Mated to the Mad Lord-Chapter 74: I’ll check!

Her gaze remained fixed on the bathroom wall as the sound of rustling clothes echoed softly in the air. Violet refused to turn back toward Cain, not until the gentle splash of water signaled he had stepped into the tub. Even then, she kept her eyes averted, staring intently at the tiles, waiting until the foam of soapy water obscured every inch of him.

"You act like you’ve not seen me naked before," Cain remarked, his voice lazy, yet tinged with amusement. He leaned back into the tub, his arms draped casually over its edges. His piercing gaze settled on her, studying her expression as if expecting her to falter.

The accusation left her stunned, her mouth already opening to protest, I’ve never done that! Yet, the words died in her throat. She slapped her hands over her lips, aghast at the very idea that she had been moments away from speaking. The sly smile curling on Cain’s face deepened, making her heart pound harder. He turned his body slightly, his predatory eyes locking onto hers, refusing to let her retreat.

"What is this? A no-talking game?" he asked, his voice holding a subtle edge. Violet’s chest tightened with fear. She knew too well that if Cain commanded her to speak, she wouldn’t have the will to resist. Yet he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back, his smile softening into something almost playful, though she wasn’t foolish enough to trust it.

"Start with my hair, then move to my chest," he ordered, his tone deceptively casual.

Violet’s breath hitched as her thoughts scrambled. Did he just say his—his chest?

"Viole!" His sharp tone snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. Hurriedly, she grabbed the products she’d need, moving closer to the tub. Her hands trembled as she worked to lather the soap into his hair, careful not to make a single misstep.

At first, her fingers avoided his scalp, brushing lightly, almost cautiously. But soon, the texture of his hair—soft and surprisingly healthy—drew her in. She began massaging the soap deeper, her touch becoming more assured as her fingers worked through his thick strands. It was strangely satisfying, almost calming. His hair felt safe—an island she could focus on without the weight of his intimidating presence crushing her.

Her fingers slid down to his nape, brushing lightly against his neck, and she was shocked to see him leaning into her touch. His deep sighs punctuated her movements, each sound a quiet approval that made her heart race. But just as she started to lose herself in the repetitive task, his voice shattered the moment.

"You can rinse out my hair now," Cain said, his voice dropping to a deeper, almost teasing register. "Move lower."

The words hit her like a thunderclap. Her hands froze mid-motion, trembling against his hair. She knew exactly what he was doing—what kind of reaction he wanted from her—and the tension in the air grew suffocating. He knows I know, she thought bitterly, her throat tightening. And he’s still doing it.

Swallowing hard, Violet rinsed his hair with water, her hands moving slower than necessary in a desperate attempt to stall. But there was no escape. She reached for the sponge, gripping it tightly as though it were her lifeline. The thought of touching him directly made her stomach churn; the sponge was the only barrier between her and the bare expanse of his skin.

Starting at his neck, she worked the sponge in small, precise circles, her movements hesitant. "Lower," he commanded again, his tone soft but firm. The single word sent her heart skittering like a startled bird. Her trembling hands obeyed automatically, brushing over his shoulders with painstaking care.

She washed them repeatedly, dragging out the task as long as possible, hoping he wouldn’t push her further. But soon, she had no choice but to move to the center of his chest. Her fingers faltered as her gaze darted to the ripple of muscles beneath his damp skin. Just as she started to lower the sponge toward his torso, he shifted, raising himself slightly out of the water. Her breath hitched at the sight.

"You should wash my back first," Cain said suddenly, his voice smooth as silk. Relief washed over her, and she nodded eagerly, leaping at the chance to redirect her focus. Moving to his side, she knelt by the tub and began scrubbing his back.

The muscles beneath her hands were firm, sculpted in a way that spoke of effortless strength. The more she touched, the more acutely aware she became of the power coiled beneath his skin. She pressed the sponge against his shoulders, working diligently to keep her eyes on task and not wander down to the water’s edge.

But as soon as she found a rhythm, Cain shifted again, turning to face her. Her breath caught as she scrambled to retreat, her instincts screaming to put distance between them.

"You don’t have to move," he murmured, his tone laced with unspoken intent. "It’ll be easier if you wash me from the front."

Violet gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to protest. She clenched her jaw, nodding stiffly as she stepped forward. Her movements were mechanical, each swipe of the sponge deliberate and quick as she focused on finishing the task as fast as possible. Yet Cain seemed determined to draw it out.

He rose slightly higher, water cascading off his chest to reveal more of his glistening skin. Her gaze was drawn to the defined ridges of his pectoral muscles, the way his every movement seemed designed to pull her attention. The sponge trembled in her hand as she continued down to his abdomen. His stomach felt impossibly solid beneath her touch, each dip and curve of muscle taunting her as she worked.

The tension between them was unbearable, thick enough to choke on. Her hands paused, hovering just above the water, as her restraint frayed. She couldn’t keep going—couldn’t keep touching him without unraveling completely.

But before she could pull away, Cain’s hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist with a firm grip. The sponge slipped from her grasp, splashing into the water as he pulled her closer. Her breath hitched as he guided her hand to his chest, his fingers pressing her palm flat against his skin.

"Are you turned on?" he asked, his voice low and husky, each word dripping with challenge. His question made her entire body burn with humiliation. Heat flared in her cheeks, spreading like wildfire as her ears rang with the echo of his words.

Women don’t—I’m not! she wanted to scream, but no sound came. She shook her head violently, hoping the movement would be enough to refute his accusation. Yet Cain’s smile only grew sharper, a wicked gleam flashing in his eyes as he leaned closer.

"Since you can’t speak," he whispered, his voice a dangerous tease, "then I’ll have to touch between your legs and check for myself."