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“It’s cold,” I hiss.
He gently passes the cloth over me once more. “I know, Baby.”
“You could’ve used warm water,” I grumble, apparently accepting the whole weird situation.
“You’re gonna be sore enough the way it is, the cold might help.” He says it matter-of-factly while climbing out of the bed once more.
“Oh.”
The water runs again for a minute, and when he reappears in the doorway, I realize I can finally close my legs.
And he’s right about one thing at least. As I flatten my legs to the mattress, I’m already aching, inside and out.
Nero stands there, watching me for another moment, before clipping out, “I’m not staying.”
And just like that, it feels like my whole body has been covered by a cold towel.
“Alright,” I whisper my reply and reach for the blankets, pulling them up over my nakedness.
There’s a wet spot on the sheet underneath me, but I’m going to ignore that until he leaves.
I watch in silence as Nero picks up his articles of clothing, pulling them on one by one.
I don’t know why his actions now are making me sad. This is what I expected him to do. Truly, I didn’t think this would suddenly become some sort of loving relationship. I’ve never been foolish enough to hope for that. From anyone.
When he turns to grab his pants, the small bits of light reflect off his back, and I can see discolored marks of scars.
I felt them when I had my limbs wrapped around him, thinking nothing of the raised texture in the moment. Seeing them now, even just in bits and pieces, it’s jarring. There are several.
The urge to ask him about them, to touch them again, dances across my tongue. But I stay quiet.
Nero shrugs his shirt on. “I’m not staying.”
It’s a repeat of what he already said. And its meaning is clear.I’m not stayingis different thanI can’t stay.
He’s choosing to leave. Choosing to walk away.
And since he didn’t acknowledge my reply before, I don’t bother saying anything.
And it’s fine. It really is. Hell, I basically tricked him into taking my virginity. He’s probably dis––I nearly shake my head at that thought. He’s clearlynotdisgusted. In fact, he was the exact opposite of disgusted.
Nero pulls his suit coat on last, and I watch him stuff his tie into the pocket, rather than put it back on.
He’s larger than life standing there at the foot of my bed. Looking dangerous. Like a twisted mix of savior and executioner, wound together to create one confusing and sinful package.
Well, that’s it then.
Opening my mouth, I say the only thing I can think of. “Thank you, Nero.”
And I mean it. I mean it so much.
Nero stares at me, releasing a sigh so long and loud, that it has me tugging the blankets up all the way to my nose.
His cheeks flex as he clenches his jaw. Then he tips his head back and lets out another sigh toward the ceiling. “Goddammit, Payton.”
My lips pinch together. I don’t know what’s happening.
I didn’t think thanking him would be such a misstep, but it’s not like I can take the words back.
