by Ivy Asher
Rook snorts. “Normal? I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he teases, and then he puts his hands under my armpits and picks me up like I’m a toddler.
He sets me gently on my feet, water spraying on his clothes, adding darkened droplets wherever it lands. We both stand there beneath the swirling steam and just stare at each other. His turquoise eyes look sad today, but I blink away any concern I might have about it. His sad eyes are his problem.
Like he can see my hardening thoughts, Rook clears his throat and steps back from me before grabbing a bottle of shampoo from a niche in the wall. He must have set all of this up before, because there’s a rainbow-colored washcloth, body wash, and shampoo and conditioner just waiting to be used. I sigh. If he thinks a rainbow washcloth will ease the sting of five days of stewing in abandonment, he’s an idiot.
My eyes scoot over to the washcloth. It is pretty, though. So bright and colorful and—dammit, Sinclair, don’t let him distract you with bright colors!
Rook pours the shampoo in his hands and puts the bottle back with the others. He rubs his hands together and then spreads shampoo all over my orange and yellow tresses. He threads his fingers through my hair and starts to scrub and massage my scalp.
I should stop him.
I definitely will stop him…in just a sec.
It’s just that—to be safe, of course, because I’m still a little weak—it might be good to just let him keep doing what he’s doing.
I mean, he’s oddly good at it, like he took a scalp massage class or went to How to Wash a Girl’s Hair Until She Orgasms school. Either way, he’s clearly very passionate about hair care, and who am I to deny him that happiness? I’m a boss at compartmentalizing. I can hate him and still get a scalp massage.
The more he tends to me, the more I find myself leaning into his strong hands. When I realize what I’m doing, I immediately straighten up and put my game face back on.
Oh no you don’t, Rookie. I see your game, and it’s not going to work on me.
I step away from his magically relaxing fingers and rinse my hair, putting some needed distance between us. I feel Rook’s resigned huff, but I don’t look at him as I wash all the suds away until my hair squeaks. Man, it feels so good to not be covered in grime and bad memories. I grab for the conditioner, but Rook beats me to it. I narrow my eyes at him and put my palm out expectantly.
He searches my eyes for something. “Sinclair, I know you’re—”
“Don’t, Rook,” I warn, cutting him off. “I want to get clean, and then I need to sleep and heal. I’m not going to play your games, and I won’t be asking you to play any more of mine either,” I add, my meaning clear.
With a tic in his jaw, Rook hands me the bottle of conditioner. I feel victorious yet strangely sad when he does. I squeeze a massive amount in my hands and start working it through my long layers and tangles.
“Why are you in here in your uniform?” I ask, as I take him in while finger combing knots out of my hair.
He gives an unamused snort. “I didn’t think you’d be very receptive to my being naked in here with you, and I was in a hurry.” He shrugs, and his shoulders slump with defeat.
An electric jolt of sympathy strikes through my chest, but that just annoys me. Why do I care if he’s upset or bummed? What in the hell did he think I was going through when he didn’t come back for days? Did he even think about how that would feel or look to me?
With renewed justified anger, I rinse my hair again and reach for the washcloth and body wash. This time, he doesn’t intercept me. I lather the washcloth and get to work, ridding myself of dirt, his scent, our cum, and all the regret that sits like a layer of grime on my skin. I look at him as I scrub away what we did, but instead of tracking my motions with the washcloth over my naked and wet body, he stares right into my eyes.
I can almost read the apology and sorrow in his stare, but I’m just so...pissed. And I’m embarrassed. He affected me—hurt me—and I let him. I don’t like feeling vulnerable like that. I don’t like someone else having that sort of power over me.
Not paying attention to where I’m dragging the washcloth, I accidentally rub over the cut on my leg. I hiss out a curse of pain.
“It looks better already,” Rook observes.
“Yeah. I didn’t realize I was being so affected by the cold and whatever rusted grossness was in the iron. It was stupid to get weak like that,” I admit, and Rook’s sad eyes turn even more contrite. “I won’t let it happen again,” I declare, but I don’t know if I’m talking about the hypothermia and the wound...or us.
