Chapter 8 #2
So I take the things he gives me, and go to the bathroom to prepare for bed.
A little thrill of excitement runs through me when I flick on the overhead light.
Everything about this place is perfectly well-appointed.
The bathroom is large and spacious, with a circular whirlpool tub, a small standing shower, and a huge mirror and vanity.
It's immaculately clean, though a little untidy with a few towels here and there, and Mac’s toiletries on the counter.
There's a razor, toothbrush, some cologne, and deodorant, all black and manly and faintly scented like him. I like looking at them, as if it’s somehow intimate.
There isn't a feminine touch in this entire place, and I like it. I wash my face in the sink, using a bar of soap. It’s so nice being away from home, I don’t even miss my own toiletries and little bottles of face wash and moisturizer.
I hate my home. I hate living there. And this is the first time in my life I’ve gotten a night away.
I brush my teeth, exhaustion suffusing my limbs, as I hear Mac getting ready behind me.
I turn to see his bare back, all muscled and inked, flexing as he takes off his shoes.
Something stirs low in my belly, something like arousal but not quite, more like desire muted by exhaustion. Still, my heart thumps a little faster.
I suppose I get to sleep beside him tonight, and that will hardly be a hardship.
When I’ve cleaned up, I run my fingers through my hair and dress in one of his t-shirts. I don’t miss the way he eyes me, the way he stifles a groan when I shimmy out of my knickers.
“I’m too tired for any funny business,” I say, wagging my finger at him.
He grins. “Darlin’, you wouldn’t have to actually do anything.”
As eager as I am to please him, I like the sound of… not doing anything.
“You mean like submitting…?”
“I mean lying on your back with your eyes closed while I eat you out. I mean coming on my tongue, then spreading wide for me to fuck you before I tuck you in for a good night’s sleep.”
Even in my utter state of exhaustion, that sounds fucking magnificent… even the whole “tucking you in” thing.
“I’ve never… no one’s ever… ummmm…” I yawn widely.
But he’s already lifting me in his arms and carrying me over to his king-sized bed.
He drops me on the large bed, then climbs in beside me. “I’m shattered, too,” he says. “Let’s get some rest for now.”
Even though he tempted me with his words, and the thought of lying back in bed and letting him do whatever he wanted to me is appealing, there’s something massively attractive in just…
lying in bed as well. Beside him. And I have a feeling the “for now” part is really just so he can rest up and fuck me again.
Not that I’m complaining.
He ropes an arm around me and hauls me to his chest, and I fit just right. I sigh in contentment. I’ve never spent the night beside a man, and definitely not someone like him.
I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and protection. Something I haven’t felt before… ever. I’m too tired to dwell too long on the irony.
I’m walking down a darkened hallway, and my heart beats hard and fast. Something’s brought me here, but I don’t know who or what, only that I’m in danger and the only way out is ahead of me. I look to my left and right, trying to determine where I am, but I can only see blackness.
A man’s scream makes me freeze, the sound sadly familiar. Who is that? And what will I do when I get there?
“You did this on purpose.” It’s my father’s voice, that deadly calm that precedes his wrath.
“Did what?” The words fade into a tortured scream, when I realize I recognize that voice.
Mac.
I’m running, my bare feet slapping on the cold tiled floor. We’re somewhere in my house, and my father has Mac. I don’t know how I’ll stop him, but I have to. Mac isn’t going to hurt me.
It’s the other way around.
But the longer I run, the further away I seem to get. Their voices are far in the distance with every moment that passes. I pause, trying to get my bearings. Where am I? Where are they? I have to find him; I have to rescue him.
I can still hear the words though they’re beginning to fade.
“You tricked her. You were trying to hurt her from the very beginning. You never had anything but ill intent from the very first moment you laid eyes on her.”
“No! No!” he screams, and nausea rises in my belly. I’m going to be sick. What are they doing to him?
“Leave him alone!” I scream, when suddenly I feel someone shaking me, and a voice breaking through my subconscious. I quickly sit up in bed, wide awake.
Mac’s awake beside me, his arms around me.
“Y’alright?” he asks, his voice all husky and gritty with sleep.
I’m panting, a fine sheen of sweat covering my body.
My heart still beats frantically from the intensity of the moment, the very real fear that I felt.
