Chapter 34
I’m so fucking wet, and it’s not from the shower.
Dean left me a hot mess in his spare bedroom and he knows it.
He came back into the room with some spare clothes in his hands and a Cheshire cat grin plastered across his smug handsome face.
I didn’t know whether to slap him or kiss him at that moment.
I opted to do neither and waited for him to leave the room before I scuttled off down the hallway to the bathroom.
The space was large and open, a black bath sat against one wall with a rainfall shower next to it, a gleaming glass shower screen wrapping around it.
The sink and toilet matched the obsidian bath, and the white tiled floor practically gleamed under the spotlights from the ceiling.
Everything about the space screamed man.
Screamed Dean. He was the darkness and I wasn’t afraid to step into it.
Opening the glass screen, I turned the handle on the shower, instant hot water sprayed from the shower head, the steam rising in the room.
Placing the clothes Dean gave me on top of the closed toilet seat I began stripping my battered, blood stained ones away from my body, leaving them in a pile on the floor until I was left standing completely bare in the centre of the bathroom.
I dropped my head to look down at my body, a body I still didn’t recognise.
Scars littered my skin, some a deep shade of pink.
Bruises began to fade but I know they were already leaving mental wounds that I’m left to battle with on a daily basis.
I lift my forearm and slowly begin to unwrap the bandage, remembering that Doctor Morgan told me that I couldn’t get it wet.
I’d have to ask Dean for a first aid kit to be able to wrap it again.
The white material begins to unravel, revealing my mistakes.
I couldn’t bear to look at them at the hospital but now they’re right here in front of me, almost mocking me as I lift my opposite hand to run the pads of my fingers over the small white pieces of tape that’s keeping the wound together.
It stings under the pressure and I hiss through my teeth at the pain.
God, I’m so fucking stupid, but in that moment it felt so right, I felt ready to let everything go and leave this place behind but then I wouldn’t be standing here in Dean’s bathroom.
I wouldn’t have the chance to live my life how I want to.
I’d never have been able to have Lyla in my arms again and to feel her soft nose on my skin.
I would have missed out on new things and for the first time, I’m relieved that someone found me. That Dean found me.
Quickly dropping my hand from my arm, I step into the shower, the hot water immediately easing the tension that’s trapped in my body, the steam wrapping around me like a warm embrace as I tip my head back, letting the water run over my hair, droplets landing on my lashes.
I simply just stand there, enjoying the warmth and the silence, letting my mind empty.
Spinning round, I find Dean’s shower gel and a sponge sitting on a small shelf that’s attached to the shower walls.
I’m sure he won’t mind me using his sponge.
Reaching for the black bottle, I flick the lid open before bringing it to my nose, inhaling the woodsy, leather scent that’s so perfectly Dean.
His signature smell fills my senses.
Squeezing the shower gel onto the sponge I lather it under the water until soft, white foam covers the sponge and my hands, the silky texture runs down my arms towards my elbows as I run the soft sponge across my skin, the texture is soothing as I begin to clean myself.
Dean’s scent envelops me and I can almost feel his hands roam my body, the rough texture of his skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.
A moan slips free as I run the sponge over my most sensitive areas.
I’m desperate for him. My core aches at the thought of his strong fingers pushing inside of me.
What the fuck? My mental state is clearly frazzled if I was ready to finger blast myself in this man’s shower.
The forbidden images suddenly dissipate as I hear Lyla barking down the hallway, Dean’s voice is light as he speaks to her.
Quickly rinsing off, I flick off the shower and let the foam swirl around the plug hole before draining away then step onto the black bath mat that’s on the floor, the water from my body instantly soaking into the soft fabric.
Wasting no time I grab a towel from the heated rail and begin to dry myself then squeeze the excess water from my hair, leaving it damp down my back.
I hold out the black oversized t-shirt in front of me then slip the ultra soft material over my head, putting my arms through the sleeves that stop at my elbow, the length dropping mid thigh then lift the grey pyjama pants and push my legs inside, the waist a little big for me, forcing me to roll the material in an attempt to stop them from falling down.
