Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 15

The water hit him on the back of the neck and ran down the gulley between his shoulder blades, snaking a trail down his spine and travelling over the various inked pictures and symbols that patterned his skin. With his hands pressed against the communal shower wall, he remained like that for a few moments, letting the spray massage the tension out of his body and all the while I stood and watched, feeling like a voyeur and yet unable to tear my eyes away from him. My gaze touched every inch of him that I could see, coveting his broad shoulders down to the small of his back, the tail of the dragon that curled around his hip and the way the water trickled down his muscular thighs. The noise of the shower echoed off the walls and just when I thought he had no idea that I was even there and was considering leaving before he spotted me, Harper turned around, and as brazen as ever, gave me a full frontal shot framed by an arrogant grin.

"Are you going to just stand there or are you going to close the door and get in here?"

The dark glimmer in his eyes was irresistible but still I hesitated, suddenly feeling nervous at the thought of getting it on with the others just a few rooms away. Shaking his head, he stepped out from under the row of shower heads and casually sauntered over to where I hovered, the water dripping from his hair, down to his chest. Reaching round me, close enough for droplets to fall onto my arms, he pushed the door shut and wedged a plastic-backed chair against the handle.

"There," he said, leaning down and running a damp finger along my jawline. "Now there's no need to feel shy, angel. It's just you and me."

Turning his back on me, he walked towards the shower room again without looking back.

"Unless of course you've forgotten how to do it, it's been a while after all," he called over his shoulder.

I knew he was smiling. I could feel it from across the room as he submerged his head back under the spray, letting the water soak his hair and no doubt grinning with the knowledge there was no way I wasn't going to take the bait. Of course I was, but I was sure as Hell going to make him work for his catch.

Pursing my lips, I stripped, hesitating for the briefest of moments when it came to removing my shirt, feeling the slight chill in the air whisper over my skin as I did so. Stepping into the shower room, I was grateful for the heat that permeated from the spray and marvelled at how running water had become such a luxury to me. If running water was a luxury, then hot water felt nothing short of a miracle.

As I approached Harper, he did not turn around or even acknowledge that I was there and I felt the unpleasant buzz of nerves tickle in the base of my stomach. He was right: it had been a while since we'd last clutched at each other in the cab of the lorry in Fenton's yard. So much had happened since then, so much had changed.

I had changed.

I tried hard to not think of the two long puckered ridges that now decorated my back, a constant reminder of the truth from which I could not escape. I recalled Harper's fingers running down the scarred skin, his fascinated exploration of the horror that I had tried to hide from him. I wondered whether he would be just as enthralled now or whether the novelty would have worn off and his fascination turn to disgust.

Taking a deep breath, I continued, enjoying the warmth of the water between my toes and wishing the heat would ease the ache in my muscles and soothe the tension that dogged my every step forward. When I reached Harper, I felt lost, halfway between a desire I had to satiate and an urge to flee. With a hand that trembled far too much for my liking, I reached out and touched his back with tentative fingertips at first, tracing along inked lines yet the more I touched him, the more my confidence surge with every second as my hunger for him won out. Placing my palms flat against his skin, I resisted the urge to grin when I pressed my mouth against his back and heard him moan with pleasure. I stayed there for a moment, relishing the taste of his skin upon my lips and then very slowly, my hand wandered down, lingering briefly on his hips before reaching round, following the contours of his pelvic bone. Brushing the base of his taut stomach with feather-light caresses, I allowed my hand to drift down, down until I found my goal. I did smile then, as I felt how hard he was and heard his breath quicken with every stroke of my hand from base to tip.