Chapter 24 #2
I glance down at Leni as I enter, but she doesn’t even stir. Not a twitch either when I lay her down gently on one side of the bed and start unbuckling her heels. When I see the angry blisters on her feet, I wince. Poor baby. She probably hasn’t said a word about the pain.
I clear the flowers and robe off the other side of the bed, dropping them on the nearby couch.
Then I grab a small face towel from the bathroom and wet it with cool water.
Back at the bed, I sit at the foot, lift her leg onto my lap, and slowly run the damp cloth over her abused feet.
Over and over, careful not to apply too much pressure so I don’t wake her.
She sleeps through it all.
When I’m satisfied that her feet are as comfortable as I can make them, I place them back on the bed, then stand back and study her bright red dress. The color is stunning against her skin, but she can’t be comfortable in that—it’s tight and restrictive and probably cutting off her circulation.
Should I…?
The internal debate is brief but fierce. On one hand, she’ll be more comfortable. On the other hand, taking it off would require a level of self-control I’m not sure I possess right now. I’m not a fucking masochist.
Still, as I shrug out of my tie and jacket, my gaze keeps drifting back to her, knowing she’s probably miserable. “Damn it.” The words come out as a frustrated mutter as I approach the bed. I can’t leave her trapped like that, not when she’s out cold.
I lean over, hovering above her, mind racing with how the hell I’m supposed to peel her out of it without crossing a line—when suddenly her eyes pop open and nearly stop my fucking heart.
But she only blinks those gray eyes at me, groggy and unbothered. “You’re so hot without a shirt,” she mumbles before rolling onto her stomach and passing right back out.
I watch her for several heartbeats, my pulse hammering in my throat, but she’s definitely unconscious again. Fuck. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I lean down and slowly pull the zipper down her spine. There. That should give her some relief.
After a brief hesitation, I reach for the clasp of her bra and undo it too. My cock stirs despite my best efforts to keep this clinical.
I spin away immediately, grabbing my erection through my pants, squeezing from base to tip as I fight the sweet urge to go into the bathroom to take care of this problem.
It’s one thing to jerk off in the privacy of my own bathroom at home but another to do it when she’s right there, vulnerable and—
Cold shower. Now.
I strip the rest of my clothes and force myself under the coldest spray I can stand, the icy water doing wonders to shock my blood back where it belongs—in my brain instead of my cock. For a while, at least.
Because the second I walk back into the bedroom, everything unravels.
She’s naked. Completely.
Stark. Fucking. Naked.
My breath seizes, my cock going rock-hard again as my gaze catches on her heart-shaped ass and trails down her shapely thighs.
What the fuck. My eyes dart to the floor where her dress and underwear lie discarded next to the bed.
She must have woken up again while I was torturing myself under cold water.
Fucking hell.
I stand there frozen for several seconds, throat dry, veins thrumming with heat while my brain completely empties of any pure thoughts. My fists clench involuntarily as I imagine gripping those hips, pulling her back against me, burying myself so deep inside her that—
My eyes squeeze shut, but the image is burned into my retinas.
Jesus Christ.
Heart hammering, I force myself forward and pull the covers up to her neck, being extra careful not to wake her as I hide the temptation from my view.
Then I head for the living area, planning to spend the night on the couch where I can’t see her, can’t smell her, can’t be tempted further, and can finally convince myself to think about anything other than my fiancée’s naked body.
But as I step out, the suite’s door swings open and in stumbles a giggling Elira with Maximo close behind. They freeze at the sight of me in just the towel slung low around my hips.
Maximo dramatically takes a step in front of his pregnant wife, blocking her view of me. “What are you doing out here, fucker?” he growls.
“Relax. Just grabbing some water,” I lie smoothly, making my way to the fridge. “What are you doing here? Thought you guys were giving us privacy?”
“It’s my fault.” Elira peeks around Maximo’s shoulder with an apologetic smile. “I wanted to see the light show. Then we went for a walk, lost track of time, and when we got back, every room here and at the nearby hotels was booked out.”
“So we came back here. Don’t worry, Elira’s room is at the other end.” He points with a wink. “We won’t hear you.”
I grab the bottle of water, mind racing with the heavy realization that I’m trapped in that bedroom with naked Leni tonight. No escape to the couch in the main living area. No space to put between myself and temptation.
Fuck.
When I get back into the room, I drop the towel and pull on a pair of casual pants and a shirt. The small couch in here is clearly designed for decoration rather than actual human use, and after several minutes of trying to find a position that doesn’t involve my knees around my ears, I give up.
My gaze drifts to the bed, equal parts trepidation and excitement barreling through me at the thought that, if I want even a shred of rest tonight, I’ll have to lie down next to her.
You can do this. Just… don’t touch her.
Heart thudding, I climb over the covers, my muscles locked up with tension as I stare at the ceiling.
Think clean thoughts.
Think about work. Think about what you’ll do when you find the thief stealing your meds.
I’ll peel his skin from his flesh strip by strip while he screams for mercy he’ll never receive.
The violent fantasy does its job, cutting through my fog of arousal. My muscles relax marginally as I imagine various creative ways to make the bastard pay.
Pliers to pull out his teeth. Blowtorch to—
She rolls over.
Her warmth hits me first, followed by that intoxicating scent that’s pure Leni.
And then she’s wrapping around me like I’m her personal pillow—her hand sliding up to rest on my chest, her head tucking perfectly under my chin, her leg draping over mine with the familiarity of years instead of minutes.
My breath catches and stops. Her warm exhales tickle my neck as she breathes, and I go still, my heart pounding so loudly now I’m afraid it will wake her. But she just sighs contentedly and burrows closer, her fingers curling into my shirt like I’m her anchor in whatever dream she’s lost in.
I don’t sleep. Not a second. Not with her body pressed against mine like this. Not with every breath bringing her scent deeper into my lungs. And definitely not with the insistent throbbing ache of my cock that refuses to get the message that I can’t do a damn thing to relieve it.
Time crawls by with excruciating slowness as I blink up at the ceiling. I try to return to my violent fantasies—cutting off fingers, breaking bones, creative uses for car battery—but it doesn’t work.
Because she’s a restless sleeper. Just when I start getting lost in a particularly satisfying torture scenario, she shifts in my arms, tightening her grip, her hair tickling my chin, making my cock weep with precum and dragging me right back to square one.
It’s torture.
Sweet, agonizing torture that makes me question every decision that led to this moment.
By the time dawn starts creeping through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the bed, I’m still lying there. Rigid. Wide awake. Half in love and half in agony.
Then finally, she stirs one final time, stretching languidly over my chest as she mumbles incoherently. I watch intently as her eyes flutter open, those slate-gray orbs eerily pale in the morning light.
I inhale sharply, and her gaze lands on me, hazy and more than a little confused. I try for a smirk, to play it casual, though I’m pretty sure it’s closer to a grimace. “Ah… finally awake, my little tentatrice?” Temptress.