Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
REON
“Caterpillar,” I say softly as I step down the hallway, shedding my clothes as I walk.
“Shut up, Reon. I need to shower and sleep.”
“I can help with that,” I offer from her doorway, where I stand completely naked. She shakes her head, her hair falling out of the bun as she pulls out the tie.
“No, you’ve already done that,” she replies as she starts for the bathroom. Pausing at the threshold, she glares at me from over her shoulder. And even with the alcohol running through my blood, I know she’s angry at me.
“Um, Lilith, why is a naked man standing in your doorway?” someone asks from behind me.
I turn to see a lady standing at the door with a bag of food. She walks in and places it on the counter.
“Aunt Linda, this is Reon, my supposed husband.” I look back at her with a smirk.
“I like the sound of that,” I say.
“Of what?” she asks. Pulling a towel off the rack, she wraps it around herself, then grabs another one off a shelf.
“The husband part. I like when you call me that. It’s like you’re talking dirty to me.”
“No, it’s not. Now, cover yourself. You’re naked.”
“I don’t think your boyfriend will like that,” I say, waggling my brows.
“My boyfriend?” Lilith asks, confused.
She laughs when I indicate my very hard cock, which is very interested in being inside of her.
“Did you just call your cock my boyfriend?”
“Yep.” I nod.
“So, then you’re what?”
“I’m your fucking husband. We established this already.”
“So…” the lady in the kitchen, who can more than likely see my bare ass, says.
Lilith sighs and hands me a towel. “Cover yourself. And go take a shower. I can smell the alcohol leaching from your pores.”
“Call it your boyfriend,” I tell her, leaning into her space.
A small smile breaks on her lips. “No. Now, shower.”
She steps past me, while I wrap the towel around my waist and turn around as she walks into the kitchen. Her aunt says something to her in a hushed tone, and both of them look at me.
“I’m not showering unless you join me,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.
“Why are you here anyway? I told you to call like a normal person, yet you came over after I expressly asked you not to.”
“I’m your husband,” I remind her.
She holds up a finger, and her aunt busies herself with the groceries.
“One, did you drug me to make that deal, or did you do something behind my back? Two, I never invited you over.”
“Three, get in the fucking shower,” I growl.
I stalk to her bathroom and turn the shower on cold and wash away all the fucking alcohol I drank all night.
Scrubbing myself, I stand under the spray, letting it wake me up when I only want to sleep, with her right next to me.
Grabbing my cell from the bathroom counter, I find her number and send her a text.
Me: I’m in the shower, and I plan to stay. This is your notice.
“Reon,” she calls out, and I grin as I step back under the water.
The door swings open, and when I glance over, there she stands, naked, the towel pooled in a heap at her feet.
When she opens the shower door and steps inside, she says, “You aren’t allowed to touch me.
Tell me you understand.” My gaze rakes over her, from her toes, which have chipped pink nail polish on them, to the scrapes on her legs, and all the way up to her arm, where the bandage is still tightly wrapped.
When I finally make it to her eyes, she’s watching me.
“No touching. I mean it, Reon.”
“What’s your favorite day?” I ask as I move out of the spray, and she steps under it. After grabbing the soap, she lathers it up and starts to wash herself.
“Favorite day? That’s weird.”
“No, it’s not. Tell me your favorite day.”
“Wednesday,” she says with a smile.
“Why?”
“Because it gives you a feel for the rest of the week. Monday and Tuesday are the build-up, Wednesday is the settle-in day, and Thursday and Friday are the end of the work week before the weekend.” She closes her eyes before opening them and locking them on mine.
“My favorite color is red. What’s yours? ”
“Chocolate.” As I go to reach for her, those chocolate eyes of hers narrow at me, and I drop my hand to my side.
“And I already knew red was your favorite color, Caterpillar. Just as I know you twitch before you fall asleep, and the fact that you love it when I drag my fingers over your face before I lean in to bite you. Or even when I place my hands around your throat. You love the color red because it’s the color of blood. ”
She turns, giving me her back, her ass on full display. “You can’t touch it,” she reminds me from over her shoulder as she washes her face.
“Just once?” I ask, my hand reaching out toward her.
“No. And if you don’t listen, you will never touch it again.”
“That’s unfair.”
“No, what’s unfair is saying we’re married when we aren’t.”
“But we are,” I insist, grinning at her.
She gives me an unimpressed look, steps out of the shower, reaches back in, and turns the water off, leaving me standing here.
“We are not. I would remember marrying you.” Applying some sort of cream on her face, she stares at me through the mirror.
“You don’t need to remember, but I do have a ring for you.”
“I would remember. Care to tell me the truth this time?”
I step out and grab the towel she gave me last time as I come up behind her. “Can I touch you now?”
She turns so her body is directly in front of mine, then says, “No,” and saunters into the bedroom.
I huff out a breath.
Fuck.
I need her.
Her boyfriend needs her.
Her husband needs her.
When I leave the bathroom, I find her climbing into bed, wearing an old T-shirt.
“You can sleep on the couch,” she says.
“But I want to sleep in the same bed with my wife.”
“And I wanted to never be involved in the Hunt.”
“Why?” I ask. “You like blood.”
“Not my own.” She rolls her eyes before she lies down.
“Would you like me to create your own Hunt?”
Sitting back up at my words, she asks, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, do you want to hunt?”
“Hunt?” She cocks her head.
“Yes, I can do that for you. I know that forest like the back of my hand. Do you want a Hunt as a wedding gift?”
Her eyes go wide, and she starts to nod but stops. “We aren’t married,” she insists once again. “But I will accept the Hunt on one condition—”
“What? Name it?”
“You tell me why you think we’re married.”
I smile as I walk to the couch and call over my shoulder, “I’ll tell you tomorrow when you are rested enough to deal with the outrage.”
“How do you know there will be outrage?” she says through gritted teeth, and I just chuckle before I climb onto her two-seater couch, where my feet hang off the end.
And I pass out.