Prisoner Mine by Megan Mitcham

legs receded from the water, but the hand at her back stayed. Eventually her cries crescendoed, dwindled, and then eased all together.
    “Lean back.” His hand cupped the back of her neck.
    Greer dropped her hands into the water and looked a question at him.
    “I’m going to wash your hair so you don’t drown yourself trying to do it, and then I’ll leave.”
    Maybe it was exhaustion or the rawness of her pride, but Greer let go. Zach guided her back. The water eased up her neck and around her skull. When the water enveloped her ears her brain went silent. Her eyes closed. All the questions fell away. The pain ebbed. Her emotions calmed.
    Zach gently brushed the loose strands from around her face. He skimmed the tips of her long hair, creating eddies in the water that caressed her shoulders. Tension grew in his hand and he lifted her to sit. She almost whimpered. Water sluiced off her in a cacophony.
    Greer opened her eyes. Hands she’d seen down a drunk Russian three times his size, and then toss the lug out on his ass, poured a quarter-size dollop of shampoo in the center of one palm before rubbing them together. Calluses scratched like sandpaper, but bubbles oozed out from between thick fingers.
    He started on the surface, gliding the minty cleanser from root to tip. Then he delved deeper. The tips of his fingers worked the sensitive skin atop her head. Greer’s mouth dropped open. He seduced her with heavy circular strokes around her temples and easing toward the crown. Her breaths rasped across her lips. His fingers reached the base of her skull and a quiet moan shattered the silence.
    Her body flushed with embarrassment and something richer and darker. To Zach’s credit he didn’t stop. Shamelessly she pressed into his touch. Her breaths came deeper, more punctuated. His right hand slid up the back of her neck, and then down her pony tail. He gathered it up and massaged it into the rest of her hair.
    When her head dropped forward she saw the erect tips of her rosy pink nipples dipping into the water. Greer clamped her mouth shut tight to keep in the exclamation. The embarrassment had to show on her face. Her cheeks heated ten degrees.
    Zach eased her back toward the water. Greer clamped her eyes shut. The last thing she needed to see was him noticing her arousal. He’d go back to hating her and treating her like crap on the tip of his boot. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything or try to drown her. In short order he rinsed away the shampoo and set her up again.
    She expected him to leave then, held her breath for it to happen, but he reached for a bottle of conditioner. Her lady parts pulsed with excitement while the rational parts of her shrieked in fear.
    “You know about conditioner too,” she blurted.
    “And moisturizer. And panty lines. And periods.” His fingers dove into her hair again. “I have an older sister.”
    “Oh.” It wasn’t eloquent, but it was all she could manage under the assault.
    “I know about razors and shaving cream too. If you want to shave and can do it without slitting anything, there they are.” He pointed to a small shelf next to the head of the tub.
    “Oh,” again was all she could muster.
    “She read fashion magazines she swiped from offices and used them to teach me to read.”
    Half of Greer’s brain cells had been fried in the brew of chemicals the Stas had forced on her. The other half drooled on themselves thanks to Zach’s decisive fingers. Even still, one of them—or maybe a few held hands, joining forces to understand a bit of the enigma that was Zach Saulter—caught the unspoken hints he’d thrown. Zach hadn’t had enough money for proper books and his parents hadn’t cared enough to teach him how to read. If that didn’t explain a thing or two, Greer didn’t know what would.
    All too soon he laid her back into the water. Greer mustered up the courage to look at him. He studied her hair, not her boobs. Stubble covered his proud jaw. Small specks