Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Or that kiss.
No, that kiss definitely did not make sense at all.
Ash stole a sip of the coffee from the steaming mug on the tray. Black, bitter this time, and the tight tremor of his lips managed to relax into a faint smile.
“Black,” he said softly, lifting the mug.
“I do listen,” Forsythe replied, smoothing out a tie atop the suit laid on the bed, then straightening and dusting off his gloved hands. “Would you prefer to bathe in my bathroom, or yours?”
“Eh? Oh. Um, yours is fine? The one off the master bedroom doesn’t have a shower. Just, like, a swimming pool.”
“You prefer showers, then?”
“Yeah.”
Forsythe adjusted his glasses, pushing them up with one middle finger. “Temperature?”
“Uh?” Ash blinked. “Usually hot as it’ll go, but—hey!”
He was talking to Forsythe’s back.
Then to nothing at all, as Forsythe disappeared into the bathroom.
“Uh…?” Ash called. “You don’t have to run my shower for me!”
The only answer was the creak of the faucet—then the sound of running, spraying water.
Ash sank back against the pillows, cradling the mug in both hands, just…blinking.
Having a valet was weird.
The throbbing in his skull had gone down, at least, by the time he topped off his last few bites of croissant and chased them with the Tylenol waiting neatly inside a napkin folded into a little flower cup. He slid out of the bed gingerly, padding toward the bathroom, and started to peer inside—only to bump right into Forsythe as he was emerging, planting almost nose-first in his broad chest.
With a yelp, Ash retreated, staring up at the man. Forsythe cast a long shadow, dwarfing him, that feeling of being small once more, and Ash’s stomach tightened strangely. He swallowed, licking his lips. “Um, I’ll…be right out.”
“Leave your clothing over the door and I’ll have it laundered,” was all Forsythe said, before ducking around him.
Ash slipped into the bathroom, body almost grazing Forsythe’s bulk, a tingling whisper of body heat licking over his skin and leaving him shivering as he shut the bathroom door behind him and then slumped against it.
Demon. Fucking demon.
Quickly, he stripped down and opened the door just enough to drape his pajama pants over it before shutting it again and slipping into the glass-walled shower. He scrubbed himself off quickly, letting the spray scour and steam him until he felt at least human again, closing his eyes and losing himself in the relaxing heat. He ducked his head under the spray quickly, raking his fingers through his hair, then shook it off, shut the water off, and turned to reach for the shower door.
Only to find Forsythe standing outside the shower stall, a large, fluffy white towel spread and waiting between his hands.
Ash fucking shrieked, stumbling back and grabbing at the shower head to keep from slipping, his heart turning over.
Then immediately grabbing at his groin to cover himself, glaring at Forsythe, his face fucking boiling so much it was a miracle the water didn’t steam right off his cheeks.
“Goddammit, Forsythe, I’m naked!”
“I,” Forsythe deadpanned, “am trying to remedy that.”
“Oh my fucking God. Get out.”
“It is my bathroom, and you are not yet dry.”
“It’s my house, now leave the towel and get out!”
Forsythe’s lips thinned. “No.”
Ash stared. “No?”
“I will not be derelict in my duty,” Forsythe said, an edge of something darkening his voice, commanding and sharp. “Step out of the shower. Allow me to dry and dress you, and then we will be on our way.”
There it was again—that way Forsythe had about him that made Ash just want to go belly-up, this small and helpless thing in Forsythe’s hands. Part of him simmered, wanting to rebel…but his knees were weak and his gut felt strange and there was a tight pulling feeling in his inner thighs that he didn’t understand, a flutter in his chest that left him confused and meek. And after a frustrated, flustered moment he ducked his head, keeping his hands over his hips as he stepped dripping and naked out of the shower.
The towel—thick and soft and heavy and warm as if it had just come out of the dryer—enveloped him. So did Forsythe’s arms, folding around him and caging him as the man enfolded him in soft Egyptian cotton, shrouding him until he was at least decent, and beginning to gently work the towel over Ash’s body. Ash wrapped his arms around himself and made himself hold still as strong, capable hands touched him everywhere, their heat hardly muted through the thick layer of the towel and Forsythe’s gloves, stroking over him with a surety and confidence that seemed to know him.
The entire time Forsythe said nothing, the only sounds the faint rasp of cloth on skin and the wild beat of Ash’s heart. He risked a glance upward, expecting to find Forsythe preoccupied, gaze on his hands.
Only to find those dark green eyes locked right on him, watching him with a quiet intensity that stole his breath.