Page 21 of Cut Deeper

I should consider getting fake flowers.

Ethan climbed in and the bath suddenly felt smaller. I shifted forward as he settled behind me.

“Is there a washcloth?” I murmured.

He shifted and returned with a small white face cloth. He dipped it in the water and began to wash my shoulders. I gathered my hair and moved it to the front.

“Where did you see me?” I asked.

“The Ship.”

The pub where I’d met my last project.

“That was almost two months ago.”

“Correct,” he said, running the cloth down my arm.

“What gave me away?”

“Your face changed, but your eyes never did. You didn’t even like him—you were tolerating him. At first I thought you were going to rob him.”

I chuckled.

“I never noticed you noticing me.”

His chest touched my back as the washcloth moved over my thigh, his other hand resting on my waist.

“I wouldn’t be good at what I do if I were noticeable.”

“What now?”

His fingers began to inch downward.

“We see where this goes.”

He pushed his hand between my legs and my head fell back. I could feel him hardening behind me.

“And if it doesn’t work?” I gasped as his fingers brushed against me.

“That’s not an option now, is it?”

My mind reeled.

He was right. Neither of us could trust the other with our secret if things went south. It would come down to who could kill whom first.

His lips brushed against my ear.

“Part of me would love to watch you bleed,” he said, his voice deep and low.“The other part of me wants to keep you safe.”

His fingers brushed against my clit, making me squirm.

“I’ve thought about slicing your belly open and tying your intestines up in a pretty bow,” I whispered.“But that’s because you stuck me in a cage.”

“You don’t want to know what I wanted to slice up when I saw you with the pencil dick in the graveyard.”

His fingers moved lower, parting me.

“He was just work.”