Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Henri shot me a sharp look as he padded closer toward the bed. His eyes searched mine as if making sure I was okay. But he didn’t say a word. Not a single one.
His unspoken question echoed in my ears; I answered him anyway.
“I’m feeling great!” I nodded sharply, confidently. A slight twinge all over but nothing like before. I never wanted to feel that way again. The excruciation of so many bruises. The needling pain in my side.
No, thank you.
Another wave of softness descended as Henri sat carefully on the bed.
The mattress rocked a little under his weight, making it feel as if I lay upon a giant fluffy marshmallow.
My heart squeezed as I studied his drawn face. No light in his eyes. No aliveness or awareness or need.
He’s not sinking…he’s drowned.
Raising my arm, it hovered on its own accord. So light. Featherweight and flimsy. I tried to reach for him. To give him touch. To give him something to cling to.
But he reared back as if I’d tried to strike him.
I recoiled, wincing in preparation for another scolding.
When nothing came—when he merely opened a tub of cream and shifted closer—I let my stupid heart guide me. Just like I always did. Just like I probably shouldn’t.
With a quick breath, I pressed my hand on his thigh.
My fingers burned with his strength.
The towel around his hips slightly damp and cool.
So many things surged through me.
Needs, fears, desires, trepidations.
I laughed because I didn’t want such feelings.
I giggled because my feelings were absurd, and everything about this was crazy.
He cut you.
Stole you.
He’s hurting…
I squeezed his quad. “It’s okay…”
He stiffened and sucked in a tattered breath.
The tension in his leg turned to granite.
I snickered as I squeezed him again. “You’re made of stone.” I poked at his rock-hard stomach. Cold. Unyielding. “Actually, I think you’re an iceberg.”
His eyes remained locked on mine, cataloguing my every move. Yet he still didn’t speak.
An image of the Titanic floated into my head. I was the Titanic. I crashed bow first into the iceberg that was Henri. I sank into crystal-blue water where penguins swam and polar bears dived and cute fur seals—
Stop it.
Swallowing hard, I blinked past glittering icicles and refocused.
The fantastical images in my head left, but the soft candyfloss feeling remained.
I like this feeling.
Henri needs some.
It’ll help…
“Here.” I threaded my fingers through his on the tub of cream. “I don’t like that you’re unhappy.”
He shot to his feet. “Merde, you really don’t handle your drugs well.”
Finally…he speaks.
I smiled and nodded.
That was the key.
The only way he could come back from the shadows in his eyes.
“Come back.” I opened my arms. “Talk to me. You’re usually so chatty.”
His eyebrows swooped up; a flush covered his neck.
Swallowing hard, he scooped some goo from the tub and gingerly sat beside me. “Remove your towel.”
I shivered.
Couldn’t help it.
A lash of heat.
A lightning fork of need.
It bolted down the energy line from the top of my head to the base of my spine. It simmered unwanted in my core.
Oh no, no, no…
I could cope with spacey. I could handle a few daydreams. But uninhibited desire? Elevated sex drive?
No way.
Squirming a little, I shook my head. “You know what? I think I’ll stay wrapped up. I’m fine like a burrito. See? Burrito is my new identity.”
He looked borderline unhinged as his gaze dropped to my chest and his teeth ground together. “You’re not fine. You look like a morbid Christmas tree. Open your damn towel. That isn’t a request.”
God, why?
Why did his curt command rush through me like the worst kind of aphrodisiac?
It shouldn’t.
It really shouldn’t.
But it did.
And it always had, and if the spacey feeling just faded for a moment, I’d have enough strength to crawl onto his lap, remove both our towels, and kiss him.
I moaned and licked my lips.
A kiss.
Yes…I’d like that.
He owed me one after scolding me so meanly.
“Why did you yell at me?” I asked, tears suddenly brimming. “You’ve never been that cross with me before.”
His nostrils flared.
I waited for him to answer.
He didn’t.
I hated his silence.
I hated his pain.
I hated that he’d drifted to a dark, dark place I couldn’t reach.
With a sharp inhale, he reached for the folded ends of my towel and spread them open.
“Hey.” I batted his hands away.
Too late.
Cool air licked my highly sensitive skin.
Another flush of peculiar numbness and want.
I relaxed into it.
My body floated down and down, spiralling deeper and deeper until I hit a shadowy, silky bottom.
Sleep cloyed at my eyelashes, sudden and immense, making me smile with relief.
Sleep was better. So, so much better than lust.
“That’s it, just…relax,” Henri whispered.
I sighed as something comforting soaked into my skin. The barest-there strokes. The gentlest touch. The way he touched me reminded me how Krish would hold his drink at dinner if Mum forgot and gave him a glass cup instead of his preferred plastic one.