When I peek through my fingers, I see he hasn't moved, the top drawer still hanging open. His wide back moves slightly with each breath but nothing else.
Is he grossed out? Does he think I'm a freak?
I'm thinking of sneaking out the bathroom when he turns his head to me. All humor has evaporated from his face.
I feel stupid. Before, I might have been able to play it off like no big deal, depending on his reaction, but not now. I'm sure my face closely resembles a beet with how hot it feels.
Beau's hand reaches down to graze the door of the drawer, "You gonna let me watch you use them Sammy?"
"I----th---that it's not----I," I stammer trying to find an explanation. He abandons the still open drawer and turns fully to face me. I have to look up to meet his eyes. They smolder. I feel my face heat up this time with something far from embarrassment.
"Samantha, I find the thought of watching you using them or better yet, letting me use them on you, very appealing.” He runs his hands from my hips to my waist and pulls me close, “I had to stop from taking them out to see if I could smell you on them." He breathes me in and purrs, "So sweets please, don't be embarrassed. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He finishes his statement far too sweetly after what he just admitted to wanting to do.
I nod. He sure seems to know how to get me to agree to things. A little more dirty talk in that low voice, and there's probably not much I wouldn't do.
Beau takes my hand and leads me from the room.
"I can't be in there right now," he says quietly, almost to himself. Louder he tells me, "Brian will be here tomorrow. He's someone I trust with my life. I'd like to tell him everything that's happened, but I'll keep some of it to myself if that's what you want." I know he's offering to keep the abuse a secret, but I don't think I care anymore.
"Are you going to tell him, or do I need to?"
"If you're okay with it, I can talk to him. I think him knowing everything is for the best." My eyes dart to the ground guiltily because Beau doesn't even know everything.
"Yeah, I'm okay with you telling him anything you think he needs to know."
I break away from him and walk over to the kitchen to find something to do. I don’t want him to see that there are things that I'm still keeping from him.
I make a late lunch of simple deli sandwiches for us. I sit down on the sofa with our food laid out on the tray hoping to direct the conversation elsewhere.
I want to learn more about this man who looks so good with his feet on my ottoman.