We’re quiet for a minute, and I step back into the spray, letting the rest of the suds rinse off. The heat once again wraps around me, and I wonder how long I could stand under the molten stream before it started to turn cold. The white collar criminals are going to be getting way more hot water usage than what the rest of us prisoners get. Lucky pricks.
“Thank you,” I finally say, breaking the silence. I may not like him, but I’m not an asshole.
“It was nothing,” he starts dismissively.
“No, it wasn’t nothing,” I insist stubbornly. “I was in bad shape, so thank you.”
Rook searches my face again, and I’ve never felt more grateful to have water pouring down on me, because it hides the tears that start sneaking out of my eyes.
“Sunrise, please just let me explain. If you won’t hear me out, then at least let me make it up to you. I’m begging here. What can I do to make this better?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly with the shake of my head, but my resolve wavers when another tear falls out. “I don’t know… No, definitely nothing,” I say again, wavering and pissed at my traitorous mouth for not being firmer.
Why is being mad so hard to maintain? I spent five days working myself up into a frenzy. Then he showed up and I let him have it, exactly like I should have. But he takes care of one little booboo and a case of the shivers, and suddenly his sad eyes are killing me? Why am I being such a sucker?
I fold my arms over my chest and look around the shower stall. “So what was your plan?” I ask, trying not to be affected by his emotions.
“The plan?” he asks, confused.
“Yeah, the plan. You had this whole shower situation set up before you brought me here, so what was your plan before you walked into my cell and saw the state I was in?”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he reaches behind his neck and palms his nape, like he’s suddenly all shy and shit. I’m not fooled.
“Well...I was going to entice you to the shower. Help you get cleaned up. Eat you out until you were wrung out and pliant, and then apologize until you were ready for angry sex,” he tells me casually, ticking off a mental list in his head.
I try not to react to anything that he says, but his words open the floodgates on my pussy, and my nipples harden against my will. Good thing my arms are folded over them, and my face is still in angry bitch mode.
Nope, I’m not affected at all, I tell myself over and over again as I shout at the dirty images flashing through my mind to fuck off.
“Well, that was a stupid plan,” I tell him primly.
The corner of his mouth does the faintest hitch up. “Is it?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the p and licking my lips to lap up the water. “I don’t do angry sex. When I’m pissed at you, I’m pissed at your dick too. You bring that thing anywhere near me, and I’ll be more likely to cut it off than want to ride it.”
He lets out a laugh, and it’s like his stupid dimples cast out a couple of fishing lines that hook the corners of my lips, forcing me into a smile. I reel that shit in real quick.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Why bother? You don’t need to file away info about me. Like I said, you were a good fuck, but we’re not having any kind of a repeat performance.”
Rook eats up the space between us the moment those words are out of my mouth until his hips are pressing into me and he’s standing all the
way beneath the water, his clothes soaking through immediately. But does he look like a ridiculous wet dog? No, of course not. He looks like a wet dream, and his hair starts to glow again. My breath comes in short pants that have nothing to do with the humid air.
“I’m sorry,” he says, water spraying off of him and misting over my face. “Trouble came up, and I was called away. Yesterday was my first shift back. I wanted to get someone to help you, but I don’t trust any of the fuckers here. I made sure you got food delivered, though,”
My eyebrows hike up. So he made sure Selena stopped by to give me food?
“Where did you go?” I ask, curious about how much information he’ll divulge.
“I was called away to my lounge. I came back as soon as I could, I swear.”
Maybe it’s stupid, but the vehemence in his voice makes me believe him. I grapple with the sodden strings of my anger, trying to keep hold, trying to stay strong.
“And Black Block?” I ask.
“A real call, I promise. They called in all available guards to handle some shit that went down. If it were up to me, I would’ve stayed all damn night with you and taken you again and again until your throat went hoarse from screaming my name.”
