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“Sounds like we have a plan.” Aaron nodded. “But remember, we can always modify it as needed. Just let me know if you want to talk.”
“Okay.”
“How about I get dinner going and you go on up and enjoy a bath? Use those Epsom salts under the sink. I got a couple new scents. And this weekend we can go get groceries together when you’re off work.”
Another bath sounded heavenly. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I could—”
Aaron waved his hand. “I’m positive. You enjoy.”
“Alright. I think I will.” Brynn slid off the stool. “Being your fake wife definitely has its perks,” she teased, which was a first for her.
His eyes widened and then darkened. Aaron reached out and crooked his finger under her chin, tilting her head towards him ever so slightly as his focus remained locked on her. Her body buzzed with frantic energy at his touch. Tension thickened the air, making it impossible to draw a full breath.
“You asked me to be honest?” he said.
“Y-yes?”
“I’d love to give you a full-body massage after your bath until you’re so relaxed you fall asleep.” His voice was rough and low. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Why was there a sudden surge of wetness between her thighs at his words?
He dropped his hand and got up, heading over to the fridge presumably to start dinner. Brynn was still reeling, trying to get her bearings. The man knocked her off her axis constantly until she wasn’t sure which was up or down anymore. Until she was floating somewhere in the unknown.
She gathered her wits and headed towards the stairs, halting at the entrance to the living room before turning back, Aaron’s gaze locked on Brynn. A thrill shot through her that she couldn’t explain at having captured his attention.
“Aaron?”
“Hmm?”
“You really are the best fake husband. I hope you know that. You’re going to make some woman very happy one day.”
Surprise reflected in his gaze before it turned to determination. “That means a lot coming from you.”
Brynn spun round and made her way upstairs, trying not to think of his big strong hands rubbing all over her body. But it was no use. The image festered until—while surrounded in hot water in a steam-filled bathroom with a locked door—Brynn’s hands wandered from her neck, then down her chest. She lifted one heavy breast, closing her eyes and imagining it was Aaron’s palms instead. Heat a thousand times hotter than the bathwater ignited in her core, and she squeezed her thighs together as her fingertips gently grazed over her torso. Pinching her nipple, a small moan drifted into the room.
Brynn froze, eyes snapping open as embarrassment burned her cheeks. What am I doing? Shame crashed over her. Is this lust? Does this make me wicked? Is something wrong with me? Had she just betrayed Aaron by thinking those thoughts of him?
Paul’s words repeated in her mind: You’re a filthy whore of the world who will bring eternal damnation down on your own head.
Brynn shook her head. No. He couldn’t control her anymore.
I’m a good person.
But what was going on with her body lately? Who could she talk to? Pippa? Her stomach dropped at the thought. Too embarrassing. In the compound, no one ever talked about such things. Perhaps there was something wrong with her. Maybe she was a deviant.
There was one way she could find out.
