“I wish you had two extra hands so you could wash me without putting me down,” I say, tilting my head back just a little farther to let the stream run over my face for a few seconds. “I can’t do anything about the hands, but we might be able to make it work.” He nods towards a bottle of soap on the nearby ledge. “Grab that.” I meet his demand with a flat look and he gives me an adorably sheepish smile that has no business being on such a deadly man’s face. Except for the fact that the contrast is literally everything. The world can have him cold, controlled, and dangerous. I want to be the
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