I swallow hard at his words. “That’s ridiculous. My throat doesn’t get hoarse.”
He chuckles, and I can feel the sound travel from his body to mine. “It will during our repeat performance,” he says, throwing my earlier words back at me. “And trust me, Sunrise, that will be happening.”
My tail starts whipping around behind me, and he reaches around and splays his hand at the base of it, calming the erratic wagging. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
“How?” I ask quietly, feeling the last threads of my resolve snapping apart like the buttons on his shirt.
His hand at my tail slowly traces the curve of my scales before he reaches the bottom and curls the feathery end up in his fist, the same way he grabbed my hair while he fucked me. My breath whooshes out of my chest at how erotic that feels.
“First...I’ll kiss you,” he says huskily, his voice quiet but rough in my ear. “Lick at your lips and own your mouth until I make you wet between your thighs, just to show you how sincere my apology is,” he says before his mouth comes on top of mine.
He starts doing exactly what he promised, but I bite down on his tongue the moment it snakes out to demand entry. Blood prickles out of the small wound, and he rears back, running his injured tongue over the fronts of his teeth.
“Whoops. Guess that’s my response to your first stage of making it up to me,” I say scathingly.
“I’ll just have to try harder then,” he replies, jutting his hips forward on the word harder so that I can feel exactly how hard he’s talking.
I lean my back against the cool tile, trying to keep my body from reacting to his nearness. Play it cool, Sinclair.
“If kisses don’t convince you, I think I should just worship your pussy instead,” he says before dropping down on his knees in front of me. His hands give my hips a squeeze.
Fuck.
My center heats, and my legs quiver enough that I know he can feel it where he’s grabbing me. Seeing him dripping wet and bowing down before me, his blue and green hair casting soft light onto the white tiles, makes me feel powerful and wanted. Exactly the opposite of the way he made me feel those past five days. This is the feeling I want to keep. This is how I want to feel.
I lick my lips again at the desire that won’t stop building between us despite my efforts to chase it away or ignore it. Maybe it’s stupid and naive of me, but...I believe him. I believe that something came up, and he tried to come back to me but couldn’t. I believe that he’s sorry. I just hope he doesn’t break my trust again.
“You make a pretty speech, Rookie, but I doubt you’re talented enough to follow thr—”
My words cut off with a yelp as his head suddenly dives between my thighs. His tongue takes a slow, rough swipe from my pussy to my clit, a growl coming from his chest when he tastes the cream already gathered there.
He spreads my lips with his thumbs and stares at my pussy like it’s some treasure he just found. I watch him lean back in and wrap his full lips around my clit, sucking on it rhythmically until tingles start to move through my body. He pulls off my clit with a pop and starts to mouthfuck me like he’s lapping up his favorite dessert. His tongue pierces inside of me like it’s ready to pin me in place and lick me dry.
“Psh, you call this pussy-worshipping?” I say breathily. “I’ve had, like, way better,” I lie, my weight turning to jelly on wobbling feet.
He pulls my injured leg up and rests it on his shoulders, spreading me even wider and making it all the easier for him to consume me. He nips at my clit, and I whimper in pleasure, unable to swallow it down fast enough. The sound spurs him on, and with another growl, he doubles down on his efforts.
“Oh!” I cry out, my hands coming up to help support me; one hand lands in his hair and the other at his neck.
His head bobs as he dines on my desire, and I don’t fight the urge I have to squeeze his neck. Slipping my hand around him, I feel muscle and tendon beneath my hand as I grip at him, and it’s impossible not to appreciate how strong and powerful he is. And yet, he doesn’t fight this little show of mine for dominance. I love the sensation of my fingers digging into his windpipe. And surprisingly, my dominant hold on him seems to make him even more vigorous. He pushes against my grip, as if wanting me to squeeze even harder.
I do, and he groans, and then he latches onto my clit and begins to suck with more vigor. I let out a gurgled, choked-off scream, my head tipping back against the wall. My hand tightens around his neck again, before I drag my fingers up, letting my nails scratch him, marking him like he marked me.
