Chapter 12 Marfil
The next morning, the tattoo hurt like hell.
I had moved around in the night and ended up sleeping right on top of it.
In the shower, I realized it was impossible to clean it; I couldn’t reach.
There was no way I was going to be able to wash it and put lotion on it three times a day on my own.
I would have to ask my handsome bodyguard, a thought that put me in a good mood and even eased some of my pain, psychologically speaking, at least.
I pulled my hair up, and since it was Sunday and I didn’t have plans to go anywhere, I put on a leotard to avoid anything touching my tattoo, and slipped some gray sweatpants over it.
As I walked into the kitchen, I was instantly met with the delicious smell of Sebastian’s coffee and freshly cooked pancakes.
He had his back to me, but when I saw him dressed in gray sweatpants like mine and a simple black shirt, I had the urge to take them off him and search for all the secrets hidden in his tattoos.
“Good morning,” I said, taking a seat at the island as I gathered my thoughts. I hadn’t forgotten I was still mad at him for having ratted me out to my father. But I had to be honest: I didn’t usually stay angry for long, much less with a handsome guy who kept me safe and made me breakfast.
Sebastian turned around and set a plate of pancakes on the counter. “Eat,” he said, warm and friendly as ever.
I poured some milk into a mug, then placed it in the microwave for a few seconds. As I waited, I stood right beside him while he flipped another batch of pancakes.
“Do you always make such elaborate breakfasts?” I asked as I dipped my finger in a drip of honey and brought it to my lips.
“It’s just pancakes, Marfil—you mix milk, flour, and sugar, that’s it.”
I took my warm milk from the microwave, then turned to him and said, “Be grateful I even got up to drink this.”
“Breakfast is the most important…”
“Meal of the day, I know,” I said, finishing his sentence. “But I prefer to sleep as long as possible.”
“That says a lot about you.”
“That I’m charming, for example?” I laughed at my own joke, since he wasn’t going to do it, and sat back down at the kitchen island.
He finished making the pancakes, which were apparently all for me, then leaned against the counter, coffee in hand.
“Eat,” he barked with a glacial stare.
“Don’t you get bored being here all day with me?”
“It’s my job.”
“And why did you decide to become a bodyguard?”
Ignoring my question, Sebastian walked over to the cupboard, picked up a glass, and filled it with water before returning to his original spot.
“How are the pancakes?”
I chewed slowly as I openly observed him.
“Delicious. Do you not like questions?”
“Do you not get tired of talking all the time? A little silence is nice sometimes.”
I pretended to consider his question.
“No, I don’t ever get tired of talking. Silence is boring. Why did you decide to become a bodyguard?”
Sebastian stared blankly at me, then took a step forward and, resting his palms on the counter, bent his head slightly to look me in the eye. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you…”
I felt a shiver as I contemplated whether he was being serious. My mind went blank, and I responded with the first thought that popped into my head.
“With kisses?”
Sebastian blinked in disbelief and sat back down.
“Marfil, just eat.”
I smiled, pleased with myself. “Doesn’t your girlfriend miss you? You’re here all day with me, the poor thing must be going crazy,” I said casually, waving my fork and congratulating myself for being so subtle in my desperate attempt to get information out of this man.
Sebastian surprised me with a faint smile. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Don’t worry—no one is missing me.”
Inside, I was dancing the conga.
“I’m just a good person like that, concerning myself with people I don’t even know.”
“Right,” he said, taking out his cell phone and glancing at the screen.
An interesting idea then popped into my head. “Technically, Sebastian… your job is to take care of me, right?” He didn’t answer, so I went on, “But if I could take care of myself, that would make your job easier, right?”
“I don’t like where you’re going with this.”
I set my mug down on the counter and looked at him very seriously. “I didn’t like what happened last night with Regan.”
“I’ll say it again: It’s my job.”
“I don’t mean the fact that you intervened, which I didn’t enjoy, but I at least have to thank you for… I’m talking about the feeling of not being able to get him off me on my own.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes, waiting for me to continue.
“That move you made on him, or on me the other day. You’re fast, and deadly. I’d love to be fast and deadly,” I added, emphasizing each word.
Sebastian looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Marfil, I think I’ve reached my limits on attempting to understand the things that come out of your mouth.”
I glared at him. “If I knew how to defend myself, maybe I would’ve never been kidnapped.
