Chapter 19
Nicolas went to his makeshift bed on the floor. It was made up of a padded comforter and a pillow in the corner of the room. Emily was humming in the shower. The sound made him go stiff. She sounded lovely. Probably looked lovely too.
Images of her soap-lathered form infiltrated his thoughts. He feared for a repeat of earlier when she had enraptured his mind and body. After his and Emily’s moment on the balcony, he’d walked briskly into his old bedroom and had bolted the locks.
Like a man starved, he’d stripped down his pants, revealing his strained cock. His erection had been so painful he’d hissed once his hand had wrapped around it. The head had leaked with precum as he’d begun fisting its length.
He’d groaned from where he’d been seated on the edge of the bed, parting his legs wider, the material of his pants falling further and gathering at his ankles. Golden brown eyes had popped into his mind and the smell of lavender and vanilla had flooded his senses.
“Fuck...”
His hands had moved faster. His eyes had lulled closed as his head had fallen back.
He’d pictured her smirk, the way she talked back to him, how good it’d feel to have her wrapped around him instead.
And that had done it. His cum had sputtered out of the tip of his cock, making a mess of the floor before him and the rest trailing down his hand.
He had fallen onto the bed with a deep sigh, feeling sated. He couldn’t help but wince, however, when his eyes had met her innocent ones on the poster above.
He wanted to blame that moment on not fucking a woman in a year, but he knew the truth. This wasn’t because of just needing a woman, it was because of needing one woman.
Emily was the point of all his desires.
His celibacy had even started because of her.
Because he couldn’t sleep with another woman anymore without imagining it was her in their places.
Simply because he’d seen her at an event the evening of and while in bed with another, his mind had started its persistence in having her one way or the other. It had imagined her lips, her thighs, her everything, breaching the zone of a fantasy he should have never entertained, but did so anyway.
Nicolas shook what he’d done away and adjusted himself. He didn’t need her to come out of the bathroom and see him with a boner.
Control yourself.
As he went to the corner, on cue, Emily stepped out, her hair damp and dressed in purple pajamas. The color suited her. Many colors did, but this one was his favorite on her, minus white if that counted.
That was what she’d been wearing the first time they’d met, and what she’d be wearing in their wedding ceremony.
Stop. Right. There.
This was all still very much contractual. Yes, he and Emily had blurred some lines, but it didn’t change that fact.
“I told you, you can sleep in the bed with me.”
“And I told you, I’m fine.”
She frowned, watching him try to get comfortable, knowing that was impossible on the hard floor. Then she went for the blow dryer from the corner of the room near her luggage. “Can you help me plug this in? My hands are still wet.”
He got up from the floor. “There’s one in the bathroom you know,” he referred to the device.
“I know, but this causes less heat damage.”
He looked at the brand and made a mental note to have the other one replaced.
She took a seat in front of the vanity and outstretched the device. “Do you mind?”
“You want me to dry your hair?”
She nodded. “My arms are still sore from all the gardening. Don’t know why it’s not already an Olympic sport.”
He chewed the inside of his mouth. “Alright, but it’d be best to do it inside there.” He pointed to the bathroom which had a seating area.
“Yeah, you’re right. There’ll be a bit of shedding.”
He took the hair dryer from her. “I wasn’t referring to that. The seat there is padded.”
She blinked once, then twice, before her feet finally carried her after him.
Emily sat in front of the mirror, hair cascading down her back in wet waves. Nicolas stood behind her, plugged the dryer in the socket on the wall, then worked her hair.
“You’re oddly good at this.”
He smirked. “I’ve had practice.”
She turned just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “Practice?” There was an edge to her voice. “With who?”
He caught the flicker of jealousy and chuckled. “Relax. It was Anna.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh’,” he repeated, focused on the strands between his fingers. “When we were younger, she used to sneak out and play in the rain. Our mother hated it, said it’d make her sick, ruin her hair, all that jazz. So I’d blow dry it for her before anyone noticed.”
Emily smiled. “That’s so sweet.”
“There was this one time,” he continued, “she tried to curl her hair herself and ended up burning her hand. After that, everyone agreed she shouldn’t touch anything hot until she was older. I’d become her unofficial stylist when mother wasn’t around.”
“You’re quite gentle as one.”
“I had to be,” he replied. “She trusted me.”
Emily’s eyes met his in the reflection.
His fingers combed through her semi-dry waves. “You can trust me too.”
It came out so low that if she hadn’t been looking at his lips through the mirror, she’d probably have missed it.
She smiled. “So can you.”
“I do.”
“Not enough to sleep in the same bed as me.”
“Emily.” His face became rigid. “It’s myself I don’t trust. Not you.”
Another one of those soft gasps he liked too much escaped her. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said firmly. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Her lips curved upward at the sides.
Nicolas cleared his throat, turning off the device and setting it aside. And she has the nerve to say she’s no longer fearless. He ran his fingers through her now-dry hair, letting the strands fall between them. It smelled so good. He had to shake off the temptation of burying his face in it.
“You have a full day tomorrow. Ma and Anna insist on showing you the city. Remember we have our flight back in the evening so don’t spread yourself thin.”
As he turned to walk away, she caught his wrist. He looked down at her.
“Sleep with me.”
His throat bobbed, a sharpness striking him. Fuck me.
“Emily—”
“Please.”
“I just explained to you—”
“I know you don’t trust yourself, but I trust you, Nicolas. So please. Consider it giving me a break from the guilt of having you uncomfortable in your own home.”
“I’m not—”
“I heard you tossing all night. I bet a man like you hasn’t slept on the floor a day in his life.”
It was true. He’d never slept on the floor, but he was willing to do that much for her if she was comfortable.
He let out a shaky breath, his eyes dancing between hers. His defenses fell slowly at her pleading look.
“Fine, but there will be partitions.” She grinned. “And will you please let go of my hand?”
Her gaze flickered down to where they were joined. “Why? Does it excite you?” Emily’s tongue poked into the side of her cheek coyly.
His brain imagined something else in its place.
For Christ’s sake…
Nicolas broke their contact himself, removing his hand, but he felt it flexing afterward.