Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
I’m bawling.
He’s lifting me, carrying me into the bathroom, setting me down on the vanity between the sinks.
I stare at him through blurry eyes as he wipes his face with a towel and then leans over and turns on the taps for the big, soaker tub.
He made me squirt. I’ve never done that before. His face was absolutely drenched, and he wasn’t disgusted by it.
And now he’s trying to take care of me. He dries my tears with a clean towel and I’m trembling all over as I watch him pour from a bottle of foaming bath. I know it’s no coincidence that it’s the exact same blue bottle I have at home with Epsom salt and coconut oil in it. I bought one on the weekend on the way home from his place. It seems I was followed even then.
I’m still trembling when he lifts me up and steps into the tub with me, sitting down and arranging me in front of him, between his legs.
He leans back and cradles my head against his chest as I continue crying while he lifts a folded washcloth from the niche in the wall, wets it, and squeezes the water out before he dabs my cheeks with it, murmuring something I don’t make out over the roaring water as he presses kisses to my forehead while tipping my face up to look at him.
He’s searching my face as he continues to dab my cheeks with the cloth, staring into my eyes the way he did before, no iciness, only warmth. Warmth with a smitten expression on his face.
I say nothing. I just keep crying.
He doesn’t look unhinged. He doesn’t look dangerous. But he is. Sitting here smiling at me with that tender expression while I cry in the bathtub with him.
Why is he doing this to me?
When the water is just about to the rim, he moves us upright so he can reach the taps and turn them off.
And he lounges in the hot, bubbly water with me like we don’t have a care in the world, nowhere else to be, and nothing to talk about. He runs the wet washcloth over various parts of my body, snuggling me, dotting my hairline with little kisses.
My tears have dried. I’m staring off into space when he says, “Hungry? You skipped dinner, didn’t you?”
“Not hungry,” I manage to rasp.
“Come on, I got something you’ll like.” He nudges me so I’ll stand and takes my hand, helping me out of the tub before wrapping a thick towel around me.
He grabs another towel for himself, dries off quickly and wraps it around his waist, tucking the end in while casually saying, “I’ll leave your bathrobe on the end of the bed for you. Got it for you today. Got you some slippers, too. See that you always have a pair on when you’re there.” He kisses me softly, holding my jaw with one hand.
“Mm,” he adds and then runs the backs of his fingers down my cheekbone. “You’re beautiful, Chloe. Fucking you is my new favorite thing.”
I do nothing until he leaves. When he does, I close the door and shakily sit on the toilet.
I blow my nose and do my business, then while washing my hands I examine my red, puffy face before I sigh and move out to his bedroom, where he’s already made the bed and folded my clothes, putting them on the end of the bench beside a very soft pink robe. On the floor beside my sneakers are slippers that match the robe.
I put them on, hang the towel up, and dreading what might happen next, I leave his room and find him setting the table.
It’s dark now but instead of turning lights on, he’s lit the dining space with multiple candles. There’s wine. And there’s a platter of taco shells along with taco fixings in the middle of the table.
Derek looks at me, smiles, and pulls a chair out for me.
“Taco Tuesday,” he announces.
Adam isn’t a fan of tacos, so I usually go out for them with Alannah or Coraline. Or I used to go. I haven’t had tacos in months. I can only guess he’s surmised I love tacos because I’ve probably gushed about them online.
I sit and he pours me a glass of my favorite sweet frizzante wine. I haven’t bought a bottle since I finished that one that led to pulling out my vibrator. I certainly don’t want to drink any right now.
I stare at Derek as he sits opposite me.
“If this were a date instead of blackmail, I’d be getting lucky tonight, wouldn’t I? Oh wait...” He flashes a devious grin then throws his head back and laughs.
My face flames as my blood boils with an onslaught of anger.
He sobers. “You’re pissed now, but just wait. I’ll win you over.” He pours himself a glass of wine and starts to put together a taco.