Blinking, I look up at this stranger and wonder why he looks like he cares. He doesn’t know me. But if he’s not expecting sex in exchange for his kindness, what does he want? Parting my lips, I start to ask him, but before I can, he smiles at me, and every thought in my head fades away.
“Let’s go and eat.”
Mute, I nod and let him lead me down the stairs to the small dining table I hadn’t noticed earlier. The table has been laid with two place settings beside each other on the same side of the table, so close that our arms will probably touch.
Pulling out my chair for me, he releases my hand, then sits down beside me. Just like I thought, his arm brushes against mine, his massive thigh pressed tightly against my knee the moment he shuffles his chair into the table.
Without asking, he picks up my plate and serves me before himself, scooping out a portion of white fluffy rice, some broccoli florets, then a massive chicken breast covered in a thick tomato, pepper, onion, and chorizo sauce that smells rich and delicious.
Placing the plate in front of me, he unscrews a bottle of water and places it beside my plate before he repeats the action for himself.
“Thank you,” I whisper, shocked by his attentiveness. He cooked for me, then served me first, like it was instinct not chivalrousness.
“I assumed you weren’t a vegetarian,” he says, nudging me until I pick up my silverware and start to eat.
“Thank you, this looks delicious,” I tell him, cutting off a chunk of chicken and bringing it to my lips. I try not to groan as the rich, smoky taste of the sauce fills my mouth. Apart from the odd meal, like the stew I ate with the people at the campgroundthe other night, my diet since I got to town has mainly consisted of hot dogs and burgers, the kind of food campers bring to cook over a firepit.
I’m not used to food this good, and I wish I could finish the entire plate, but after the pizza at lunch and the sandwich I ate in the tent before he found me, I’m full.
“I’ll do the dishes,” I offer the moment I place my silverware down on my plate.
“That’s okay. You should get an early night, you still look tired,” he says, collecting up the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen before I have a chance to get them.
“Oh. Err. Okay,” I say, feeling dismissed. Pushing to my feet, I turn to leave, but his fingers curl around mine, stopping me. As he turns me to face him, the look in his eyes makes the food in my stomach turn to acid. It’s not the angry lust Benito looked at me with or the depraved desire of the men at the club, but there’s something in his gaze that puts me on edge.
This is it. This is the moment he tells me to get on my knees or bend over. This is the moment he becomes just like every other man that wants to use me.
But instead of unzipping his pants or ripping at my dress, his expression softens. “Sleep well, amore mio, I’m glad that you’re here. You have my word that I will not step foot in your room without your explicit invitation. This is your home now and that is your space, and I want you to feel safe there. Okay?”
The breath in my lungs puffs out of me in an inelegant huff.
Laughing softly, he leans in and presses another gentle kiss to my forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, Verity. Feel free to eat or drink anything you find, except for any alcohol, not that there’s much in the house anyway. You do not and will not ever require my permission to help yourself. Do you understand?”
I nod, bewildered, but once again comforted by his thoughtfulness. “Good night, Warrick,” I say quietly, waiting until he lets go of my hand to head for the stairs.
The moment I close the bedroom door behind me, I scan the room and realize that there’s nothing to block the door. The bed is literally the only piece of furniture in here. But Warrick promised me I was safe. He promised me he wouldn’t come in here, and even though it’s dumb to believe him, I do.
But belief isn’t enough to keep me safe. So I ignore all of the instincts that tell me he won’t hurt me, and circle the bed, then shove it across the room until it’s against the door. The moment I’m barricaded in, my bladder screams, reminding me that I should have thought to use the bathroom before I moved the bed, but I ignore it, crawl beneath the sheets in my clothes, and immediately fall asleep.
It’s barely light when my need to pee forces me out of the warm, comfortable bed, and I’m fully awake. Grabbing my bag that I positioned beside the bed, close enough that I could touch it, I find clean underwear and the cleanest and least rumpled shirt and shorts I have and pull them out.
Gripping my reasonably clean clothes to my chest, I push the bed back across the room, and unblock the door. Opening the door a crack, I peer out and scan the landing. The house is quiet, so I rush to the bathroom and shut myself inside, locking the door behind me. The moment I’m sure I’m safe and alone, I dart for the toilet, barely managing to pull my panties down before I start to pee, finally relieving myself.
Turning on the faucet, I wash my hands, then look at the door. I should get changed and then leave, but the temptation to take a shower in a bathroom that isn’t a stall and that I won’t be sharing with dirt, leaves, grass, and a handful of insects is hard to resist. The pile of fluffy towels on the counter calls my name, and when I spot the brand-new bar of soap and a bottleof shampoo, my resolve to leave as quickly as possible withers away.
Warrick told me that he doesn’t use this bathroom, so he put these things in here for me. I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness, but the call of getting clean and the almost guarantee of continuous hot water is too tempting to resist. Reaching over the tub, I turn on the shower, and steam starts to billow into the air immediately, while a tiny moan of pleasure squeaks from my lips. Checking and rechecking the lock on the door, I strip, fold my clothes into a neat pile, and place them on the closed toilet lid, then I slip naked beneath the water. Bliss, glorious, forgotten bliss, consumes me, and I have to swallow down the tears that threaten to fall as the deluge of warmth washes over me.
In the last two months, I’ve felt lucky that I’ve been able to sneak into the campgrounds’ bathrooms to shower, but this is the first time since I ran from my apartment that I feel properly dirt-free. My skin is squeaky clean, and I actually groan with pleasure when the shampoo lathers luxuriously in my hair, unlike the free stuff they put in the dispensers in communal shower blocks.
When I first started dancing at BJ’s, Heather insisted that I have laser hair removal. At the time, I’d been disgusted when she’d told me that as an innocent little virgin, I couldn’t have body hair, because the men who were willing to pay a lot of money to watch me dance and rub teddy bears against my naked breasts wanted to believe that I was the little girl I dressed up to be. She said that seeing stubble or even pubic hair would ruin the fantasy I was selling them.
But given my situation of the last few months, it’s been a relief not to have to think about shaving or how much more homeless I’d look if I hadn’t. Heather did warn me I might have to have maintenance treatments, but so far nothing has grown back, and I’m still completely hairless.
As I rub soap over my body and between my legs, a thought pops into my head. Will Warrick like that I’m completely bare down there? As the thought filters through my mind, I freeze, my palm cupping my sex.
It doesn’t matter what Warrick likes or doesn’t like, because he won’t ever see me naked, let alone have an opinion on my hairless crotch.
But at just the thought of him, heat starts to warm between my thighs. What the hell is happening right now? I don’t remember the last time anything inside of me…heated. In fact, it’s been years since I’ve had even a hint of sexual arousal, so why is this happening now?