The last thing I need is for me to flash myself to Dean.
After dressing I spot a small cupboard under the sink and open the doors.
Spare soaps, toilet rolls and other man stuff line the shelves.
I scour the items until I find a small hairbrush at the back, I’m desperate to rid my hair of the tangles that I know are hidden in there.
I start at the ends and work my way up until the brush glides smoothly through the strands then place the brush back where I found it.
I take a deep breath and leave the bathroom.
My stomach grumbles at the rich smell of bacon and cheese wafting from the kitchen.
It’s been so long since I’ve eaten stuff like that.
Even on the run from Ricky, his rules remained ingrained in my brain.
I would treat myself to sweet things but then the guilt would eat me alive afterwards in case I would gain weight.
Ricky wouldn’t like that. The delicious smell gets stronger the further I get into the kitchen.
My bare footsteps are silent against the floor and I pause at the doorway, my eyes instantly find Dean standing over the oven, his back turned to me.
He’s no longer dressed in his black cargo pants and shirt, instead black sports shorts sit on his tapered hips, the material stretching over the muscles of his thighs.
My eyes trail higher. A loose muscle vest sits on his body with a Harley Davidson print on the back.
My mouth instantly waters at the sight. His broad shoulders and muscular arms are covered in intricate tattoos, leading all the way to his hands, not an inch of his warm skin tone is showing.
The beautiful art reaches to his neck and I can only imagine where else it leads too.
I feel myself caught in a trance until Dean’s voice breaks through the haze.
“You staring at me, pretty girl?” His back still faces me, and I clear my throat and swallow, my mouth feels like I’ve eaten a ton of cotton balls.
“What? No. I’m just admiring the view of your house.
” I blurt out, my face heating knowing that I’ve been caught gawking at him.
He turns to face me and yep, I was right, the tattoos never end.
They cover the sides of his chest and I assume, down his stomach too, from what I can see behind the loose vest, laying over him like a second skin.
I quickly avert my gaze and bring my eyes back to his face, the thick, wavy black locks fall over his forehead and my fingers itch to run through the inky abyss.
I tangle my fingers together to stop me from doing something stupid and pad over the kitchen island that sits in the centre of the kitchen and pull one of the tall stools out that surround the countertop to take a seat.
My hands fastened together in front of me.
Dean brings a hand to his hair and pushes it from his face before leaning against the countertop, and I mentally scold myself for tracking his every move.
“Feel better after a shower?” He asks so simply.
“Yes. Thank you, I appreciate you letting me do that.” I look down at his clothes on my body. “And for the clothes too.” His forest green eyes trail over my body, the heat searing into my flesh. “You look good in them. Hungry?” The words slip free from his mouth before I can really ponder on them.
“I.. er, yeah. I don’t need too much though.
” What he doesn’t know is that I’m starving, my stomach is crying out for rich greasy food but all I can hear is Ricky’s voice shaming me for eating.
For gaining weight and being unable to fit into my pressed cream trousers.
Dean’s hard eyes land on my face, his brows creasing.
“What do you mean you don’t need too much?
When was the last time you ate?” He tips his head, the questions hanging in the air.
I honestly don’t remember the last time I ate something.
I dip my head in shame and wrap my arms around my middle.
Dean’s footsteps are light as he walks around the counter until he’s standing at the side of me.
His inked arm dips in between my legs as he grabs the stool underneath me and spins me to face him.
The motion has me grabbing a hold of his arm to stop me falling.
“Dean, what are you doing?” I fire out but he ignores me as his arms slip under my thighs, before I know it I’m being lifted into the air, his hands splaying over the underside of my thighs.
“Dean! I’m too heavy!” I cry out, as he plonks me onto the countertop with ease.
Dean steps into the space between my parted legs, his tattooed hands run up and down the soft material on my thighs.