My pussy 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.
His eyes then darted to the bowl. And it dawned on me. I understood what Zaal wanted. He wanted me to clean his face.
“Your face?” I asked. He stilled on hearing me speak. “You want me to bathe your face?”
His beautiful, hopeless eyes closed for a fraction of a moment. He was saying “yes.”
Wiping a stray tear that had escaped the corner of my eye, I withdrew my hand and moved to the bowl. I reached in the bag I’d brought down and retrieved a small facecloth. Seeing a bottle of water behind Zaal, I used the remnants of the water to dampen the cloth, adding soap. Zaal watched me the entire time. His previously stern eyes had softened. And the almost-kind look in his eyes, set against the raw, intimidating features of his face staggered me.
I inched closer to the position I was in before. And I noticed something for the first time. Zaal’s chest rapidly rose and fell the closer I got to him. I was bringing something out in him. He was affected by me, and I couldn’t believe just how much I was affected by him.
Taking the cloth, I pressed it against his cheek. Leaning in, I felt his warm breath ghost over my face. I saw the veins in his neck stand out with every soft stroke I made. And this close, with the removal of the weeks’ worth of dirt and grime on his face, certain features came to light. His skin was smooth, his lashes so dark; it was almost as if kohl liner had been applied to his upper eyelid. The effect of it framed his jade eyes perfectly. Jade eyes that never once moved from mine. Jade eyes that on closer inspection, completely stole my soul. The color was breathtaking, his irises pure bright green, no flecks of brown, just the cleanest and most beautiful of colors, heightened by his dark Georgian features.
But what held me captive, what stirred something inside me was something quite inconsequential. Three small beauty marks, three delicate moles lying just to the side of his left eye. They made him appear human, not the animal, the fierce wild monster he’d been conditioned to be. These three moles promised me that here sat a person. Underneath the scars, the muscles, and the tattoos was a hurt and lost man.
I washed Zaal’s face. Even when it was clean, I didn’t want to stop touching his face. I didn’t want to stop running my hands over his high cheekbones, along his broad forehead, and across his strong jaw. It was apparent he craved my touch as much as I loved to touch him. When I moved to withdraw my hand, Zaal lifted his hand and placed it over mine.
My palm was flat to his cheek.
We breathed in unison.
There were no words, no sounds, just my skin connecting with his.
Before long, Zaal’s eyes closed. By the shallow breaths he was taking, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he fell to sleep. His body was exhausted, the result of dispelling whatever hard drug was flowing through his veins.
Yet his hand didn’t move off mine. Zaal’s head was angled just so, as though he was leaning into my touch.
My heart skipped several beats. I couldn’t take the feelings coursing through my body. I couldn’t take what being in Zaal’s presence was making me feel. Like something I had to keep at bay was clawing its way to the surface.
Once I was assured he slept, I gently removed my hand from his face. A sudden wash of emptiness flowed through me. Lifting the washcloth, I slipped it back into the bag. I then pulled his sweatpants up as far as I could manage.
Zaal didn’t stir.
As I moved away, I stared down at the remaining heir to the Kostava clan. Any hate I’d harbored had disappeared.
Confused, and more than disturbed at the events of today, I picked up the bowl and my bag, and walked to the stairs. I tried not to look back, but my heart physically ached at the thought of leaving him down here in this hell of a basement alone, no light to comfort him, no me to press my palm to his cheek and help him relax.
Unable to stop the pang of guilt ripping through my chest, I forced myself to reach the top of the stairs and open the door. I raced to the bathroom, deposited the dirty water, and moved to the kitchen to lock away the key. But as I walked into the room, Savin and Ilya were both staring at me, both wearing the same look of disappointment on their faces. I glanced down to the cut surveillance monitor beside them, the screen now filled with nothing but white noise. I shook my head at their anger.