𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ ❖ 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒❖

Boothill watches you like he’s got all the time in the world.

Reclined back, cigarette hangin’ lazy from his lips, elbows propped on the edge of the tub as steam curls between you.

Ain’t nothin’ hurried about the way his gaze drags over you, slow, heavy, lingerin’ on the places he ain’t got no business starin’ at.

You sink lower into the water, tryin’ to shield yourself, but he ain’t havin’ that.

“Don’t go hidin’ now, sugar,” he drawls, flickin’ ash into a tray beside him. “Ain’t like I ain’t seen every inch of you already.”

Your face burns, but you don’t move.

That don’t sit right with him.

He leans forward, plucks the cigarette from his lips, snuffs it out against the porcelain. Then he’s rollin’ his sleeves up, exposin’ those strong forearms, veins cuttin’ sharp beneath his skin.

A second later, his hands are in the water, and you jolt.

“Relax,” he murmurs, reachin’ for the soap. “Just takin’ care of my baby.”

He lathers his hands, and then he’s touchin’ you, draggin’ them slow over your arms, your shoulders, your collarbone.

You flinch when he slides lower, down your belly, over your hips.

He chuckles, low and dark. “What? Embarrassed?”

His hands don’t stop.

They roam, steady, like he’s got every right to do this. Like you’re somethin’ fragile, somethin’ small, somethin’ he’s gotta handle with care.

“Always been my job to keep you clean,” he murmurs, voice a deep rumble. “Ain’t that right?”

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

His fingers slide lower, between your legs, partin’ you easy under the warm water.

Boothill grins.

“Atta girl.”

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