He collected their trash, packed it into a plastic bag, and shoved it into his duffel.
She spotted a water bucket by the door. “I’m going to go out and get some water to take a bath.”
“Let me do that.” He grabbed his rifle and the bucket and opened the door, glancing outside. “You never know if one of Oba’s cousins is hanging around.”
He returned a few minutes later, bucket brimming. “It’s cold.”
“Good!” She unzipped her bag, took out a little washcloth and her bar of soap.
“I’m going to refuel the truck in case we need to leave in a hurry.” He grabbed the keys, and left once more, rifle still slung over his shoulder.
A moment later, she heard the SUV’s engine start.
Kristi undressed, set her clothes on the bed, then lifted the bucket of water onto the table. She dipped the washcloth to wet it, got it good and soapy, and then washed, starting with her face and moving down her body.
The cool water felt so good, sweat and dirt from the past two days washing away, leaving her skin clean.
She rinsed over the bucket with small handfuls of water, then bent over and washed her hair. She was in the middle of rinsing the shampoo out of her hair when the door opened and Malik walked in.
He shut the door, locked it, and stood there, watching. “Damn.”
She saw the lust on his face, felt the trill of desire. “Get a fresh bucket of water, and I’ll give you a bath.”
15
Malik set the bucket of clean water on the table, unable to take his eyes off the woman who stood naked before him, drying her hair with a towel, her breasts swaying, her brown skin damp. A few minutes ago, all he’d wanted was sleep.
Now, he wanted her.
He took the towel from her, dropped it on the table. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her black hair hung in thick ropes, her dark nipples peeking out from between the strands, already puckered. “Are you sure we should do this? I know you’re tired.”
“Oh, there’s no going back now, angel.” He caught her wrist, drew her to him, and bent down to kiss her, his body alive with anticipation, his cock already hard.
She kissed him back, her hands sliding beneath his T-shirt, cool fingers setting fire to his skin. She drew back, reached for his zipper. “Get naked, soldier.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He made short work of it, tossing his clothes and boots onto a chair, until they stood together in nothing but skin.
She took a clean washcloth, wet it, lathered it with soap, then rubbed it over his chest, abs, arms, and groin, cold water making him suck in a breath, his nipples drawing tight. She rinsed him and then knelt to wash his legs. “God, I love your body.”
He let her indulge herself, checking his own impulses to let her have her way, sliding his fingers into her wet hair. “I fantasized about you every damned night, Kristi.”
It was the truth.
She looked up at him through those beautiful dark eyes. “You ruined me for other men—not that there have been other men.”
“Good.” He felt a fierce wave of possessiveness, a question he hadn’t asked her now answered.
She stood, move behind him, her hands moving methodically over him, lingering on his shoulders, his hips, his ass, her touch raising goosebumps on his skin.
But the torture wasn’t over.
She rinsed him, pouring water over his skin, letting it pool on the wooden planks at his feet. She walked back to the table, set the washcloth aside, her sweet ass just beyond his reach.
At the end of his patience, he moved in on her, drew her back against him, one hand squeezing a breast, the other sliding between her thighs to cup her. “I want to fuck you so bad it hurts.”
“Yes.”