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Chapter Seven
Hallie
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THE BEDROOM DOOR BURSTopen, hitting the wall behind with force. Tam’s footsteps were more like stomps, though I noted the slight scrape of one foot as he seemed to favour the other, and he muttered as he crossed the room to the bathroom.
I curled myself into a tight ball under the bedcovers, my breath trapped in my lungs. I hadn’t even needed to look at him, and already I could sense his anger radiating. I recognised this kind of reaction from having lived with my father my whole life.
Something had gone wrong during whatever business meetup he’d been to that night.
Would he take his fury out on me? I didn’t doubt that he had the capacity for violence inside him—his reputation for being ruthless was well known among our community.
I figured my safest bet was keeping still and pretending I was asleep. Hopefully, he’d have forgotten I was even there, though I doubted it.
The rush of water hitting the large shower tray came through the closed door, and I allowed myself to breathe. Perhaps a few minutes under hot water would help him relax. I knew I always felt better after I’d put myself in some water. I’d done exactly that earlier this evening when he’d been out of the house. The bubble bath, combined with the couple of glasses of wine I’d treated myself to out of Tam’s fridge, had helped me relax, and I’d actually managed to sleep, until I’d been so woken by Tam coming home.
There was no way I’d go back to sleep while he was in there. I strained my ears, trying to pick up on his next move so I could be ready for him. I remembered what he’d said earlier about what he’d do to me when he got back. Had that been part of my reason for getting in the bath? If I was going to have to go through with this, I didn’t want him to treat me with disgust. Perhaps I should have. Perhaps I should be considering going in the other direction and refusing to wash until our month was up and he agreed to marry me. But I had the feeling if Tam wanted me clean, he’d just pick me up and throw me over his shoulder and chuck me in the bath himself.
I’d never seen him in anything less than fully dressed, and for a moment my mind wandered, wondering what his body looked like beneath his clothes. I had no doubt that he was muscular, but was his skin free from tattoos and piercings? There weren’t many men around here who didn’t end up covered in tats—I’d always wanted a couple myself, but my father had frowned at the idea. Funny how the idea of a bit of ink sullying his precious daughter’s skin hadn’t sat right with him, yet he was more than happy to hand me over in full to Tam Cornell to do whatever he wanted with me. I didn’t want to feel the twinge of bitterness that nipped at my heart, but I did.
What time was it? I squinted at my phone screen. Jesus. Almost four in the morning. What had he been doing all this time? Was he showering to come to bed or go back out again?
I’d made sure I’d re-dressed after my bath, so I’d worn bottoms and a top to bed. I was glad of that protection now, that extra layer of cloth between us. Even though I knew we had marriage looming in our futures, the thought of being intimate with a man like Tam Cornell made me nervous.
The thunder of the shower continued, and beneath that came a second noise, a rhythmical one, like he was striking something, together with a grunt.
What was he still doing in there?
I rolled over to face the door. From the crack of light between the door and the frame it was clear he hadn’t shut it properly when he’d gone in there—no wonder the shower was so loud. The noises I’d heard had grown louder, too. Was he hurt? Angry?
My curiosity got the better of me. I slid out of bed, and tiptoed, bare-footed, to the door. I paused at the gap and then gently nudged it with my hand, pushing it open a fraction more. Warm, scented steam filled the room, but I was able to see the glass shower stall opposite. Tam’s shape was also visible, though blurred through the glass. He had one hand braced on the shower wall. His head was hung, his shoulders rounded, allowing the water to drum on the back of his neck. I had a view of his muscular biceps, broad shoulders, thick thighs, the peachy curve of his ass. The crop of dark hair now wet from the shower. I couldn’t make out any detail because of the steamy shower screen, but it was enough to send my imagination spiralling.
I suddenly realised what the noises were I was hearing. Fuck. Tam Cornell was masturbating in the shower, and I was standing there like a peeping Tom, watching him. My pussy clenched, and I pressed my thighs together, a pulse of unexpected pleasure thudding through my core. But with it came something else—disappointment? Hurt? Rejection? Hadn’t he said he was going to come back here and fuck me? This was clearly something he’d needed to get out of his system, but instead of coming to bed and doing what he’d promised, he’d put a wall and a door between us and decided to take care of things himself.
A part of me was relieved. I didn’t want my first time to be with Tam Cornell in a ferocious mood, taking out whatever anger he held inside him on me. But the other part of me wondered what was so wrong with me that he’d rather jerk himself off in the shower than get into bed with me. I didn’t think it was that he wasn’t attracted to me—I’d seen how he’d looked at me that evening before he’d left, and I might be inexperienced, but I wasn’t completely naïve.
His heavy breaths turned to grunts. He seemed to draw into himself, becoming more hunched, as though all his physical being was pulled into that centre of his cock.
I could barely make out the thick length of his dick, hidden by his large hand as it moved faster and faster, but I pictured the smooth, swollen head, and the ridge leading onto the long, veined shaft.
He let out an expletive and slammed his other fist against the wall. It only took a matter of seconds, but then his body relaxed, his shoulders dropping and his head lifting back up, and I realised he’d reached his climax.
Aware he’d most likely be getting out now, and not wanting to be caught, I spun on my bare feet and hurried back to the bed.
The shower turned off, and I sucked in a breath. I pictured him stepping out, his near-black hair wet and dripping, his solid body running with water. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to force the mental image, plus what I’d just seen, out of my head. Even though this was the man I was destined to marry, I did not want to be attracted to him. I could look at him and consider him an attractive man—which he clearly was, despite being so much older than me—but that was different to finding him attractive.
A girl could lose her head if she allowed lust to cloud her judgement, and while I knew what the score was as far as this being a practical arrangement to secure the futures of our two families, I didn’t want to lose myself at the same time.
