Reap (Scarred Souls, #2)(23)

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

What are you doing? I was all over him, having blatantly used the excuse of washing him down to touch him.

Suddenly I felt sick, and wrong. Really f*cking wrong.

Deciding to leave, no, needing to leave, I went to withdraw my hand, when firm fingers gripped my wrist. My eyes snapped open.

No words came from Zaal’s mouth. His grip was anything but hurtful. But I could see he had no intention of letting me go. And as f*cked up as it made me, I didn’t want him to let go of me.

My eyes lowered to his hand on mine and then rose to his face. His jaw was clenched. He wore a pained look. I opened my mouth to speak. A whoosh of air slipped through my lips, my words resisted their formation, when suddenly Zaal pulled me in closer. Gasping at the sudden movement, my knees shuffled on the rubber flooring. Never breaking Zaal’s stare, he slowly lowered my hand and the wet sponge to the base of his long cock.

Zaal’s hand paused as the sponge connected with his hard length and I grew wet between my thighs. Every part of my skin seemed on fire as I felt him beneath the sponge. Felt his cock, hot, long, hard, and desperate.

Then Zaal, controlling my hand, slowly dragged the sponge upward, a deep grunt slipping from his mouth as I reached his tip. Body rigid and eyelids hooding, he pushed my hand back down to his base. His chest muscles jerked as his hand and my hand together moved the sponge back up, then down, faster this time. Losing all rational thought, I curled my hand further around the sponge, the action gave me tighter purchase of him. Zaal dragged in a breath and a growl tore from his throat.

My * pulsed inside my jeans when Zaal’s back hit the rubber wall, his huge thighs tensing with every stroke of the sponge.

Zaal’s eyes fluttered to a close; his ridiculously long black lashes landed on his high cheekbones. As his guttural growls and grunts grew louder, his hold on my wrist slackened, but it didn’t matter. I was lost to him, addicted to watching his full lips part, his long breaths stuttering in the silence of the room and his hips rolling, meeting my strokes thrust for thrust.

My breast ached to be touched as I worked my wrist faster and faster, stroking him until every sculpted inch of his body became taut.

As I pumped him harder, my thighs clenched together searching for some kind of release. Then Zaal’s breathing changed and his hand fell away. But I didn’t stop. As I glanced up from his swelling cock under my attention, his eyes snapped open. I almost faltered at the searing, hungry way he was viewing me. I froze, caught in the intensity of his primal glare. My hand worked still faster. I saw his green eyes darken and flare; Zaal stiffened, and releasing a harsh roar, came all over his stomach, the white streams of his release splashed over his tanned skin.

Breathless, I released a moan as I watched him fall apart. Zaal’s body jerked as I worked him down, until I slowly released my hold.

Zaal sat against the wall, his body exhausted with its release. Placing the sponge in the bowl, I brought it back to his stomach and gently wiped away the obvious evidence of his release.

Next, taking the towel, I wiped it over his legs and stomach until he was dry. My heart still hadn’t calmed, and I couldn’t look him in the face. But feeling him watching, I couldn’t resist glancing up. Zaal was studying me, watching me dry his freshly washed skin. My pulse raced, and a warmth spread in my chest. He was … beautiful. Zaal was the most amazing man I’d ever seen.

I fought to rein in my reaction. Unexpectedly, Zaal reached forward and took my hand. I froze as he examined my palm, my wrist, then every single one of my fingers. I frowned wondering what he found so fascinating. Then he coaxed me closer with a pull on my arm. I followed. What choice did I have? I was captivated, completely drawn into whatever Zaal wanted from me.

My knees were almost flush to his parted thighs. This close, I could feel intense heat radiate from his chest. I could see the glistening sheen of sweat on his chest caused by his release.

Zaal squeezed my hand, then brought it to his face. I sucked in a shallow breath as my palm connected with his rough stubbled cheek. Zaal’s eyes darted to mine, as if, somehow, they were trying to speak to me.

I tilted my head to the side, my long blond ponytail falling over my shoulder to land on his chest. Zaal’s eyes flickered down, his lips parted, then once more he watched at me.

He held my hand, unmoving, against his cheek. When he did draw it back, he took four of my fingers and began running them down his cheek. He repeated the motion over and over, my fingertips grazing against his unshaven skin. His eyes seemed to plead with mine, but for what?

The desperate look on his face was so earnest and forlorn that I had to fight for breath. It was at that moment I saw the man before me. Not the Jakhua killer, not the forbidden Kostava heir, but the residual spirit of the man he was without the poison of the drugs. Somehow it shone through, even though he appeared nothing more than a freak, a monster created at the sadistic hands of a bitter, twisted tyrant.

Zaal jerked on my arm again, recalling my attention to him. His head bowed like he was urging me to understand him. I wanted so badly to know what he meant.

I wanted him to talk. Christ, did I want him to speak.

Then I wondered for a moment if he could talk. Lord knows what Levan Jakhua had done to Zaal’s body over the years. My stomach sank. Maybe he had ruined Zaal’s ability to speak. Maybe he had taken his voice away.

Zaal began moving my fingers down his cheek again, across his forehead and along the other side of his face and I refocused on this strange action.