Sliding my palms up, I bury both hands in his wet hair and guide the pressure of his face against my pussy. He’s giving me control while also giving me pleasure. He’s on his knees, taking my small digs of pain, while dishing out nothing but laps of pleasure. So damn sexy.
I orgasm on a withering sigh, one that rumbles up from the base of my tail and echoes out of my open mouth. My entire body shudders, and my knee gives out. My body is lost to pleasure and refusing to hold me up any longer. Rook once again catches me in his arms, and he holds me as I quake and quiver and ride out my orgasm.
Holy climax, that felt good.
Just like that, my anger gives me the peace out sign and walks off bow-legged, done for the day. Rook’s lucky he’s so good with his mouth.
He stands up with me in his arms and shuts off the shower before stepping out of the stall, our bodies leaving a puddle of water on the floor. Rook wraps me up in a scratchy, overly-bleached towel, his hands reverent and methodical as he sweeps off every bead of moisture collected on my skin.
“You look beautiful when you come, Sunrise,” he murmurs as he squeezes the towel around my dripping hair. “Sit. Let me look at your leg before you get dressed.”
I sit down, and we both grow silent as he looks at the cut on my thigh.
“You should be okay, but just in case, I’m going to wrap it and give you an antibiotic that should take care of anything that might have snuck into your system,” he explains as he reaches over to a first aid kit.
I don’t say anything as he gently spreads ointment on my thigh and carefully wraps a clean white bandage around it. He hands me two oval pills and a bottle of water, and like a good girl, I swallow them down. I wipe water from my mouth, and we both stand up.
“You do pretty good on your knees, Glow Worm,” I declare, and we both smile.
“Good, you’re calling me Glow Worm again. That means I’m out of the doghouse.”
“Barely,” I warn him before I move away from him and start dressing into the clean uniform he left for me on the bench. When I’m clothed, I turn around, finding him stripping down and tossing his wet clothing onto the floor with a slap.
“You gonna escort me back t
o solitary naked?” I ask. “I gotta admit, the view would be good, but things might shrink up from the cold.”
He snaps a towel at me, making me squeal and laugh as I jump out of reach. “Your solitary sentence is over, so you’re going back to your regular cell now,” he tells me. “And you don’t have to worry about anything shrinking while you’re around,” he tells me before moving over to the bench and grabbing a new uniform that he left out for himself.
“Good to know,” I tell him, as I brush my fingers through my hair and start braiding it.
I’m doing everything I can to avoid looking at the very hard, very large dick standing up between his legs. I may have let what happened go for now, but I’m not rewarding his behavior. He’s going to have to make it up to me with a few more orgasms and pampering before his cock gets any attention.
When we’re both fully clothed, Rook escorts me out of the showers, and we take a long, winding walk from one building to another, until we’re back in the building for minor offenders.
Back at my cell, Rook opens the door for me, and I find myself sighing happily at my familiar four walls. “It’s good to be home,” I joke, falling onto the bed with a bounce. This place is so much better than solitary. I don’t even mind the sound of someone urinating down the hallway.
Rook closes the cell door, watching me through the bars. “This isn't your home, Sinclair,” he says quietly, and my smile drains away at the seriousness of his tone.
“It is for now.”
But he shakes his head, not accepting my answer. “This is a hideout. Not a home.”
I narrow my eyes. Dude goes down on me once and gets forgiven, and now he’s ready to double down on pissing me off again?
“If you have something to say, say it,” I grind out, sitting up straight to look at him.
“Ooh, Sinclair and the PG are fighting!” someone shouts from one of the other cells.
“Shut up!” I call back before getting up and walking over to him. “Say it,” I repeat to Rook.
He lets out a breath. “Fine. It was cowardly of you to run instead of facing Alpha Bowen or your matriarch and patriarch. You should’ve just confronted them and told them your thoughts. Not run away to hide in this shithole.”
