AllFreeNovel
Share Us
GENEVIEVE
“Ineed clothes,” I demand that evening, sitting at the table with them as they eat dinner. Eric cooked again. Maybe he’s the only one who can cook, I don’t know. “I’ve been wearing the same dress for days. It’s starting to smell as bad as this godforsaken house.”
Archer doesn’t look up from his phone as he bites a piece of bacon, Grumpy Pants might as well think I’m a ghost with how much he acknowledges me, and Booker just looks at me and shrugs.
“You are starting to smell a little ripe,” Eric agrees, looking over at me and winking. “But the ripe bananas are the best ones to eat.”
I scrunch my face up in confusion. “I’d rather shower and have a change of clothing.” When no one else says anything as I look around the table, I meet Eric’s eyes again. “Could I borrow one of your shirts at least?” I ask. “Please?”
He grins. “Well, when you ask so prettily, how could I say no?”
Archer looks up then, glancing between Eric and me. “Give her a pair of your shorts too. They’ll be too large, but she can tighten the strings.”
The look he shoots me makes it clear it’s for his benefit rather than mine. He seems to have realised that if I’m only given a shirt, it’ll be far easier access with no shorts. He hasn’t brought up our earlier make out session since it transpired. Each time he looks at me though, there’s heat in his eyes, as if he’s imagining bending me over this table, splaying me out on top of the meal of chicken and veggies and fucking me from behind. I can’t say the thought doesn’t seem appealing.
Christ, what’s gotten into me? Is this what Stockholm syndrome feels like? Why do I like it?
“Thank you,” I say, mostly because I really am grateful. “Can I get it now?” I push my plate away, looking forward to a shower.
“Sure thing, beautiful,” Eric replies, and then he leans back and pulls his black shirt over his head, revealing tantalising muscles. My eyes widen at the display, and it takes me a few seconds to gather myself enough to take the shirt hanging from his fingers. His smile tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I hold the shirt to my chest, his scent immediately wafting around me—all sexy man with some sort of aftershave that smells metallic and woodsy, nothing like the rich men I’m used to. “Thanks,” I croak out before turning to move towards the stairs. It’s physically difficult to remove my gaze from Eric.
The man looks like he was sculpted from marble.
There’s no lock on the door, but I close it anyway, hoping they respect the boundary enough not to walk in on me taking a shower. Setting the shirt on the counter, I crank on the faucet for hot water. It squeaks as it turns, the water sputtering before coming to life and spraying on the porcelain. The tub is old, an antique that most rich people would pay for replicas of, and here it is sitting in an old farmhouse out in the country.
It takes too long for the water to warm and then grow hot enough to steam up the grungy mirror. I don’t complain. I quickly unzip my dress and drop it in a puddle on the floor before climbing inside and letting the heat wash over me. I hadn’t realised how cold my bones really are and how desperately I needed some real heat. As hot as the shower is, it feels like needles running across my ice-cold feet, but I don’t care.
I stand in the shower until the water starts to cool, and then I quickly use the liquid soap sitting on the edge to wash up. There’s no shampoo, so I use the same soap to wash my hair. It’ll likely dry it out, but I can hardly care at the moment. I’d rather feel clean again.
Shutting the shower off once it grows too cold to stay in, I climb from the tub and reach for a towel folded up on the side. I’m not sure whose it is or who I’ve just stolen from, but who cares? It’s the least they can do for kidnapping me. Assholes.
I look towards the tiny window above the shower again and scowl. I’m so close to escaping, I can taste it, but I’m also nowhere near it. I’ve never been more frustrated in my life.
Once I get my hair as dry as it’ll get, I tug the shirt over my head, letting the smell of man surround me. Because of Eric’s height, it almost falls to my knees, covering everything important from view—except my nipples, which pucker against the material from the cold. I pick up my discarded knickers and wash them in the sink with cold water and soap. I wring them out and clench them in my fist before picking up the dress. When I open the door to go to what they determined is my room, Eric is standing on the other side with a pair of jogger shorts in his hand. His eyes go right to the clothing in my hands before dropping to my exposed legs, realising that I’m naked beneath it. Though there’s heat in his eyes and an invitation, I only stare up at him sadly.
“Don’t look so down, beautiful. You’ll be home before long,” he assures me, offering the shorts to me.
With careful fingers, I take them, knowing they’ll be way too big and that I’ll have to roll them a few times to make them work. I look down at the shorts in my hand, at the clothing I carry, and then back up at him, the sadness hitting harder.
“Why me?” I whisper, my face scrunching up when I feel moisture at the corners of my eyes. I won’t cry in front of him or let any of them see this weakness, but I just need to know why. “What did I do to deserve this?”
