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She catches them at the last moment, the leg of the sweatpants draping over her arm. “Oh, um, okay then.”
I open the drawers again, pulling out my own to wear, since mine are now wet and covered in sand. I don’t spare her a glance, only giving her my back as she stands in the center of my room.
Finally, her feet retreat, and I hear the door shut quietly. I turn around, staring at the sliver of light glowing from beneath the door. The faint shadow as she moves from one end of the bathroom to the next. It pauses on the other side, as if she can feel me, just as I can feel her. Both of us, angry, stubborn at shit, hateful toward one another, and maybe something else too. But it’s something I refuse to accept.
After a few silent moments, her shadow moves, and the shower turns on. I imagine her standing before the mirror, staring at her body, at the dirt, scrapes, and bruises covering her skin. The fingerprints along her neck, and the bites along the tops of her breasts. Wounds littering her flawless complexion, many of them from me.
I can hear as the heavy glass door is opened, and the sound of the spray changes as she steps beneath the waterfall stream. I step forward, my hand going to the doorknob as I turn it and pull. The shadow of her body tenses on the other side of the thick glass, and I drop my clothes to the floor, moving toward her. The air is already thick with steam, and a light sheen of condensation instantly coats my skin. I shove my sweats and underwear off my feet, kicking them aside as I approach the shower.
The handle is cool and damp as I pull it open, and Hazel stands there, her sinful body naked and wet as rivulets travel over the rounded mounds of her breasts, down her hips, slipping between her thighs as if they are just as desperate to feel her pussy. The fingerprints around her throat are like a dark necklace, and I hate to say she looks beautiful like this.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice low.
I step into the shower, the heated tiles warm against the soles of my feet. I step up to her, my chest brushing her breasts, our breaths in sync as we watch one another.
“Whatever I want,” I mumble, reaching around her as I grab my shampoo. I don’t disconnect my eyes from her as I put a dollop on my palm, rubbing it around and digging my fingers into my hair. Then she’s next. I’m not gentle as I scrub the soap into her hair, but she doesn’t seem to mind, her eyes turning hazy as she stares up at me. She looks as dangerous as she possibly could right now, with her dark hair pulled away from her face, showing her sharp cheekbones, the way her creamy skin flushes pink from the steam of the shower.
Her beauty angers me. The gentleness mixed with how fucking strong she is makes me rabid.
I can barely help myself.
But I hold myself back as I soap myself down, then tip my head toward the spray, large enough for the both of us.
“We don’t have to be enemies, you know,” she whispers as she reaches up to rinse out her own shampoo.
I say nothing, our bodies brushing each other’s as we wash away the dirt and sandy water of Superior.
Her nipples harden, and my eyes drop to the rosy peaks, watching as her fingers brush them unintentionally as she finishes rinsing off. Once we’re both clean, we stand there, staring at each other, but I can see as a mixture of thoughts move through her expression.
“We could be friends,” she pleads, her eyes begging, wanting so badly for things to not be as painful as they are.
She doesn’t understand. I enjoy the pain.
I lean forward until my lips brush hers. “We will never be friends. We will never be lovers. All we’ll ever be is enemies.” Her brows furrow, her body slackening a bit. My fingers go out, and I brush underneath her chin, tilting her head until her eyes connect with mine. “Though, you happen to be my favorite enemy, and I don’t think I’m quite finished with you yet.”
Her eyes soften, and the wall I threw up all on my own breaks just slightly. It angers me how trusting she is of me, even after everything I’ve done to her. Perhaps she doesn’t know me at all.
Bringing a hand back, I turn the shower water off, my other hand grabbing the back of her hair as I pull her from the shower. She stumbles into me, her skin warm against mine. A whimper breaks from her throat as her hand grabs my shoulder, her fingernails burrowing into my skin.
She continues to try to push me off, but I keep moving, pulling her from the bathroom, back into my bedroom. My fingers wrap around her smooth hips, and I lift her, tossing her on the bed as if she weighs nothing. Her body drenches my dark gray comforter, her slippery limbs scrambling into the center.
“What are you doing?” she gasps.
I don’t answer her as I stalk around my bed, heading toward my nightstand. Pulling open the drawer, I grab the tan, thick rope in the back. It’s usually reserved for games, and though I’m not playing any kind of game with Hazel at the moment, I couldn’t think of a better use.
“Y-you’re… tying me up?” She scooches up to the top of the bed, and I press my knee on the edge, grabbing onto her slender ankle and yanking her back down. Her spine slaps against the mattress, and she slides with ease, her soaked hair fanning out around her. I grab her ankles, snapping the rope out and tying them together with ease. I make the knot tight, smirking when she winces in pain.
“Felix!” she shouts at me.
I lift my eyes to hers.
“I’m playing with my enemy,” I say simply.
Slipping off the bed, I make my way toward the headboard. She squirms away from me, but with her feet knotted together, it’ll be difficult for her escape.
Her hands fly forward, and she slaps me in the chest, but I grab her wrists, draping the other rope around them quickly, tying them nice and tight.
Bound at the ankles and wrists, I lay her hands above her head, watching her stretched out and at my mercy. Just how I always want her.
