Her curvy body is fucking gorgeous.

When she catches me it’s her turn to shake her head. Sophie picks up the conditioner and pours an ample amountinto her hand. “This conditioner’s going to dry out my hair,” she mutters.

“Brisa’s coming tomorrow. Tell her what you need.”

Her eyes fall on the bandage covering my wound for the first time. And her lips part.

“You can take any of the guest rooms. Legos and his OL’ Lady are staying with us while I recover.”

“Yeah, I got it. Don’t try to leave or I’ll return to the chamber.”

I step out of the shower, close the door behind me, and grab a towel off a nearby shelf. I towel off with it. My shorts are drenched. I’ll have to figure out how to pull on another pair.

At the mirror, I wipe away the fog. I notice the bandage is red.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

I probably tore something or busted a stitch because I just had to go to the basement, get kicked to the floor by her, and personally clean my woman’s body myself.