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He brings me back to him, kissing me as he slows down and we both come back down from the high.
Multiple honks make me jolt back up. I grab my shirt and wrap it around myself.
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “I-I forgot we were in the middle of the road.”
His face twists, and he hisses. “You’re squeezing.”
My eyes widen, understanding what he means since he’s still inside me. He helps me off him and settles me back in my seat.
Then, as if nothing happened, he puts the car in drive and moves us out of the way.
When he turns off the engine, I look around. I stopped paying attention to where we were going while I was coming down from the high.
“Where are we?”
We’re parked on the street, and all the houses around us are rundown. I check the place right where we’re parked. A small rectangle that looks like prefabricated housing. The magnolia painting on the front is flaked to an inch of its life, and one of the windows is covered with a wooden panel.
A heaviness settles in my stomach. “Xi, where are we?” I ask again. He turns to me and puts a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“We’re at my home.”
“You took me to the North Shore?” I sputter. My stomach twists and I glance around again. “I don’t want to be here.”
He ignores me, leaving the car and walking to my side. When he opens my door, I try again. “Take me home, please. I don’t…I can’t…I’mscared.” The last word is whispered in shame.
His strangely fascinating eyes dig into mine. “Alexandra, look at me.”
He doesn’t pretend the place where he lives isn’t dangerous. He doesn’t act like I’m crazy for fearing being here. Still, what he says reassures me anyway. “When you’re with me, you have nothing to worry about.” His hand comes to caress my cheek. “I mean it.”
And for just a second, the fact that Xi is a rough, violent man reassures me rather than anything else.
He grabs my hand and helps me out of the car before walking me to the front door. There are a few locks he must undo before we can walk in. We walk straight into what appears like the living room, a small area with a worn-out carpet. There’s a sofa and a TV sitting on a plastic table that looks like it belongs outside. Multiple pots of paint are spread on a plastic sheet, and all the walls except one have been painted white. There’s a small, round wooden dining table with two chairs around it, and a third chair missing a leg is turned upside down and resting on the table.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says before dragging me across the room to a hallway. He takes me right and through a door frame without a door. There’s a bathtub but no sink. It looks like it’s been ripped off the wall. He turns the shower on, and I also notice the lack of shower curtain.
He must see the way I’m looking around because he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m redoing the bathroom. And repainting the living room. I’m…working on a lot of projects. It’s taking time because I have to do it outside of work and—”
“Hey,” I say, placing a hand on his cheek, “you don’t have to justify yourself. I don’t care about what your house looks like.”
“I bet it doesn’t look like yours,” he murmurs.
I shrug. “At least you’re independent. No one you have to ask for money from. No one who can tell you what to do. That’s worth more than gold.”
He peers deep into my eyes and nods. He lifts his hands to grab my shirt and take it off me. Slowly, he undresses me completely and helps me into the tub. I moan when I get into the warm shower. The heat is relaxing my tense muscles, and I smile at him. “Join me.”
He shakes his head and runs his tongue against his front teeth. “Let me take care of you for now.”
He grabs a loofah and pours soap on it. Holding my left wrist, he starts with my upper arm and slowly goes down. He slightly twists my arm and stops just as he’s about to clean my inner forearm.
“That’s a big scar,” he says without taking his eyes off it. The blue loofah he’s holding goes over it once then twice. It’s like he’s fascinated by it.
I feel like I need to say something, so I keep to the minimum of information. “I broke my arm.”
“It doesn’t look old.”
“It was in February this year,” I explain. “I don’t…” I take my time swallowing the anxiety that threatens to choke me. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
His eyes come up to mine. He’s frowning while he reads into my soul with his dilated pupils. “Does this have to do with your attack the other day? And the reason you’re afraid of the North Shore?”
