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When I break away, she is breathing as hard as I am.

Then I freeze in shock, when water cascades over my head.

“It looked like you needed to cool down.” Angel laughs.

He cups his hands and scoops up more water. “I promised to wash your hair. Tip your head back. Water now, okay?”

I shoot him a glare that promises retribution, before I hurriedly tip my head back to avoid the next water going into my eyes.

This time, Angel is careful to spill the water carefully over my hair, rather than my face.

I take deep breaths of the rose and blackberry scent, as the water trickles down around my ears and the back of my neck.

“Again,” Angel warns.

This time, I close my eyes.

I lose myself in the repetition of the water cascading over my head. Then in the way that Angel drops something with the aroma of orange blossoms, citrus and floral, onto my hair in a thick lather.

Angel firmly cards his fingertips through my hair, just as I like it, from my forehead toward my crown. He separates the strands of my hair, and if I was an Omega, I reckon I would be purring.

When he scratches his nails across my scalp, I make a low sound in my throat.

The fingers in my hair hesitate, and frustrated, I nudge my head up at them in encouragement, chasing the sensation.

“More?” Angel laughs.

“More.”

Angel strokes in circles, and my skin tingles.

My knot feels like it is inflating, rather than deflating.

Paige moans like it is her head being massaged.

How can Angel make being cared for — something as simple as having my hair washed — as intimate and pleasurable as fucking?

I am melting.

Floating.

I could live in this sensation forever.

I tip my head further back into his touch without thinking.

Angel makes a pleased sound, keeping up the pressure. He shampoos my hair with both his hands.

I don’t realize that Paige has started speaking, until her sweet scent sours with a distress that shakes me out of my haze.

My eyes snap open.

“…you could have died. Why would you take off your patch and risk your life?” She is trembling.

Has the bath become too cold for her?

I glance at Angel for help, who is kneeling next to the bath. Orange blossom scented lather covers his hands and wrists, as they rest on my head.

He avoids my eye.