And his hand never moves from my thigh.
It’s early evening when we land at Bozeman.
“Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” I reply with honesty, a little surprised I could even consider food. My stomach is a contradiction, simultaneously hollow with hunger and tight with nerves.
We stop for dinner at a pleasant enough restaurant that Alex sneers at, while I eat my fill of pasta and he picks at a steak, then he rents a car and drives us anhour out to Big Sky, and a five-star lodge that’s our final destination.
We’re shown to a suite with a stunning view of the mountains from the window, and by this time, I’m just rolling with it. It’s all a little surreal.
Alex tips the bellhop and closes the door with a quiet finality.
Then turns to me.
“Take a bath.”
It’s not a request, it’s a command. It’s not a, ‘…why don’t you,’ it’s a, ‘do this, because I said so.’
And that, right there, is everything our relationship has become. I don’t know if I love it or hate it. I don’t know how toacclimateto it.
My heart stops, then races.
My body responds; nipples tightening, stomach flipping, heat pooling.
And I say nothing, just make my way to the bathroom.
The tub is massive, yet still fills fast with high-flow taps. I soak, alone, checking the door every eighteen seconds, expecting him to come in. I can’t relax. Whether he arrives or not, I know what will happen when I get out.
Half of me is anticipating it. Half of me is dreading it.
And I’m so fucking aroused.
Stomach squirming. Nipples tight and aching. Pulse beating in my throat. Wet already, like my body doesn’t care what my head thinks. God, what’s wrong with me?
That bastard doesn’t hurry me. He doesn’t even come to check on me. He leaves me, stewing, on my own terms, and in my own time. It’s a mind-fuck. That confident, smug,asshole.
After a half-hour, I can’t take it anymore. I get out, dry myself, wrap one of the big fluffy bathrobes around me, and wander back into the room to see if he’s even still here.
He is. He’s sitting in a chair near the open fireplace, reading a book, a glass of whisky on the table beside him, a side lamp and the flames the only illumination.
He looks up when I walk in. His gaze takes in my damp hair, my thick robe, my bare feet, then returns to my face. “Take that off.”
I hesitate. “I’m naked beneath it.”
He sets his book down on his lap. “Obviously.”
I still vacillate. Part of me wants to. Yet this side of Alex is intimidating. I don’t know what he’ll do. I don’t know if I’ve pissed him off and he’ll punish me, or if he’ll just pin me down and fuck me.
He doesn’t like my delay.
His eyes harden, the book gets shoved down the side of his seat, and he’s out of his chair, striding over to me.
I take a step back, but I’m too slow. He moves sofast. Stalking me.
His hand closes on the lapel of my robe. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Alex… you’re scaring me.”
