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“Jesus. What time is it there?”
“Only midnight.”
“You'd better go wake him up,” she said. “You need to ask him why he wanted a wife in the first place.”
“But what if he drugs me with his cock again?” I asked nastily.
“Then bottle that shit up and sell it,” she said, and hung up. Sadie liked to hang up at dramatic points in conversations. She said it kept her life more like a Hollywood drama and less like a seedy, unfinished biopic. I said it was really fucking annoying, but what did I know? I was a ditz.
I shut my phone off and sat on the toilet seat for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. When that didn't work, I resolved to have a shower. Showers always helped me think. Also I was extra gross.
But when I tiptoed back into our bedroom, I found myself slowing down and trying to decide what to do. If I took a shower in the bathroom that had to be around here somewhere, he was probably going to wake up and want to fuck me. And for the first time, I found myself not wanting that. The experience we shared in the limo was still too new, too raw and at the surface. I just wanted to take a shower and go back to sleep. So what turned men off from sex?
I smiled. Talking.
I scrambled into bed next to Anton and gave him a hard poke in the side.
He woke almost instantly, inhaling sharply and twitching out of sleep so violently that I almost felt bad for him. Almost. In the dim light, he turned and blinked at me.
“Felicia,” he said. “What's wrong?”
“Why did you want a wife?” I said.
He blinked again. “What?” he asked.
“I'm curious. I want to know why you wanted to marry someone you didn't even know?”
Sagging back into his pillow, Anton rubbed a hand over his face. “Felicia...” he said.
I knew that tone of voice. The worst tone. “Nuh-uh,” I told him. “You said you would listen to whatever I had to say.”
“Yes, but I never promised to answer your questions.”
Fuck. He was right. And there was nothing I could do about that, was there?
“Fuck you,” I said. “Eat a bag of dicks. I'm going to go take a shower.”
I barely heard him say, clearly amused, “How big of a bag?” because I'd finally spotted the bathroom over his shoulder on the other side of the bed. I scrambled out and stalked to it, not caring that I was naked. It was too dark to see much. I opened the door, switched on the light, and let the door slam behind me. Just so he knew he was dealing with a mature and measured person.
The bathroom was just as ridiculous as the rest of the suite. Shaded lamps on the walls softly illuminated granite counter tops and marble flooring. A huge tub sat next to the vanities, and an enormous glass shower stall that was probably the biggest pain in the ass to clean dominated one corner of the room. I made a beeline for it and turned the water on, making sure it was steaming hot before I stepped inside.
The jet of water hit my skin and I felt myself finally relaxing. Not relaxing as I had after the orgasm Anton had given me in the limo—that had been, looking back, an almost frightening experience—but as though I were finally centering. I reached out and grabbed the soap, and the scent of spearmint and rosemary tickled my nose. Gratefully, I began to scrub myself down, letting the hot water soothe my tense and aching muscles.
The sound of the door opening made me tense up again.
“Dammit!” I said, turning and glaring at Anton through the glass doors. “Can't I just have a shower in peace?”
He looked amused as he began to disrobe—a short task since he was only wearing a pair of silken boxers. “I thought you wanted to know why I wanted a wife?” he said.
I scowled at him and stuck my head under the shower spray. “I do,” I told him. “Are you going to tell me?”
He didn't reply, simply opened the shower stall and stepped in.
Of course. What a dick.
My haughty ire probably would have had more impact if I 'd been able to keep myself from snatching a peek at his naked body.
Yeah, I thought as I tried to keep my glance cursory, and what a dick it is.
