It’s as if he can read the situation with complete clarity. He lifts his eyes away from me and reaches out of the shower for a towel that’s resting on a nearby hook. He wraps it around me and then kisses me gently before he steps out of the shower.
He takes off his soaking wet shirt and looks at me like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
I step out of the shower and reach into the cabinet to grab him a towel. “I’ll dry your clothes. A towel is the closest thing I have to something that’ll fit you.”
I slip out of the bathroom and wait for him to open the door and hand me his clothes. When he does, I take them to the laundry room and throw his clothes in the dryer.
In a way, I feel like I have the control right now. He can’t leave before his clothes are dry, so at least I know he’ll have to stay longer than he’s stayed the last two times he’s been here.
Saint is in the kitchen when I exit the laundry room, wearing the towel tied around his waist. He’s setting a teapot on the stove. “Want some hot tea?” he asks, his back to me.
“I’d love some.” I’m also still wearing nothing but a towel, but unlike Saint, I have things I can change into.
I slip into the robe I was wearing the night he first showed up here. I felt exposed in front of him then, but now that he’s wearing nothing but a towel, I feel like putting on too much would make me feel overdressed.
I go to my bathroom and take a few minutes to regroup. I look in the mirror, and my hair is a frightening wet mess. I blow dry it and then pull it up into a knot on top of my head. When I go to put the blow dryer back in the drawer, I see my bottle of Xanax. I sigh with relief and open the bottle and swallow one.
When I walk out of the bedroom to rejoin Saint in the kitchen, he’s pouring two cups of tea.
Saint without a shirt is exactly how I described Cam to look like in the book. Rippled muscles across his back; a narrow waist; tanned, smooth skin.
I’m going to need to go back and rewrite how I described his arms, though. Now that I know the astounding strength in them, I’m aware what I have written does not do them justice. I fought with everything I had earlier, and he reacted like I wasn’t even trying. Knowing he would use that strength to protect me feels comforting.
Saint slides my cup of tea toward me. I take a sip and close my eyes because I’m finally feeling calm. The Xanax is kicking in and it’s exactly what I needed after what happened.
When I open my eyes, Saint is watching me while he takes a slow sip of his tea.
I want to ask him so many questions, but part of me prefers the mystery that surrounds him. I know very little about him other than his name and his occupation. But if I ask too many questions, the answers might contradict all the ways I’ve built his character up in my mind.
Saint sets his tea on the counter and then takes my cup from my hands and does the same. He slides his hands down my back until both of his hands are gripping my ass, then he lifts me and sets me on the counter next to the stove.
He takes my hand and looks at my wrist, then lifts my other hand and does the same. He runs his thumbs back and forth over my wrists. They’re red where the rope dug into them.
“Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes as if he doesn’t believe me. “Be honest.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
My answer seems to convince him enough. I’m being honest. I might have bruises on my wrists and ankles tomorrow, but it’s nothing serious. I’ve been bruised worse during sex before. It’s not like he was intentionally trying to hurt me. He was just doing his best to follow through with the role-play I started.
At least I think I started it.
I’m not even sure who started this.
Either way, I don’t want to stop. I want more of this—more of him. I have so many things I want to