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My core still tingles in remembrance. It feels tender, too, just like my neck that’s bruised from all the marks he left behind, but I don’t focus on that. My attention is stolen by something far more important.
Tattoos.
He has a lot of them.
On his upper shoulder and bicep, there’s a full, angry-looking samurai as if he’s about to go to battle. The details on the warrior’s face are striking, haunting even.
And I can’t stop staring at him, at the darkened look in his eyes, as if he, too, doesn’t like eye contact.
For some reason, I didn’t think someone as put-together as this British stranger would have tattoos, but seeing that he does adds even more mystery to him.
Businessmen don’t usually have tattoos—not the ones I know, anyway. Unless his background is different from what I’ve been picturing.
I shake my head.
I really,reallyshouldn’t be curious about him. It was a one-time thing and it’s now over.
The clock on the wall ticks half past three in the morning. I can drive back before sunrise and sneak back into my room.
Slowly, I shift from under the covers and wince. I’m so sore, it hurts to budge an inch.
He must’ve cleaned me since there’s nothing between my thighs. Not even my own stickiness. He covered me, too, which is a kind gesture I wouldn’t have expected from this stranger. He seemed like the “fuck them then leave them” type of man.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.
I carefully put on my torn dress, grimacing every few seconds when my core throbs. It takes me some time to work around the ruined dress.
The brute stranger must’ve ripped it when he was removing it.
It’s not only a slight rip. There’s a long gash on the side that extends to my hipbone. I can’t possibly walk outside like this.
So I grab his jacket and put it on. It swallows me and the dress, but it’s better than nothing. His scent fills my nostrils and I try not to think of that or what happened a few hours ago.
It’ll just make this complicated.
And I don’t need complicated.
“I’m sure you have many of these, so you won’t mind if I take it,” I whisper. “If you do mind, you shouldn’t have ripped my only red dress.”
He doesn’t even stir and I don’t know why I’m disappointed. I shouldn’t be.
I’m subconsciously reaching for him—or, my hand is. I just want to touch his hair once, see if it’s as soft as it looks.
He shifts and I quickly retract my hand.
What the hell was I thinking?
I can’t touch him. I have to completely erase him from my memories.
Not only for my own good, but also for his.
If my family finds out about what we’ve done, they’ll kill him. No questions asked.
It’s why I stayed a virgin until twenty.
But I’m not anymore.
And soon, I’ll be free.
