The Nightmare (The Mist #2) - Regine Abel Page 0,38

the closet.

“Go in the bathroom to get dressed,” she said before casting a nervous look at the top left corner in the front of the room. “And don’t come back before you’re presentable.”

Intrigued, I glanced at the same area, and saw the small surveillance camera I hadn’t previously noticed. My head jerked back towards my woman, my eyes widening with understanding.

A pleasant, warm, and fuzzy feeling spread over my chest. “You’re upset because others are watching what’s yours!” I said, with a blossoming grin. “Apologies, my mate. I had not been trying to make you jealous. I will rectify this situation at once.”

“Oh God! Help me with this one,” Naima whispered to herself, while covering her face with her palm.

She was cute and confusing. But no matter. I loved her being possessive of me. After glaring at the camera for their shameless voyeurism, I walked into the bathroom and placed the clothes on the counter while closing the door behind me. I didn’t like this small, confined space. It made me feel trapped. I didn’t much like the room I’d been born in, but at least, the glass wall gave the illusion that the room was far more spacious, less claustrophobic.

I made quick work of donning the dark grey shirt with a silver-colored, stylized logo of the letters M, D, and S. I didn’t know what it stood for, but presumed M was for Mist. It was a very snug fit. Thankfully, the stretchy fabric didn’t make it uncomfortable. A quick look in the mirror actually pleased me. While I didn’t care much for clothes, the way this one hugged every curve of my chiseled abs, strong chest, and the bulging muscles of my arms were bound to make my female drool while hiding my nudity from others.

I eyeballed the long, black, stretchy pants she had given me and then the dark-grey, form-fitting shorts she had also included. While the long pants would give my dangling parts more room, the tight shorts would hold them more snuggly, on top of hugging the curves of the fantastic ass my mate had wished upon me. Wanting to seize every opportunity to break down the silly barriers Naima might erect between us, and eager to see her mad with lust for me, I chose the shorts that fit me like a second skin. I certainly didn’t complain about the way the fabric outlined the thick shaft of my cock.

Pleased with my appearance, I opened the door to the bathroom. Instead of the appreciative expression I expected, Naima rolled her eyes, and her shoulders sagged in discouragement.

“Where are your pants?” Naima asked, as if addressing a particularly difficult and slow child.

“You gave me a choice between shorts and pants,” I said, somewhat offended. “I chose the shorts.”

She sighed and shook her head as if I was a hopeless case. “Okay, my bad. I guess I should have been more explicit,” she conceded. “I’m realizing now that certain things I take for granted may be foreign to you. These are not pants but underwear. You’re supposed to wear the pants on top of them. As you can see, these shorts are too… revealing of your private parts.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I muttered with a sliver of annoyance. “Clothes on clothes? That has to be incredibly uncomfortable.”

“Stop whining and go put your pants on,” Naima responded without an ounce of sympathy. “Anyone who doesn’t need to wear a bra has absolutely no ground to complain about layers of clothes and, more specifically, underwear. Now, go, chop-chop. We have a lot of things to do today.”

Scrunching my face in displeasure, I went back inside the bathroom but didn’t close the door as I slipped on the garment. At least, the appreciative glance my woman stole at me soothed some of my aggravation.

“Much better,” Naima said in an approving tone when I finished putting on the wretched garment.

This time, she wasn’t so skittish in admiring the view. I instinctively puffed out my chest, basking in her attention. She gave me the ‘you’re so hopeless’ look, but her emotions only broadcast amusement and an undeniable attraction.

To my shock, Naima then gave me a shameless once over, pursing her lips in a critical fashion. “Yeah, you’re not bad,” she said in a nonchalant way. “I’ve got good taste.”

I snorted, a smug smile stretching my lips as I opened my arms wide.

“No, I’m not touching you, and you’re not getting a hug,” Naima said in a tone that brooked no