Chapter 40
More wrong
Scarlett
In the movies, women step out of the tub, immediately grab their towel and wrap their hair, then put on their robe.
They don’t rinse off the soap or the shampoo.
Honestly, I have no idea how other women finish up their baths, but if I don’t rinse, the soap from the bubbles and oils I used will cling to my skin and hair, which will not only make me think I’m dirty when I’m not, but the products will clog my pores.
The shower in the suite is one of those smart ones. The handle for adjusting the water isn’t under the showerhead, but instead, it’s located right as I step inside the glass enclosure. This way, I can adjust the water temperature without the water hitting my body.
I stick out my hand to test the temperature. “Perfect,” I mutter.
I step under the water, close my eyes, and rinse, thinking about my assignment overseas and how it’s probably the last time this year I’ll get to bathe in luxury.
My mother comes from what is considered the third world. In such places, hot water is a luxury because the boilers can’t heat when there’s no electricity. Oftentimes, there’s no power or access to it is restricted. Sometimes, there is also no water.
I open my eyes and see Endo lying on the bed.
What in the world?
I cover my breasts and my vagina, crossing one leg over the other while my face burns. I might not be able to see that I’m blushing, but I suspect I’m as red as a ripe strawberry.
I thought the wooden shutters were a decorative wall partition! Why would anyone design shutters that open so they can watch a person in the bathroom? Gah.
Hands tucked under his head, eyes wide open, Endo is definitely not sleeping. He is watching me shower. There’s a bulge in his pants.
I shut off the water, wrap my hair, and put on a robe, then remind myself not to stomp outside like a scorned goat. Instead, I want to handle this situation with some grace.
I round the corner, and as I do, the shutters start to close.
Endo holds the remote, a big smile on his face. “I couldn’t help myself.”
I throw up my hands. “Right. Because why would you be decent when you could be a creep?”
“Exactly my thoughts.”
I shake my head and point at the shutters. “Why would anyone install remote-controlled shutters like this?”
“Because most people like watching other naked people. It’s sexy. Some people are exhibitionists. Others are voyeurs.”
“You’re saying I’m the only one who finds this odd?”
“Yes. This is a honeymoon suite.”
“People stay here on purpose?”
Endo chuckles. “No, silly. People fuck and fantasize that they’re on their honeymoon. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”
I hadn’t considered that. “If that’s the case, I would prefer to be the one watching.” Oh shit. Did I really say that? I did. Yes, I did. “It’s only fair,” I add, as if that’ll make it less awkward. I think I’ll quit talking now.
Endo doesn’t bat an eyelash. He slides off the bed and invades my personal space. His hand lands possessively on my hip. “You want a show?”
I nod. No going back now. No retreat.
I unbutton the top button of his shirt. When he doesn’t stop me, I continue one button at a time, all the way down to his waist, where I tug and release the shirt from his slacks.
We don’t break eye contact. It’s both daring and intimate. I don’t know if I’m blinking. I want to kiss him, but I don’t because he’s like gasoline on my flame.
“Are you sure the cameras are disabled?” I ask.
“I’d kill anyone who saw you in the shower.”
“Men have seen me nude before.”
Endo grinds his teeth. In the absence of gum, I fear he’ll crack his enamel. “You shouldn’t talk about other men while you’re with me.”
“Why not?” I pull down his zipper. Endo wears boxers.
My knuckles brush against his hardness. I do my best to make it appear like an accident because I’m losing myself in his smothering gaze.
“Because it makes me want to claim you.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Fuck, Scarlett, don’t tell me I can’t. It’s like rubbing catnip on a gazelle and telling the lion he can’t have her.”
“Is it because I can’t have you that I want you?” I ask.
He takes the belt out of his pants and hooks it around my neck, then tightens it. I can barely breathe. I’m ashamed to admit, my core ignites and arousal coats his fingers when they slip under the robe and touch me between my legs.
As he works me with his fingers, the robe parts, exposing more skin.
Endo doesn’t finish me off. He sticks out his tongue and licks his fingers clean of my arousal, then releases the belt he wrapped around my neck.
“You want me?” he asks. “I’m going in the shower.
If you get in bed, I’ll fuck you when I get out.
” He kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “If not, Slada will guard you when you’re outside.
Be smart, Scarlett. My half brother is not your friend, even if he appears to be.
I’m the devil you know, and you’re still alive and unharmed. Yes?”
“Yes, okay.”
Endo walks into the bathroom. A minute later, I hear the shower.
I pick out a red blouse with black slacks, then search for the remote control for the shutters. I remember Endo placed it on the bed, but it’s not there anymore. I bet he took it with him. Bastard.
I hear the water hitting the tile, and the wooden shutters open.
Behind them, Endo holds up the remote and then throws it on the dry floor outside the shower.
He gets under the stream and closes his eyes, throwing back his head.
With his hands on his hips, his legs shoulder-width apart, he lets me look at him.
Water runs down his hairy chest and over his muscular, also hairy, abdominals. Patches without hair show clearly. They’re scars from bullet wounds. This man is sexier than I thought he would be. His penis, thick, tall, and hard, curves upward. Anatomically, Endo Macarley is perfect.
He drizzles shampoo into his palm. “You done looking yet, or should I turn around for the rear view?” His voice is muffled behind the glass. Before I answer, Endo turns. It was a rhetorical question. This man won’t let me command him in any way. He will do as he pleases whenever he pleases.
I don’t need to think about whether I want to screw Endo. I do. I want to writhe under him, struggle as he pins me down and mercilessly pounds into me. I imagine he’s a relentless, commanding lover. If he’s gentle, saying “please” and “thank you,” I’ll be disappointed.
“I like what I see,” I tell him.
“You’re welcome to it.”