Chapter 98: precious

Chapter 98: Chapter 98: precious

She lowered the sword carefully and set it aside.

"Even though I would love to relish this moment," she said, "there’s another solution for my ’revenge.’"

Dean didn’t hesitate. "Sure. Anything."

Amelia exhaled. "I want to wash your hair. Since... you know, you don’t like anyone touching you or even being close. Having someone else put you in that position should be humiliating enough."

Dean didn’t find the idea humiliating at all. Honestly, it was kind of the opposite: the thought just settled comfortably in his chest that she’d be doing something for him that she’d never once done for either of his brothers. It made the whole thing feel weirdly exclusive—like it was half punishment and half a prize.

"Of course," he said. "Anything you want. When do we start?"

Amelia picked up the bag the servants had given her.

"I’ll prepare everything first. Which door is the bathroom?"

He pointed. She nodded once and disappeared inside.

Following the instructions carefully, she filled the large bathtub with warm water and began mixing the different treatments into separate bowls. The sharp chemical smell in the air slowly softened under the milder products. When everything was ready, she stepped back to the doorway.

"You can come in."

Dean entered without a word.

"You’ll have to get into the tub," she told him.

He didn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, revealing the clean lines of his chest and the hard plane of his abs. His hands moved to the waistband of his trousers—

"No!"

Amelia’s voice came out way sharper than she meant it to, mostly because she hadn’t seen that coming at all. A hot flush rushed straight up her neck, and she had to force herself to keep her eyes locked somewhere near his face instead of letting them drop.

"Do you want to be naked in front of me?" she asked, trying—and mostly failing—not to notice how unfairly well-built he was.

Dean caught the way she looked away, and the cold realization just settled in his head: she still didn’t find him attractive. That really stings. Without saying another word, he just stepped right into the tub fully dressed in his trousers and sat down, letting the water rise up around his waist, up to his chest.

Amelia stepped closer and started working the treatments in one by one, carefully messaging the mix through his messed-up hair. Even with the weird color and the lingering chemical stink, his locks felt surprisingly soft between her fingers—thick, smooth, and way nicer to touch than she would have ever guessed.

As she worked, Madame’s earlier words drifted back to her. Dean loved this hair. He was proud of it. And yet he had been willing to change something so deeply tied to himself simply because he thought a different color might make her look at him the way she looked at his brothers. The idea was almost painfully earnest. Cringe, yes—but also quietly, unexpectedly sweet. The kind of sweetness that settled warm and slow beneath her ribs, leaving her a little breathless without permission.

Dean remained silent the entire time. He didn’t want to risk saying anything that might break whatever fragile ease had settled between them.

Amelia eventually spoke, her voice light with forced mischief as she continued working her fingers through his hair.

"It feels humiliating, doesn’t it? I can touch your hair however I want and you can’t do a thing about it." She lowered her tone into an exaggerated, theatrical villain voice. "At last... I have my revenge."

Dean made a quiet sound that might have been a suppressed laugh, but Amelia only heard the cough and immediately assumed her joke had fallen flat.

Yikes.

She reached for one of the bowls, scooped warm water from the tub, and poured it carefully over his head. The muddy color began to loosen and rinse away in slow rivulets, taking most of the harsh chemical stench with it. Relief flickered through her when she saw the treatment was actually working.

So why did he still look so subdued?

She kept massaging his scalp in steady, thorough motions, working the last of the product through. A low groan slipped from Dean’s throat before he could stop it. Her hands felt unfairly good against his head—firm in the right places, releasing tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

"That’s... so good," he muttered, the words escaping his lips.

Amelia’s hands stilled for half a second. Watching him actually enjoy the touch sent a quiet, unexpected warmth through her chest. She bit down on her lower lip to keep the smile from spreading too openly across her face.

She recovered quickly and gave his scalp another firm knead.

"You’re not supposed to enjoy this," she said. "You’re supposed to hate it."

Dean’s voice came out lower than usual, rough around the edges.

"Yeah. I’m definitely hating how good your hands are."

Something else was growing on him.

His hand drifted downward beneath the cloudy water, settling over the thickening bulge in his trousers. Heat flooded his face. Amelia noticed the color rising in his cheeks and froze for a second, genuinely startled.

Jeez. Do I have magic fingers or something?

Dean is blushing?

Is this a dream?

It looked far too real.

She watched his hand move lower still, though the brown-tinted water hid exactly what he was doing. Dean could barely believe it himself. He was getting hard from a simple scalp massage. He prayed she wouldn’t notice—if she did, she might leave, and he wasn’t ready for that.

Still, he couldn’t stop the slow, needy press of his palm against the hard length straining his trousers. A stifled groan vibrated in his throat as the friction sent a sharp, pleasurable jolt through him.

Their eyes met.

Amelia saw his expression clearly now—raw, hungry, barely restrained. It was the look of a man holding himself back from grabbing her by the waist, hauling her straight into the tub, ripping those soaked trousers down just enough, and burying himself inside her right there while the water slapped around them.

And the worst part was how willingly she felt she would let him.