Patrick raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. If I gave you the impression that I was asking… no. This one’s for me. Strip, Starling. Get in the shower.” He pauses for a moment, then begins to shrug off his suit jacket. “We just did something dirty together. Now we’ll get clean.”
The way he says that… this time, he expects obedience. Of course he does. Isn’t that one of his demands? Lips, mouth, body,obedience…I still don’t have any fucking clue what he’ll expect from me for number five, but as Patrick begins to unbutton his shirt, his intent to join me under the shower spray clear, I know he won’t let me get away with refusing him this.
The Noelle of a decade ago would’ve freaked to think of undressing in front of a stranger. Putting his dick in my mouth… yeah. I was going down on my high school boyfriend at fifteen, so that wasn’t a big deal. But being so vulnerable as to see every imperfection, every flaw on a body it took me years to appreciate? I never would’ve.
And yet, tugging off my shirt and letting him get an eyeful of my double-d’s… watching the way he freezes for a moment before he grunts softly at the sight… gives me a sense of power that puts us on a more even footing for the moment.
He wants me. That much is obvious. He’s desperate for me, and if my body is all I have to use against my stalker, then I’ll wield it like the only weapon that I have.
While he starts to fumble with his pants, I make quick work of the rest of my clothes. Unlike Patrick, Idon’t have the anal-retentive need to fold my clothes up and put them on the counter. I leave them on the floor before stepping under the spray.
I hiss out in pleasure as the warm water hits my skin. I slide the frosted glass door between us closed, watching out of the corner of my eye as Patrick bends down to retrieve my clothes. He folds them, naked as the day he was born, and adds them to his pile.
Then he pauses. He fingers the bundle of red panties that I’d been wearing. Through the gap between the edge of the door and the shower’s tiled wall, I see him furrow his brow, then remove my shirt from the pile.
I get a flash of his sculpted ass and the poinsettia on his back before he steps out of the bathroom, taking the shirt with him. That he leaves the door open is a sure sign he plans on returning, but acting as though I couldn’t care less, I focus on getting clean so that I can hop out of the shower before he slips inside the stall.
Too late. I’m not even halfway done before he’s slipping open the door, joining me without another word.
I don’t know what to expect now that he’s here with ne. A quick glance over to him as he crowds me into the stall reveals that his chest is heaving slightly, his cock already heavy and hard. My breath catches in my throat as I imagine him pushing me up against the tile, lifting my leg up so that he can slam his erection right inside of me.
He wants my body, right? How else could he own it other than by penetrating me with his? Only that’s notwhat happens. When his hands finally come to rest on me, they’re tender. Gentle. Careful and kind.
And I might be more broken than I first thought because I… I don’t know what to do with such reverence from a man with more than figurative blood on his hands.
Grabbing the shampoo I brought from home, he washes my hair like I’m something fragile, thumbs pressing lightly at my scalp, fingers combing through tangles without tugging. He rinses, then repeats the process with the conditioner, slow and thorough, like this is something he’s practiced.
Like this matters.
I don’t understand it.
This is the same man who told me to kneel. The same man who watched me do so with a small grin before giving me the opportunity to hurt him if I chose to. And yet here he is, pressing his mouth to the side of my neck—not claiming, not biting—just a series of quiet kisses that feel way too worshipping.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the demands. For the blackmail.
For the taking.
But, no… all that happens is that, once my hair is clean and he turns me away from the spray, pushing the chin-length strands out of my face, Patrick peers into my eyes and whispers huskily, “Touch me.”
ELEVEN
BODY
NOELLE
“What?”
“I’m touching you.” His hands return to my hips, firm now, anchoring me in place. His mouth drops to my shoulder, then lower, breath hot against wet skin, teasing without crossing the line I keep bracing for. “I want you to do the same to me. I want you to learn me, Starling. To know me intimately before I know you the same way.”
I should say no. He obviously still has sex on his mind. He’s hard, I’m fuckingwet, and my brain is shrieking at me to say ‘no’ the way I tried to fend off Charles Dutton.
Only this isn’t Charles Dutton. Thisis Patrick North, and maybe I shouldn’t see a difference, but I do—and my body betrays me anyway.
I gasp, the sound ripped from my chest, and he stills instantly as my hands clutch at his pecs.
“That’s it, sweetheart. You listen to me so well. Go on. Play with my nipples. Scratch my chest. Kiss me, Noelle. Bite me. Whatever the fuck you want to do to me, do it. You’re mine, but that means I’m yours, too.”
He wants me to obey? I’ll obey. I scratch my thumb nails over his hardened nipples.
