The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 183

Chapter 183: 183 | Marking Your Territory

She grabbed the body wash from the shelf and squeezed a generous amount into her palm. The scent was cedar and something darker, masculine in a way that was definitely intentional. Before I could react she was rubbing it across my chest with single-minded purpose, working up a lather with the same intensity she applied to combat training.

"This is what it’s called. This is me making sure you smell like my products instead of her expensive perfume." Her hands worked down my arms with methodical care, spreading the lather in steady circles.

She moved across my shoulders, palms flat against the muscle there, working the soap in with enough pressure that I could feel the tension unwinding under her touch. Then down my back, her fingertips tracing the lines of my spine like she was committing the geography to memory.

"When you walk out of this room you’re going to smell like cedar and sandalwood and me. Not vanilla. Not flowers. Not whatever boutique brand she probably special orders from Paris. Me."

The possessiveness in her voice was doing things to my body that had nothing to do with rational decision-making.

"You’re marking your territory," I said, trying to keep my voice level.

"Obviously."

"Using soap."

"Using whatever tools are available." Her hands moved lower, sliding over the curve of my hips with deliberate slowness. I sucked in a breath as she worked the lather across surfaces that really didn’t require this much attention, dangerously close to areas that were already responding to her proximity with predictable and extremely visible enthusiasm. She knew exactly what she was doing. The slight upward curve of her mouth made that clear. "Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this."

"I’m not acting."

"Good." She dropped to her knees in front of me, working the soap down my thighs with the same focused attention. The position put her face approximately level with parts of my anatomy that were currently operating independent of rational thought. She looked up at me through wet lashes, pink hair streaming water down her face, and smiled with the satisfaction of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. "This is also mine."

"I wasn’t going to argue."

"Smart."

Her hands continued their work. Down my calves, across my feet, back up again in slow strokes that were definitely more thorough than necessary for the stated goal of removing perfume residue. By the time she stood up again I was trembling slightly and she looked extremely pleased with herself.

"Hair next."

"Sloane."

"What?"

"You’re torturing me."

"Am I?" She reached for the shampoo and squeezed some into her palm. "That sounds like a you problem."

She worked the shampoo through my hair with her fingernails, scratching gently against my scalp in a way that sent shivers down my spine. The contrast between the gentle sensation and the tension coiled in my body was almost unbearable.

"You know," she said conversationally as she massaged the lather through my hair, "I spent three hours yesterday imagining what it would be like when you finally moved in. I pictured you coming to my room. I pictured us having dinner together. I pictured introducing you to Koda and Dash and having them think you were just my friend from home instead of." She paused. "Whatever we are."

"What are we?"

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