“Cancer I think. Mum refused to talk about him afterwards. Said it was too painful. He must have known he was dying, as he said he was going away.”
She’s still smiling, but her eyes gloss over with a watery film. I gather the photographs into a bundle and place them back in the jewellery box drawer. Her entire family history packed up into such a small space.
“I’m sorry, Poppy.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
She doesn’t know what I’m sorry for. She doesn’t know what my intentions were. If she ever found out, she may never forgive me.
16
POPPY
Dom closes my jewellery box and stands from the stool, placing a delicate kiss against the tip of my nose, something he does regularly now. I’ve grown to like it, despite how angry I was with him earlier today. Still am actually, but I need his help if I want to get any sleep tonight. Well, just some tablets will do, but I’ve searched this apartment already and don’t recall seeing any.
I twist on the spot, my face scrunches as I speak, cringing at having to ask him for something after I vowed I wouldn’t speak to him again. “Do you have any pain relief?”
His eyes widen in concern. “What’s wrong?”
I fiddle with the hem of my t-shirt. “I just need some paracetamol.”
“What for?”
“For goodness’ sake. Must you know every personal detail?”
“If I’m going to help you, then yes.”
“I suffer with cramps.”
He walks over to the table and pulls out a chair. “Pop your leg up, I’ll massage it for you.”
I let out a long breath, flicking my eyes to the spotlights in the ceiling. Lord give me strength with this man. He’s so infuriating but freakin’ adorable at the same time how he cooks for me and gets me stuff and now he’s offering to massage my leg. If he wasn’t holding me against my will, he would be practically perfect. I guess every man has a flaw, but trust me to pick a bloody stalker.
“I have period pain.” The words come out rushed through my gritted teeth. My palm presses to my belly where another wave of pain makes my muscles tense.
“Oh.” Dom stands and walks back into the kitchen. His hand disappears into a drawer and returns with a packet of tablets, then he fills a glass with water. “Here. Go lie down.”
After swallowing my very bitter pill—literally—I slump back to the bedroom and curl up under the duvet, missing his scent on the sheets. I can’t stay behind these walls for much longer. I’m going insane. Is this Stockholm syndrome when you fall for your captor?
The door creaks open. In the dark, I can still see his outline as he pulls off his t-shirt. His belt clinks, then the bed dips as he sits to pull off his jeans. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
He slips into bed, the hair on his legs rough against my calves. His hand slips around my waist and he ushers closer until he’s nestled against my back, my curves pressed against his frame.
“Are your cramps any better?” He whispers in my ear, his breath warming my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
“They only eased a little.” My voice muffles against the pillow.
“Want me to rub it better?” His palm rubs circular motions low on my belly. Too low. I’m about to protest, but a moan escapes as his fingers stroke over my mound. I roll onto my back with a gasp. His dark eyes meet mine in the moonlit room. His fingers push between my clenched thighs as he continues his tender invasion.
With my pounding heart and my pulsing centre despite the cramps, I let him run rings around me, applying the right amount of pressure, right where I need it. “That’s not where my pain is.” I choke out the words, not really caring about the pain right now.
“It’s helping you feel better, though?”
I take deep breaths. I can’t deny it. What’s wrong with me? Has it really been that long since I’ve had a decent man treat me well that my stalker is appealing?
He moves his hand away, the loss instantly cold as disappointment courses through my veins, dousing out the fire from a moment ago.
Dom spits in his palm. My brow scrunches, then his fingers tease the waistband of my pyjamas shorts. Within seconds, his hand slips under the fabric, his spit coated fingers finding my bud, massaging with his saliva.
