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They’re ugly, the lines. Some of them, at least. I touch the one at my shoulder. Thick scar tissue feels bumpy beneath my finger. I press against it, testing. I don’t feel a thing.
I make myself look every time. I make myself remember every day. And I’m grateful that at least he didn’t cut my face. My back I can hide.
I step into the shower for a quick rinse, then climb out, reach for one of the lush towels folded on the rack, and wrap it around myself, liking the faint scent of detergent that clings to it. Clean. I like clean.
At the bathroom door, I stop to listen, wondering if he’s here now. Asking myself if I want him to be or if I’m disappointed when I open the door and find that I’m still alone.
Drying off, I walk to the window, open it a crack. Even though the air-conditioning is running, I need the noise of the city to sleep. It’s comforting somehow. Like I’m not alone. I climb beneath the covers and switch out the light. Somehow, I never really have a hard time falling asleep. I should, considering, but I don’t.Silk tickles my skin, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s the blanket sliding off me. I reach for it, still half-asleep, but when I hear a “Tsk-tsk,” my body goes rigid and my eyelids fly open. In the light coming through the sheer window curtains, I see the outline of a man. He’s huge and standing at the foot of my bed. I know it’s him. I recognize his voice, his build. His aftershave.
“You left before coffee.”
I sit up, or try to, but he grabs my ankle and tugs on it and stops me.
I want to cover myself, but the blanket is out of reach, so I lie there, naked. Giovanni smiles and his gaze slowly travels over me.
“Were you expecting me, or do you always sleep naked?”
I kick the leg he’s got, but when I do, he tugs me down the bed. Turning me slightly, he slaps my ass hard.
“Ow!” He’s not smiling when I look back at him, my hand covering the spot he just hit.
“You deserve more than that.”
I realize he’s not wearing his suit jacket anymore but has his shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his powerful forearms. I wonder how long he’s been here watching me. There’s a dusting of dark hair on his arms, and the only jewelry he’s wearing is a heavy, expensive watch.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, come on, don’t pretend to be surprised. You knew I’d come.”
He lets me go, and I scramble back up the bed, sit up on my knees, and grab the pillow to cover myself. Giovanni walks patiently around the bed, and as he does, I mirror his movements. He switches on the light. I see he’s grinning. Moving much faster than I expect, he grabs the pillow from me and tosses it across the room.
“What are you doing?”
“I didn’t get to have dessert,” he says, placing one knee on the bed, catching me as I try to scramble off, tugging me into his chest. “Now lie down and spread those beautiful legs, so I can get my dessert.”
“You’re a freak!” I scream, shoving at his chest, but he only laughs it off and tosses me on my back onto the bed like I weigh nothing. I flip over onto my belly to get away, but he easily catches me by the ankle and tugs me flat and this time, presses a knee to my back. I know I fucked up because he stops. I hear him suck in a breath—or maybe that was me—because I know what he’s looking at.
It takes me a minute to turn my head to look over my shoulder and see his eyes, see the serious expression there as he eyes my back, the ugly crisscrossing of lines.
“Get off me.”
He drags his gaze to mine. “No,” he says, as he keeps me in place with his knee on my back. He just studies me for a long time. Not touching, not moving, Just taking in every inch of my back. And I feel myself shrinking. Feel his power over me growing.
I make a sound, wriggle beneath him, but he easily keeps me pinned and ignores me as he trails his fingers along the thin silvery lines that mark me where the skin broke, where my back was opened, and I feel my face burning because it’s private, this thing, it’s more private than any part of me. And it shows my weakness. And I don’t want him to see it. I don’t want him to know it’s there at all and that I fucked up.
But then he meets my gaze again, and that grin is back, although forced, I think, at least at first, until it isn’t, and somehow, the wickedness of it is a relief.
