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“Christ,” he growled when he was done, taking Mackey out, and pushing him into the hall we had come in. “Jules,” he said into his phone again. “Yeah, the dog. It’s all show when he growls,” he added as a warning before putting his phone down on the floor near the door.
And I got to watch with no small bit of surprise, and maybe even a bit of excitement, as this gorgeous man actually reached for his own clothes. His hands undid his half-off tie, then tossed it into a black bag as he kicked off his shoes. Next, his fingers worked off his belt, which went into the bag as well. Then he set to unbuttoning his shirt, making short work of it, then tossing that aside as well.
It was official; he was gorgeous everywhere.
His chest and abdomen were all solid bits of chiseled muscle covered in a smattering of black hair that was enough to be manly, but not so much that he looked like he had some kind of man-beast condition. That hair disappeared into the waist of the pants that he was, oh lord, pulling off.
Finally realizing how much I was staring, my head dropped, my gaze going to the non-reflective, but shiny floor, catching his feet as he stepped out of his pants, then kicked out of his socks.
Thankfully, nothing else hit the floor after that.
“Aven,” he called a moment later.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not naked,” he said, sounding almost a little amused. “You can look at me.”
Ugh.
It was almost like a challenge.
I took a breath, forcing my head to lift, but doing it so quickly that his body blurred. I only managed to spot a bit of black that was his boxer briefs before my eyes found his face.
“Alright,” he said when he had eye-contact. He reached into the box, pulling out a smaller box as well as another big black bag. “You need to get all your clothes off, and drop them into this bag. Then you need to use the hairbrush in here to go through your hair. Do it until your fucking arms get tired,” he said, and I guess he was trying to make sure any hairs from my attacker ended up in the bag and not stuck to my head. “Then you need to get in the shower with these,” he said, tipping the box to show me shampoo and soap, “and scrub until you are red. Scrub everywhere. Face. Ears. Feet. Places you know there is no evidence on, we need those spots red and squeaky too. Once you’re done with that, here are towels,” he said, producing a set of white ones. “Dry off, then get into these clothes,” he told me as he stacked more on top of the pile. Including, thankfully, shoes. I hated being barefoot. “Got it?”
“Got it,” I agreed.
“Once that is all done, knock on this door,” he said, meaning the one we came in. “Jules will come get you, and bring you to me so we can talk about your case.”
“Okay,” I agreed, giving him a nod because my voice didn’t sound nearly convincing enough.
“Breathe, Aven,” he said, making me realize he was right, I was mostly holding my breath, judging by the tightness in my chest, the way my lungs were screaming. “Everything is fine. I get a lot of shit went down, but I need you to just keep focusing on the next step. Right now, the next step is to get clean. After that, knock. After that, follow Jules. That’s it. That is all you need to focus on. That,” he said, giving me a small smirk, “and breathing.” With that, he moved toward the door, nearly naked as the day he was born, giving me a full view of his muscular boxer brief clad ass, and a singular tattoo on his back left shoulder, something I couldn’t make out from across the room.
Then he was gone. And I had steps to follow.
Somehow, repeating them over and over to myself seemed to make it possible to keep my mind blank about what happened, just stay present, do what needed to be done.
I wasn’t sure how long I was in there. But my arms felt like Jell-O by the time I finished with my hair, stripped, then made my way to the shower, turning the water on hot to warm the chill I seemed to feel down to my bones.
Then I scrubbed until every inch of me felt overly sensitive, raw almost.
Only then did I towel off, finger comb my hair since I used the brush for the evidence removal, and made my way to the clothes I had piled on the sink. I found a simple black t-shirt that was, unfortunately, a bit small for a medium. And I was finding myself braless. I sighed out my breath, pulling the material on, trying not to focus on how you could see the complete outline of my breasts and nipples through the fabric. The pants were simple yoga ones, black with a white stripe down the side. The shoes were the kind you buy to slip into your purse to slide your aching feet into when the heels you wore out became way too painful. They pinched a little tight thanks to my un-dainty feet, but they fit well enough.
