Slipping the straps down my arms, I turned, holding the gauzy fabric to my chest in order to keep some semblance of modesty. Who was I kidding? When it came to these men, I had not a modest bone in my body. Still, it felt odd to confess this to him completely naked.
Devlin watched me for a long moment, an undefinable expression flickering across his handsome face. When the silence became unbearable, suffocating even, I turned around. My bra fell to the ground unceremoniously, and I leaned down to remove my underwear as well. Through it all, I could feel his eyes caressing my bare flesh. The wanton desire in his gaze was impossible to ignore, evident despite my confession.
Despite the fact that I had murdered people.
"I don't care," he answered at last, voice terse.
A laugh bubbled out of me, but I tampered it down with a hand to my mouth. There was no joy, no mirth, in that sound. It was cold and heartless.
"How could you not?" I whispered, finally stepping beneath the spray. I leaned over to grab my body wash, the heady scent of pomegranates invading my senses. This particular soap always appeared in my room. I had a distinct feeling that my mates were behind it...or, at the very least, one in particular. I wasn't completely oblivious to Lupe's sniffing tendencies.
"I’ve killed too." His voice was a whisper. He still did not move closer, his silhouette visible through the steamed glass of the shower. "I’ve murdered, Z. I'm not innocent."
"I never said you were." The last word I would ever associate with Devlin Genie was innocent. My heart ricocheted, one beat away from completely breaking free of my ribcage.
Why was everything so difficult with him? Why was I so determined to break things off before they could even begin?
I knew the answer to those questions, though a part of me wished I didn't. It would be much easier to live in my oblivious, diminutive bubble, unaware of the rest of the world and my own damn feelings.
The truth was, Devlin had hurt me once. Hurt me beyond repair. What little pieces of my heart I had given him, he had shattered. Did he think of me as I had thought of him when we were apart? Did he regret breaking me, breaking my heart?
"Those men we met..." Devlin took a step closer. His black jacket fell to the floor beside my clothes. "They're assassins too, right? They're a part of the resistance." Though it started as a question, it ended as a statement of fact. There was no denying it; somehow, Devlin knew everything. No surprise. We weren't exactly subtle about it.
"Yes," I answered evenly. I rubbed the soap across my body, down my arms and over my breasts. I paid extra attention to my nipples, pulling them between my soapy fingers.
I heard the sound of his belt coming undone.
"You scared the shit out of me when you left, you know that?" I didn't respond to him, focusing instead on my shampoo. I massaged it into my scalp, tilting my head up to catch the blistering hot water on my face. "Why would you do something so fucking stupid? Especially when you know you have a target on your back."
The shower door opened and closed, and Devlin moved to stand in the spray beside me. His naked, chiseled body dribbled with rivulets of water, his cock already half-erect. Without a word, he stepped closer, replacing my hands in my hair as he rubbed the shampoo into my scalp. I very nearly groaned at the sensation. The feel of him.
"It was stupid," I admitted. "But I couldn't stay here."
"Because you run." Again, it wasn't a question.
"And you're afraid," I retorted. There was no malice in my statement, though, only understanding. For the first time, Devlin wasn't difficult to read.
"I'm fucking terrified, babygirl," he whispered. "I can't lose you again."
I spun in his arms, memorizing his features. God, he was so fucking perfect. And he was mine. All mine. My eyes traced over his olive-toned face, those high cheekbones, those penetrating violet eyes that always saw through me. My gaze drifted lower, over his chiseled abs to his straining cock and down his toned, muscular legs. Perfect didn't even begin to describe him. Even with water streaming down his face and his hair disheveled, he was as beautiful as always.
"Prove it," I whispered hotly, stepping closer. My breasts brushed his chest, and I heard him inhale sharply. "Prove to me how much you love me. That you're mine."
His breathing was ragged, but his eyes darkened with barely constrained lust. Reaching forward, I interlocked our hands together before moving it over my breast. Not touching, just hovering over the sensitive skin.
He waited. Always waiting.
"You can touch me," I whispered breathily. When he eagerly began to lean in, I stepped back, tsking disapprovingly. "Only here." I nodded towards where his hands hovered about my breasts.
With renewed vigor, he palmed my heavy mounds, twisting my nipples between his fingers. I melted under the feel of his ministrations, the feel of him. The possessiveness and ownership with each flick of his wrist. He ducked his head, breath fanning over my tips. He raised one brow in question.
Giving him permission with a decisive bob of my head, he began to lick and suck on my boobs. His tongue swirled over my nipple the way he knew I liked, a growl reverberating in his chest. I panted, arching, but he did not let up. His hands desperately gripped my hips, pulling me even closer to his rock-hard cock.
"Stop," I instructed, and with a whimper, he backed away. He stood still, watching me with heavily-lidded, lustful eyes. "Don't move."
Keeping my eyes on him, I dropped to
