“Doesjerkface hater dudehave your legal information or does he only know you from online?”
He dips the paper towels into the water then turns off the faucet.
“Only online.He only knows the alias I use for freelancing.I’m really not in danger.The location pin is just a precaution.Even if he was serious—which he isn’t—he’ll never be able to find me,” I say.
After squeezing out the paper towels, he turns and studies my face.He sighs, looks down, and swallows.I follow his hungry gaze to my drenched front and wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.My blouse clings to my curves, revealing my nipple and belly piercings.I squeak and pull the fabric away from my skin and lean forward as though that might erase Sebastian’s memory, but his low curse and the bulge in his pants highlight my folly.
“Sorry, pipsqueak.I shouldn’t’ve snuck up on you.Let me toss your clothes in the wash while we eat, then I’ll take you home.”
Happy to drop the stalker conversation, I nod and tug my wrist free of his grip.
He tosses the paper towels onto the counter and brackets my face with his massive hands.
“If you ever feel unsafe at your place, you’re welcome here, and don’t you dare hesitate to ask if you need help.I’m here for you.For anything.Forever.Understand, sweet pea?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod again.
He kisses my forehead, scoops me off my feet, cradles me against his chest, and carries me across the living room, through a propped-open back door, past an elevator and stairs, and down a short, windowless corridor.
After typing in a four digit passcode on the door and twisting the handle, he turns and uses his back to open the door.
The moment he steps inside, I know it’s his separate apartment.Although it has the same high-end finishings as the penthouse, this space is much smaller and less decorated.The leather couch gives the living room a masculine air.
He carries me through the main living area to the only bedroom in the back.Spacious enough for his California-King-sized bed and the blocky set of bedside tables, dressers, and a vanity, the bedroom definitely leans toward a man’s taste.
Sebastian’s woodsy scent permeates from every surface.My mouth waters and clit pulses, but the stickiness of the soda down my front pulls my lips into a frown.
It’s even in my hair.The locks cling to my shoulders.
He sets me on my feet in the bathroom, disappears into the walk-in closet, and returns with a stack of folded clothes.
“I’ll step out while you change.Toss the dirties into the bedroom and I’ll get them started.Feel free to take a quick shower.”
My arguments die on my tongue when he gestures to the massive shower.Way out of my element and tired enough to lay down and take a nap on the floor, I stop trying to count the shower heads and go to nod, but I stop when I recall my lacy bra.
“Wait, I can wash my clothes myself,” I say.
He disappears into the closet again and returns with a large mesh laundry bag.
“If it’s because you’re worried I’ll be a creep, use this.”
He places the bag on the counter beside the clean clothes before leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“But don’t worry, sweet pea.I can wait to play with your panties until you give me permission to take them off you myself.”
By the time I recover, his chuckle filters into the bathroom from under the shut bedroom door.
I grumble under my breath, turn on the shower, and strip.The only articles of clothing not affected by the spill are my socks, but I’ve worn them all day, so I may as well wash them.Even the matching lace panties have soda on them.I blush and grimace at the proof of my arousal and bury them as much in the center of the bag as I can before wrapping a towel around myself and tossing the bag through the smallest opening possible.After shutting and locking the door, I ignore my reflection in the massive mirror behind the sinks and take a quick shower.
Missing my dimly lit bathroom, I pat dry my body before wrapping the towel around my head.
As I reach for the top of the stack of folded clothes, the row of products along the back of the counter catches my eyes.When I find a more expensive brand of the unscented, sensitive skin lotion I use, I smear it over my arms and legs and test a dollop on my side.When my scar doesn’t feel like I drenched it in acid, I lotion the rest of my body, avoiding my piercings, and grab the shirt Sebastian left for me.
It dwarfs me.The hem reaches my knees, and the neckline dips precariously low, but pulling it to my throat reveals the scars on my upper back and tugging it off center exposes my shoulder.I sigh and rub my forehead.
I’m too tired for this.Even deep in Sebastian’s lair, all I want is to curl up on my beanbag and sleep for as long as my nightmares will let me.
With a shrug, I grab the gym shorts he left on the counter and step into them.