I've never had a boyfriend, or anyone like this who I actually felt anything toward, and the thought of my father hurting Mac…
I’ve seen him do such wicked, terrible things.
I can't imagine anything he's incapable of.
He'll stop at nothing when it comes to violence, and I can't imagine what he has planned for Mac. For one brief moment, with Mac’s arms all around me, in that quiet space between night and morning, I actually entertain the thought of telling him.
Everything. Confiding in him. I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust him, and then if I tell him why I'm really with him maybe he'll forgive me.
Would I ever be able to forgive myself?
But no. No, I can’t do that. Not only do I risk a home to myself, but I can't bear the thought of being rejected by Mac.
I mean, I'm right here where his family is.
All of them. They could do anything they want to me, and I have no recourse.
My bodyguard isn't here, and of course I'm totally outnumbered.
Why do things have to be this way?
So I only shake my head. “I’m fine,” I lie, because I don’t know what else to say or how else to reassure him. If he could read my mind… “I’m fine,” I repeat with a sigh.
I settle back down against the bedclothes to prove my point, feign a wide yawn, and pull the blankets back up over me.
I roll away from him, pretending I’m exhausted and trying to get back to sleep.
He doesn’t ask questions, just slings a heavy arm around me, holds me to his chest, and in a short while, his breathing’s slowed and I can tell he’s fallen back to sleep.
I don’t sleep, though. I stare into the darkness for long minutes that become hours. Mulling over my options. Fearing every single result. I’m deeply embedded in a game of life or death to which there are no winners.
Finally, when a sliver of light begins to peek around the drawn window shade, I fall back asleep.
Groggily, hours later, I wake slowly. My head feels stuffy, and though I know why I couldn't fall back asleep easily, I don't remember anything that happened in my dreams. All I know is that there's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and the comforting weight of Mac’s arm is gone.
Though the shades are still drawn, I can tell by the bright sunlight peeking around the edges that it’s broad daylight. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and stretch widely. I yawn, looking about the room, but Mac isn’t here.
I lay in bed, thinking about the day ahead.
Is it safe for me to go home? I have work to do in town, and I can't get any more behind than I already am.
I can't do anything that would endanger me, though.
I'm not sure what to do about that. I check my phone, to see if there's a message from my father, or my mum. But there's nothing.
I throw off the bedclothes and get out of bed, yawning and stretching.
It’s pleasantly warm in here, and well-lived in.
Just seeing his t-shirt slung into a laundry hamper and a cap on the dresser with his keys and leather wallet make my heart thump a little faster.
God, I’ve got it bad for him. It’s just so ruggedly masculine here. So is Mac.
I hear something clanging around in the kitchen, so I tentatively open the door.
I grin to myself before he sees me. He’s got headphones on, and he’s… dancing? I cover my mouth with my hand, quietly sneaking out to get a better view without him seeing me.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, kind of doing a little sidestep dance while he's stirring something in a frying pan on the stove.
He can't hear me approach, because of the headphones.
And I'm not really sure he'd be okay with me spying on him like this.
But oh my God, he's so hot. I don't know if there's anything hotter than a strong, muscled alpha male, dancing half naked in his kitchen like nobody's watching, doing a domestic task.
But this is definitely something I could get used to.
I make it all the way to the doorway before he sees me, and when he does, he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Holy crap!” he shouts, whipping off his headphones and tossing them up onto the counter. He stands, his hands on his hips, staring at me. “How long have you been watching me, lass?” His brows draw together sharply in that bossy way of his I’ve come to crave, though his lips twitch at the corners.
“Oh,” I say with a shrug. “Dunno. Few minutes, anyway.”
“Is that right?” he says, his eyes glittering dangerously as he prowls toward me.
“Now, Mac…” I begin, when he pounces.
I find myself pushed up against the wall, my hair wound around his fist as he tugs my head back. “You should’ve told me you were there,” he chides, right before he spins me around and cracks his palm against my arse.
I squeal and giggle, trying to skate away from him, but his grip in my hair only tightens.
“Maybe so,” I retort. “But you shouldn’t be embarrassed, lots of men dance while making breakfast half naked.”
That earns me another sharp smack, and I yelp out loud. Still. Hot.