Page 21 of Penny
The moaning stopped as I stepped out of the closet, and I pulled a shower cap out of the vanity. I keyed on the control panel outside the stall to turn on the water. Leaning against the sink, I patiently waited for her to come up the stairs to clean up. Remembering her dress was probably wrinkled, I left the bathroom and picked out a long sleek black dress with a low V neck. She had perky breasts that would make this dress look inviting.
The silk fabric was laid over my arm, and my brows furrowed as I left the closet. Emily stood in the middle of the room with glistening eyes and ghostly pale skin. Her golden under-glow was diminished, and her breasts and neck were red with finger marks. She’d stood strong in the kitchen earlier, but now she seemed like a girl who didn’t need to be broken in. Her soul was already stripped from her.
“Are you okay?” I asked genuinely for the first time today. My questions earlier were tangled with manipulation, but now I just wanted to know and couldn’t figure out why.
Her eyes glossed over, and her flat bare stomach shook with shallow breaths. She folded her arms over herself, scratching at her forearms. Suddenly, she bolted for the bathroom, and I chased after her. The glass shower door shook violently as she threw it open, and I was surprised it didn’t shatter.
“Wait, your hair, I have a—” I yelled, not wanting her to destroy all the hard work done earlier to prepare her for my father.
Water cascaded down her, saturating her long hair. She threw her head back, opening her mouth to fill it, and she gargled before spitting. Her thick hair covered her entire back, almost hiding her trembling shoulders.
My dry throat tightened, and my limbs became heavy. We couldn’t get a stylist back here in time, and we needed her to be presentable. The snap of a shower gel popped open, and she filled her palm and then poured it over herself. She vigorously rubbed the soap into her skin until it turned red, mimicking what I did this morning.
“Stop, you are going to hurt yourself,” I yelled over the stream of water.
She stumbled in the shower, knocking over the soap bottles, and grabbed a loofah, using the sponge on every inch of her delicate skin until she turned red.
Fuck. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and yanked down my pants and boxers, rushing into the shower. The warmth flowed over me as I pulled her into my arms, hugging her from behind.
“Enough. You are clean,” I whispered against her ear, lifting her to stop her from thrashing. The top of her ass pressed against my cock, and her hair was sticking to my chest.
“I’m not,” she bellowed, fighting against my hold.
She clawed at my wrists, trying to remove my grip. Her breaths came faster, and she continued to whisper inaudible words that shook her shoulders.
“Let me go,” she demanded, lurching forward.
She swung around, her breasts bouncing with each heavy pant. Her skin was red, and her tear-streaked face was hidden by the stream.
“You don’t understand what it’s like to have the weight of failures that don’t belong to you drag you under,” she whined, grabbing her chest. Her skin color resembled mine when the sins caught up with me, and her words felt like my own.
I stepped around her, grabbing a washcloth and filling it with soap, cautiously not making eye contact. Falling to my knees made her hesitantly step back.
“Let me,” I said soothingly, letting the cloth hover near her shins.
She listened, stepping closer to allow me to lightly rub the cloth over her inflamed skin. This was against every one of my rules, but as I washed away her demons as I did mine, I didn’t care. Her sobs silenced, and the only sound was the water as it soaked the both of us. Standing up, I shifted around her and grabbed a razor.
“I’m going to shave your legs for the new dress,” I told her, holding the razor in the air for her to see.
She slowly nodded, and I grabbed the shaving cream before falling to my knees again. The thick foam covered her legs, and I gently swiped her hair away. The pooling water under me filled with soap, and soon her legs were smooth. I looked up at her, and her ghostly stare made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. She was in full control of me at this moment, while I was in such a vulnerable position, and all she wanted to do was look at me.
Standing back up, I moved her wet hair behind her ear. Her full lips parted, and I was forced to fight the urge to taste her. Stepping forward, her nipples pressed against my ribs, and her head tilted back. Her heated body warmed me to my core, and I wanted to know what it would feel like to have her flushed against me.
This was all wrong. I didn’t care for the women I employed or took. It was my strictest rule, but her stare didn’t falter like all the other girls, and all I saw was the truth. She wasn’t playing a game like I had been earlier, and her attention was fueling me with an energy I’d never had.
“Fuck it,” I growled, wrapping my arm around her waist to pull her against me.
Our lips crashed together, and my neck craned downward to taste everything she had to offer. Her lips were soft, but her tongue tasted like home, and I battled to get deeper into her mouth, needing more of her. Her soft moans filled me, and I swallowed them, wanting to keep everything she gave me. Her skin was smooth under my palm, and I gripped her thick ass. It wasn’t enough, but all I could steal was a kiss.
I broke free of my lust-filled haze and pulled back to turn off the water. Her swollen lips remained parted, and I had to make myself step out of the shower to grab a towel. The large fabric was easily wrapped around her small frame.
“I’ll help you with your hair,” I whispered, not looking her in the eyes. I would be lost at sea with no way home if I did.
Her throat bobbed, and she shakily nodded.
I gently finger-combed her hair with a towel wrapped around my waist and one wrapped around her body. Managing girls for so long forced me to learn how to take care of their basic needs. Emily may not have needed me to do this, but it was my only excuse to not leave her. I used the curl cream the hairstylist left behind and scrunched her hair up with a cotton hand towel to help it dry. We had an hour before we had to be at my father’s house, and I hoped her hair would dry in time.
“Do you like to wear makeup?” I asked, not because she truly needed it, but because my father liked it that way.
