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For a second, I think he’s going to ignore me, but he says, “I have. But not for many years.”
I want to ask who, but it’s not my business. He sighs and slides a hand through my hair and kisses me, even though I’m sure he knows what I’ve done with my mouth. “Hendrick…”
“Don’t. You’re right and wrong, you know. I haven’t been with anyone since Elsa and that ended after you stole my wallet in the bar. But we’re not…” He stops, eases me down, and turns me to the mirror. I gasp.
I’m covered in bruises. The heels of my palms and knees are bruised and there are hand prints on my throat, along with bite marks, ones where I can see the print of his teeth in places.
And a bruise on my cheek.
His eyes darken to a black flame. but I shake my head.
“He didn’t hit me. I… Hell, it must have been when he grabbed my face”—to feed me his cock— “or when I hit the ground as he flipped me.”
“And your ass?”
I don’t even want to look. My thighs are a mass of bruises, too.
“He…” I raise my gaze to his in the mirror. “We’re not an item, Hendrick. Not you and me. And certainly not Jac and me.”
It sounds lame and deliciously slutty and wrong.
“Yeah.” He leads me to the tub, turns off the water, and eases me in, and then he discards his vest and shirt, shoes and socks and starts to bathe me. He washes me all over, face, neck, breasts. He slides down to dip between my thighs and the folds of my pussy with the sponge.
I swallow. It’s good. Too good. My muscles slowly relax and release tension, even as his administrations set off another kind of tension inside. He’s not trying to rev my engine.
I don’t think.
“You…ah…you can get in if you want.”
“Not a good idea.” There’s warmth in his voice.
“I probably wouldn’t either.”
He’s sitting on the wooden round footstool that lives in here, and he leans forward, squeezes the sponge on my hair and kisses my head. “Not what I meant.”
Hendrick looks down and hands me the sponge and then stands to take off his trousers. “They’re wool. They’re getting wet. This is a very expensive suit.”
“Says the billionaire.”
“I like the suit,” he says.
But he makes no other move except to sit down and take the sponge to continue to wash me.
I sort of want to cry, but I’m not exactly sure why. The fact he’s being so gentle, and I need that? I desperately want to say it’s because I fucked both him and Jac in such a short amount of time, but it isn’t that at all. I feel a little dirty, but I also like it. As much as I don’t like them, or don’t like aspects of them; I want them, and this is fantasy territory.
But I’m so damn tired, and I’m caught in something I don’t understand.
I take a shaky breath. “I get it—”
“Cat? If I get in that bath, I’m going to want to fuck you because you have an effect on me like nothing else.” He picks up my hand and washes my arm. And my pussy really wants him back down there.
Oh, Jesus. I’m a mess.
“And,” he adds, “I don’t think you need that right now. You need some kind of after care.”
“You sent me there.”
“I know. Fuck, Cat, no one’s pure in this scenario. Not you, not him, not me.” He pauses. “Answer something for me. Was it rape?”
