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His look is almost tender. “Cold?”
“No.” I’m surprised my voice is steady.
The tenderness evaporates, making space for hardness. “I see.”
As if sensing my revulsion, he drops his hands, but his eyes tighten and his lips thin. “Need help with the dress?”
I fold my arms over my stomach. “What?”
He trails a finger over the buttons of the bodice. “The dress. Do you need help removing it? There must be ten buttons the size of a raven’s pupil.”
“I’m fine.” As an after-thought, I throw in, “Thank you.”
He nods. The gesture is like a small kindness in exchange for what I gave him in the study.
His gaze flicks to the shower as he speaks. “I’ll leave you to it.”
By exiting the bathroom, he gives me another reward for letting him watch. He gives me privacy. He leaves the door open a crack, and for all my apprehension of what he’s capable of, I can’t bring myself to close it completely. The fear of being locked in is bigger than any other, even having my arms touched. The click of the bedroom door tells me he left the room. I peer around the door. Sure enough, the bedroom is empty. The sight of the closed door makes my throat constrict.
It’s not locked. It’s only closed.
I tell myself this over and over, until I feel calm enough to brave it into the shower. I only take a few minutes to clean up and pull on my nightdress. By the time I step out of the bathroom, Damian is back. He acknowledges me with his eyes from across the room. Throwing back the bed covers, he wordlessly commands me to get in. Seething on the inside, I do as I’m ordered. When I’m lying flat on my back, he grips my uninjured wrist and pulls up my arm.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, already starting to silently freak out.
“I need a shower. It’s either the handcuffs or Russell stands guard at your side.”
My anger ignites. “Where am I going to go?”
He trails his thumb lazily over my arm. “You tell me.”
I grit my teeth to bite back the repulsion as his fingers closes around the scars. “I’m not going to kill myself.”
He considers the statement. “I don’t believe you are.”
“Then there’s no need for the constraints.”
Slowly, he lowers my wrist to my side. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but prove me wrong…”
He doesn’t have to finish the threat. It’s in the unspoken promise of his unsettling eyes. He’ll chain me to the wall if he has to.
“Good,” he says with self-assured confidence.
I don’t have a choice but to obey, not that I’ve ever had suicidal tendencies. I have too much to live for.
He covers my body with the sheet. The act is both careful and possessive, as if he’s covering an expensive piece of art to protect it from dust and curious eyes. It’s too hot for the comforter, which he leaves at my feet. Without sparing me another glance, he makes his way to the bathroom. As before, he leaves the door open, only wider. His back is turned to me as he starts stripping. I should turn on my side, or at the very least close my eyes, but I’m frozen in place. Does he know I’m looking? Does he care? Or maybe that’s the objective.
His shirt comes off first. His back is riddled with hard, lean grooves. His arms flex as he goes for his belt. Every movement puts the cut of his muscles on display. He stands tall and confident as he unbuttons his pants and pulls down the zipper. When he unexpectedly turns, he catches me staring. Too late, I turn my face to the wall. I’ve already seen his belt and fly hanging open. I’ve already seen the male hardness under his black briefs. Heat burns in my cheeks.
From the corner of my eye, I continue to watch him. It’s compulsive, a magnetism I can’t control. He sits down on the toilet seat to remove his shoes and socks. When he straightens again, his pants and briefs follow. His erection is huge, the bulbous head and thick shaft jutting out proudly, but I can’t bring myself to stare so unabashedly, not while he’s watching me.
There’s a smirk on his face as he finally gives me his back again to run the water in the shower. I close my eyes, willing myself not to give in, but it’s fruitless. My gaze is pulled to his sculptured ass and powerful legs as he steps into the shower and closes the door. The glass is clear, allowing me an unobscured view of Damian leaning one hand on the wall while grabbing his erection in his other. I know what he’s going to do before he starts pumping his fist.