Has that ever occurred to you? Maybe I could’ve done something to buy time and could’ve escaped to get help.
And maybe yesterday that idiot wouldn’t have trapped me against the counter, blocking me so I couldn’t do anything besides wait for him to leave me alone or for you to turn up and make him.
If I knew how to defend myself, I would feel safer in dangerous situations, don’t you think?
You never stop reminding me that there are people who want to hurt me, and it’s true, but without you all I can do is scream if I get into trouble, like some damsel in distress. I hate that.”
Sebastian studied me. “What is it that you want, exactly?”
“I want you to teach me self-defense,” I said.
Sebastian didn’t respond with a resounding no. Instead, he seemed to consider the idea for a few seconds. “What do I get out of it?”
Wow, I hadn’t expected that.
“I can pay you.”
“I’m not interested in money. Your father is already paying me plenty.”
“What do you want?”
Sebastian set his cup on the counter and, resting his arms beside it, leaned over to look me in the eye. “Three hours,” he said after thinking it over.
I stared at him, not understanding.
“Three hours to myself, during which you will stay here, at home, without leaving or getting into trouble.”
“You’re asking me for free time?”
Sebastian nodded.
“Listen, if it were up to me, you could take all the days off you want…”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He smiled, and I admired the dimples in his cheeks.
“I’m just being a good Samaritan. I don’t want to exploit you.”
“Three hours and the promise that you’ll stay put.”
It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Also, three hours alone was a gift for me as well.
“Done,” I said, holding out my hand to shake on it.
He stared at me for a second, and I watched, spellbound, as my hand disappeared beneath his long, strong fingers. His handshake was soft, but I made sure to keep mine firm.
“When do we start?” I asked excitedly.
Sebastian hesitated. “Three days, once your tattoo has healed a bit… I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and it sounded more threatening than sweet.
My God, what was I getting myself into?
I spent the rest of the day studying in my room for midterms coming up…
for the most part. I also spent a good portion of that time contemplating what to do about my tattoo’s aftercare.
I had to lotion it, and I didn’t know if it would be a good idea to ask Sebastian.
Not because he might say no, just the opposite, in fact.
Finally, seeing that there truly was no way I could reach it on my own, I went and gently knocked on his door, which he opened immediately.
“How’s it going?” I asked in a friendly tone.
“What do you want?” he asked, patiently observing me as he leaned against the doorframe.
“I tried to put lotion on my tattoo, but I can’t reach. Can you help me?”
Sebastian looked at the lotion I had in my hand and sighed. “Come into the bathroom,” he ordered, turning his back to me.
We crossed into what was now his bathroom, where he showered, shaved, got undressed… Seeing his products caused butterflies in my stomach.
My God, how pathetic. What had this man done to my neurons?
Since I was wearing a backless leotard, there was no need to take off anything except for the loose cardigan I’d slipped on. I stood in front of the mirror with my back to him, waiting with anticipation.
He proceeded to wash his hands, wet a washcloth, and lather it with glycerin soap. “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered, almost as delicately as his touch.
I don’t know if I was the only one who felt it, but suddenly the four walls seemed to close in on us; the space became smaller, filled with his presence, his scent, which flooded every corner.
I had goose bumps, chilled from the cold water and his fingertips on my bare skin, which caused an instant, involuntary reaction in my body.
I blushed as Sebastian’s eyes wandered down to the reflection of my breasts in the mirror.
To my embarrassment, my nipples were clearly visible under my leotard.
I cursed silently and flinched as he brushed a sore spot.
“Sorry,” he said, touching me more gently. He rinsed his hands after washing the tattoo and wet the tip of a towel to remove the soapy residue. “Hand me the lotion,” he said in a very calm tone. Too calm, considering I was dying inside.
After handing him the ointment, he squeezed some onto his fingertips and carefully rubbed it into my back. This time the feel of his skin against mine almost caused a short circuit in my brain. I was unavoidably turned on as I felt his body so close to mine.
Time seemed to stop as he ran his hands over my tattoo for what seemed like longer than necessary for one as small as mine. Maybe I was imagining things, which was highly likely.
My eyes met his in our reflection and, to my surprise, his gaze was as intense as mine. To make matters worse, my legs nearly gave out beneath me as he slid his fingers down to the lower part of my spine.