AllFreeNovel
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I was working with the idea that Donavan would protect me, but the feral look in his eyes right now isn’t speaking of protection. It’s dark and devious, a promise of bad things, and I crave all of it.
I don’t need to see a therapist to know that getting turned on while watching a man die is fucking sick and twisted, but I get the feeling he’s the same kind of demented.
He remains standing across the room as we listen to Nash’s truck back out of the driveway. Surprisingly and despite his warning, he doesn’t pounce on me the second they’re gone. I can’t tell if he’s trying to get a handle on himself or if he’s waiting to see what I’ll do.
I know he’s not all talk. I’ve experienced this man when he’s pissed and out of control. I had a bruise across my chest for weeks from the window sill of his truck after the last time.
His eyes sweep my body, but instead of speaking, he turns and heads back into the bedroom I woke up in. By the time I stand and catch up with him, he’s standing at the bathroom sink, scrubbing at his skin.
I stand in the doorway, eyeing the shower. I still reek from work. Before I can ask him to shower with me, he turns off the water and leaves the bathroom, making sure not to brush against me as he leaves the room.
Agitation grows inside of me as I follow him back into the kitchen. His back is to me as the scent of bleach fills the air and he begins to wash down every surface as if the dead man was in here rather than the other room.
He may be acting as if I don’t exist, but since Ayla and Nash left, he hasn’t asked me to leave. I want to shake the shit out of him because the look in his eyes when he issued his warning said a lot of things and none of it included him acting as if I’m invisible.
He spends half an hour, probably, scrubbing the front of the fridge, the counters, even the small dining room table, before putting all the supplies away, grabbing a trash bag, and walking back toward the bedroom.
I feel like a lost puppy hoping for scraps of attention as I follow him once again.
I keep my eyes locked on him as he wordlessly strips out of his clothes, shoving them all into the trash bag he carried in here with him.
His muscles flex, bunching and stretching as he strips completely naked. Jesus, the man is magnificent. I couldn’t pull my eyes from him even if I wanted to.
He doesn’t tell me to stop watching him, though I know he can feel my eyes roving over every inch of his skin. He doesn’t tell me to get lost, but he also doesn’t invite me to join him either as he disappears into the bathroom.
The shower knob squeaks when he turns it on. I follow him once again, standing in the doorway, finding him waiting outside of the shower for the water to warm.
I look toward the mirror, wondering if I can catch a different angle of him there, only to lock eyes with him in the reflection. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, and it continues to grow as he watches me. He’s a virile beast, a man who makes no excuses for how his body is reacting. He doesn’t curb it or turn away, and he looks starved when I lift my eyes back up to his.
His lip twitches, a sneer on his face. He’s looking more at a spot on my skin, and I want to gag when I turn and see a smear of blood on the side of my neck.
He pounces on me when I lift my hand to wipe it away.
“Don’t fucking touch it,” he snaps, grabbing a rag from the small shelf over the toilet and wetting it in the sink before pressing it to my skin and wiping it away.
He looks no calmer, no more satisfied that it’s gone, when he looks at me again.
In the next breath, he’s pulling my shirt over my head, the top button of my work uniform popping free and skittering across the floor. He makes no apologies, and his hands keep moving. My bra is unsnapped at the back, nothing but the simple flick of his wrist used to open it before he’s unbuttoning and unzipping my work slacks.
His hands are rough, not much care taken, when he shoves them down my legs. I lift each foot as he pulls my shoes and socks off.
I’m left standing there, my clothes scattered all over the bathroom floor. He simply turns and walks toward the shower. He offers no invitation, no request or command to join him. Hell, he was so agitated when he stripped me, I can’t even argue it’s implied.
