Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

I’ve reduced him to one-syllable words.

Empowered like never before, I take his hand. “Come on. Take your shower. Give me your clothes, and I’ll throw them in the wash.”

“But then I’ll be naked.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Yes, I know.”

“I like coming home to this,” he says so low, I almost miss it.

Could he ever consider this his home? Here with me?

I stop at the laundry room, open the door, and grab some towels. Jigsaw moves on ahead of me, into the bathroom. When I join him, he already has the shower running. He faces me and peels off his dark blue T-shirt.

I hold out my hands for it.

He hesitates and lets out a sigh. “You don’t have to do my laundry, Margot.”

“Well, you said you were riding hard the last two days.” I make a big show of pretending to search the bathroom. “I don’t see any other clothes with you, so…”

He tosses me the shirt. “My saddlebag’s on my bike. Got my stuff in there.”

“You want me to go down and get it?”

He sweeps his gaze over me again. “Not dressed like that, I don’t.”

“Well, yeah.” I roll my eyes.

“Nah, nothing in there’s clean, either.” He works his belt loose.

“You can bring it up later.”

He nods and empties his pockets—phone, wallet, keys, some change and a crumpled dollar bill—then cocks an eyebrow and lifts his gaze to me. “You plannin’ to watch me undress?”

There’s a cocky challenge to his question that sends a shiver over my skin. “Oh, yes.”

His shoulders shake as he pushes his jeans down, then his briefs.

“Wow,” I breathe out.

Chuckling, he balls up his clothes and holds them in front of him.

“Give them to me.” I hold out my hands. “I handle bodily fluids all day. Your sweaty jeans don’t scare me.”

He fake-retches to the side but hands me his clothes.

“Thank you.” I turn to leave. “Have you eaten?”

“No but we can do that later.” The shower door softly rattles as he slides it open.

I hurry into the laundry and toss his stuff into the washer. Running it while he’s in the shower will probably cut his water pressure in half, but I’m hoping he doesn’t plan to be in there long. Once his clothes are churning, I run to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water.

By the time I return, he’s stepping out of the shower.

I lean against the door and watch him rough a towel over his hair. Every movement he makes intoxicates me with his virility and strength. He wraps the other towel around his waist. His gaze lands on me as he’s tying a knot at his hip.

“You watching me, little creeper?”

“Definitely.”