62. Haven
Chapter 62
Haven
“Dirty,” I say, wiggling my toes.
“Yes, you most certainly are,” Bastian says behind me. “That’s why we have to take a nice, hot shower.”
I tilt my head up. Stare at the big shower with its black tiles and black floor and black ceiling. Take an involuntary step back.
“It’s so dark in there.” I turn around, shaking my head, but Bastian catches me in his arm as I try to duck out and herds me all the way inside.
“Well you’re not getting any more paint on my things,” he says. “It looks like I killed Roger Rabbit out there.”
“You killed Roger Rabbit?”
“You have no idea who that is, do you?”
I shake my head.
He cups my face in his hand. “Haven, do I have your permission to clean you up?”
Clean sounds nice. All I can smell is grass and mud and the chemical stench of paint.
I nod fervently. “Yessir.”
“Okay.” Bastian drops his gaze, eyes unfocused for a moment, and then he nods. “Turn around. Face the wall.”
I shuffle around and put my hands on the wall, spreading my legs a little.
When Bastian bursts out laughing, I look at him over my shoulder, frowning. “What?”
“Are you expecting me to frisk you?”
“Oh.” I drop my hands. “Sorry.”
He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. “This is so fucked. Okay, face the wall.” He snaps his fingers, pointing, and I quickly look ahead.
The black marble is exquisite. Feint lines of white and gray weave through the glossy, midnight-black stone. I put my hand out to trace one of those lines, clothes rustling behind me.
“This needs to come off,” Bastian says, tugging gently at the trash bag stuck to my skin.
I hesitate and then push my fingers through the plastic just below my throat. Every time I move, the leash attached to the collar around my throat clinks, but I try to ignore it. Bastian said he was going to cut it off.
At least I don’t feel like I’m being strangled anymore.
Bastian rips the plastic off my back, and I shiver as the cool bathroom air touches my skin in new places.
The small of my back.
Between my breasts.
Over my belly.
“Good,” Bastian murmurs, reaching past me to turn on the faucet. “Tell me when it’s the right temperature.”
Water hits the top of my head, and I gasp and step back in a rush so my head is out of the spray.
Right into Bastian.
He catches me, stops me. But our bodies are fused together, and I can feel he’s not wearing a shirt.
“Whoops.”
“It’s okay,” he says in a tight voice that suggests it’s anything but. He steps back, distancing himself, and immediately cool air swirls over my skin where his warmth used to be.
Fuck, I miss it.
But the water is warming up, so I move forward and hold out my palms, tipping my head back.
God, it feels so good.
Every drop that lands on my skin feels like a kiss of late afternoon sunlight.
I hear a soft click, and glance over my shoulder through slitted eyes, seeing Bastian step out of the shower. Steam hazes up the glass between us, but I can see the splotches of paint on his chest just before he turns to leave the bathroom, sliding the door closed behind him.
When I tip my head back, it’s so that the water will hit my face.
I beg it to wash away the dirty thoughts in my mind, too.
How I’d hoped he’d stay in here with me.
Wash me.
Every inch of me. His hands where my hands are. Sliding over my skin. Nails gently scraping, creating a ripple effect that coruscates through my flesh and builds a deep, hard ache in my core.
My mouth opens on a gasp as I slowly peel the stickers off my nipples, as the water drops hit those flushed circles of sensitive, exposed skin.
There’s a bitter taste in my mouth. Body paint.
…eat it, bitch
I turn to spit water out of my mouth, but more rushes in. And then I’m puking, on my hands and knees, retching so hard my stomach hurts.
When I open my eyes, most of it’s gone down the drain. I wash out my mouth, take Bastian’s shower lotion, and lather it over my face, my neck, my breasts, my stomach.
Everywhere.
Paint swirls down the drain, and my feet turn it into the same color as the mud washing off my feet.
My eyes flash open, staring at nothing.
Scat, bitch.
I hear that voice in my head again, but I don’t know who it belongs to.
So gruff, mean. Brittle with hate.
Someone said that to me.
But I buried it.
I buried it so fucking deep.
I wrap myself in one of Bastian’s fluffy towels and pull open the sliding door. He’s perched on the edge of his bed, his phone in one hand, fabric bundled in the other.
He’s so caught up in what he’s doing, he doesn’t notice me right away. I lean back against the door and rap on it with my knuckles.
He lifts his head, giving me a double take.
“You, uh…didn’t see the hoodie?” He stands, sidling past me like he’s scared I’ll give him the plague if we touch, and disappears into the bathroom. He’s back a second later, holding out the same hoodie I wore the last time I was at his house.
“Thanks.” I reach up for the edge of the towel where I tucked it in.
Bastian is busy pulling the door closed, but he stops, his eyes flickering down to my hand. I lick my bottom lip and then tighten my hand on the towel, ducking my head.
My body flinches when he slams the door closed.
What the hell am I doing?
Is it the fucking drugs messing with me, or what? All I can think about is how good it would feel to be wrapped in Bastian’s arms. How tight he’d hold me. How warm his body would be against mine. Everything he’s done for me these past couple of weeks. He’s been so kind, so thoughtful, and I’ve just thrown it back in his face.
Ungrateful.
I pluck the towel free and let it drop to the floor. Cool air glides over my skin, and I pause for a moment, waving my fingers through air as thick as cream.
Lick my lip again, wincing when it stings.
Ouch.
My hand is on the bathroom door. The faucet starts running inside, and I hear the shower door click closed. I hesitate, then slide the door open an inch. Two. Three.
Just enough so I can peek inside.
The air is so much warmer in here, and it flows over my skin as I duck my head in.
Bastian has his back to the door, messing with the faucet. Steam is building up, to stick to the glass door separating us, turning his body into a pale smudge against the black tiles. The foggy air smells like his body wash, and I take a big hit as I slide the door open just enough to step into the bathroom.
My heart is hammering so hard, I swear he could hear it if the shower wasn’t running.
What will he do?
Will he turn me away?
Or will he let me inside with him?
I can feel every tiny water droplet suspended in the air as it cleaves to my skin. Reaching behind me, I fumble for the door, trying to close it without taking my eyes off Bastian’s tall, pale body.
Imagining what’s behind that clouded up glass. If that darker smudge is the hair above his cock. If?—
There’s a loud rapping at the front door.
It feels like someone tapping on my skull.
I gasp, and then Bastian turns to look at the door, and sees me, and I gasp again. My arm wraps around my breasts, the other slides between my legs.
“Shit!” I spin around, hitting my shoulder on the bathroom door as I wrestle my way through it to get out.
“Haven?” Bastian calls after me.
I snatch up the hoodie Bastian left on the bed, tugging it over my head, my legs almost tangling under me as I head for the front door.
But then I stop, because this isn’t my house, and should I be answering Professor Rooke’s?—?
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.
Harder than before. Angry almost.
Who is it?
“Who is it?” I call out, my voice echoing, warbling, so fucking weird in my own ears.
My heart is pounding, and my skin thrums along with each heartbeat.
The knocking stops.
I stand on tiptoes and peer out through the peephole. The only thing out there are a few tastefully lit plants on the edges of the porch, and a whole lot of darkness.
Am I hallucinating?
I grasp the knob, hesitate, and then turn it to make sure it’s locked.
But then I have this sinking feeling that I missed something, so I put my palms on the door and push up onto my toes to look through the peephole again.
Kai’s blood-smeared face is right in front of me.