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He takes off his coat, and I can feel it brush along my skin while he hangs it on the hanger. Then he pulls open the closet and places something inside, locking it again.
There’s a painful tension hanging in the air. Like lightning, it crackles between us.
“Tell me,” he says. His voice is calm, collected even.
Unexpected.
So much so, that when my lips part, nothing rolls off my tongue. I’m that flabbergasted.
“I … I …” I never stammer like this. “I’m sorry.”
Wait, what? Why am I apologizing?
“It’s okay.” He grabs my shoulders, and I immediately forget what I was thinking or what I even said because he leans in and whispers, “I missed you.”
Goose bumps scatter across my skin. Why did my heartbeat jump just now?
I push him away. I can’t let him do this. “No.”
“No?” He laughs. “It’s the truth.”
“No. Why aren’t you mad?” I ask, balling my fist.
“Because it’s only natural to want to run away from me,” he says, but the way he says it cuts into me. I don’t know why. It just does.
And I stand there, completely frozen as he tips my chin up and says, “I forgive you.”
I shake my head, but then his lips crash onto mine, and I’m completely taken away from this world again. He kisses me with such passion, such fiery love that I’m losing myself in the moment, losing myself in him. In my captor.
I push him away again. “No, you can’t do this.”
“Do what? Give you the love you deserve?” he says, and I can feel him smile against my lips again.
It’s so hard to resist, but I have to. For the sake of my sanity. For the sake of the people still stuck in that goddamn compound. God knows what Graham is doing to them.
“You can’t wrap me around your finger,” I say, emboldened by my own spirit.
He chuckles softly. As if it’s funny even when it’s not. “I don’t think it was me who wrapped you around my finger.” He grabs my chin again. “And you did it so very well.”
I turn my head. “You know exactly why.”
“Right.” The sound of his voice is harsher. “I’ll change the locks on my door to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
Well, fuck. I screwed myself there, didn’t I?
He walks away and goes into the bathroom, so I traipse behind him, wondering where he’s going.
“Following me now?” he asks as a shirt falls to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I ask, as he takes off his shoes and kicks them into the corner.
“Gonna take a shower.” His pants follow as I hear the zipper and the fabric dropping.
I imagine he’s naked. I don’t know why.
Too bad my cheeks already turn red before I can force myself to think of something else.
The shower’s turned on, and he steps under it.
“Wanna join me?”
The sudden question almost makes my heart pop out of my chest.
“Wh-what?”
“Figured you’d want to since you’re still here.”
“N-no.” I fold my arms. “Of course not.”
“Suit yourself.” The water cascades down his body, and I can only imagine what it’d look like. Sometimes, I really wish I could still see.
Fuck. Why do I have these conflicting thoughts? I hate it.
“Where did you go?” I ask, trying to change the topic.
“To see an old … friend.”
“Friend?” I frown. “Why?” He ran away right after we had sex, which means it was important. Or maybe he really wanted to get away from me because I’m finally starting to have an effect on him.
A smile forms on my lips. Good.
“Does it matter?” he asks.
Why the diversions?
I take one step in his direction. “Yes. It does if you want me to trust you, which you keep saying.”
It’s silent for a while, and I wonder if he’s heard what I said or not.
But then his familiar dark voice echoes through the room. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“That same avoidance again,” I say. “Tsk.”
“I’m protecting you,” he says, turning off the shower.
“From what?” I ask as the draft of a towel wafts by.
Suddenly, he’s right in front of me. “Me.”
I suck in a breath.
He’s so close; I can almost taste the water drops on his skin.
Fuck.
Why am I even affected so much by his presence? I should be scared. Angry. But all I want right now is his hands all over my body. And it’s pissing me off.
“Fine,” I hiss, turning around before I make an epic mistake.
However, before I can go anywhere, he places a hand on my shoulder and stops me from walking. “I’m doing this for you.”
“What?” I ask, without turning around. “Running away after humiliating me like that? Leaving me with this collar? Keeping me a prisoner in your home?”
He places both hands on my shoulders now, standing so close to me that his breath warms my skin.
“Did you really feel humiliated?” His hand brushes my hair away, exposing my neck … and the collar. He plants a kiss right on top of my shoulder. The moan that follows sends shivers down my spine. “Or do you just not want to admit you liked it?”
