Was there anything more odd than one’s body penetrating another? Was I overthinking it? Would I ever be able to think about sex as emotion and sensation rather than brutal claiming?
Pulling a bra free from the snake’s nest of femininity, I eyed the cupid pink roses on the half-moon cups. The matching knickers were just as pretty, just as innocent. Tossing it onto the bed, I picked up another combination. This one jet black with velvet straps and lace panels in the underwear. Countless sets of whites and blues and cremellos.
Time ticked onward as my skin crawled at the thought of dressing in tight spandex and underwire.
My ears pricked at the sound of a shower turning on followed by the splashing of water. Instantly, my imagination took over. The image of Elder naked and soaked with his head tossed back and liquid slicking over his thick black hair. Soap bubbles coasting down his body, doing their best to wash away the pain inside him but failing.
My tummy clenched once again—surprising me, confusing me. I’d never felt such things before. Never thought of another and had a physical reaction. Never daydreamed about kissing voluntarily or entertaining the idea of more.
Elder had well and truly corrupted me just like he said I’d corrupted him.
Doing my best to concentrate on the lingerie and not my wayward thoughts of Elder covering his dragon tattoo in soap, of his hands sliding over dusky skin, of his body growing hard and—
I shivered, slightly lightheaded.
Stop it. He’s just human. Just a man.
But that was the thing.
Elder wasn’t just a man. He was more than human. He’d transcended into fantasy. He was the beast locked in a castle. He was the hero battling inner demons. He was more than just mortal because he’d already done so much more than any other roguish storybook prince would do.
He’d rescued me.
He’d awakened me.
He’d kissed me awake like Sleeping Beauty and removed the poisoned apple from my soul like Snow White.
He was my happily ever after.
I just had to be brave enough, strong enough, and fearless enough to claim him.
Get it together, Pim. Stop such fantastical thoughts.
This was just a date. Just sex. Nothing more.
Digging into the red box, I shoved aside the last remaining lingerie and pulled out a black dress. Simple in its sheath like satin but with a nod to the ‘20s with its flapper-inspired fringe on the hem and in-sewn strings of black pearls over the bodice.
So he’d bought me clingy lingerie, yet ensured the dress would whisper around my body with no claustrophobia.
He said the lingerie was for you.
I didn’t believe that.
It’s for him.
He wanted to see me dressed like a normal woman he was about to seduce. He wanted to forget my past so he could prevent the guilt and shame I witnessed in his eyes every time we kissed.
I didn’t want that.
I wanted this to be new, but I also wanted it to be us. Not us pretending to be other people.
The bathroom door opened, blowing clouds of steam into the bedroom as Elder stepped out with a white towel wrapped around his waist.
I froze with my hands on the black bra while my heart forgot how to beat and turned supersonic. Droplets danced over the planes of his chest, the dragon black with fierce ink, its scales and claws somehow entirely real. The illusion of his ribs never failed to make me cringe in worry and gawk in awe while the hair from his naval disappeared into the towel, making my mouth go dry from want rather than horror.
I sighed.
I had no choice.
I needed to exhale the sexual tension inside me.
I needed to know once and for all if I could do this.
If I could be normal.
He didn’t notice my staring as he rubbed his wet hair, shaking away water with rough hands. His shoulders sparkled with rain from his head, quickly joining the tracks of other rivers down his torso. “Bathroom is all yours.” Glancing at me with tight eyes and harsh features, he stalked into the other bedroom with his bag, vanishing from view.
I climbed off the bed, my feet drifting toward where he’d gone rather than the bathroom. I wanted to see how I’d feel if he dropped the towel and told me to get on my knees. I wanted to stare at him like I’d stared on the deck before he’d jumped overboard.
Stopping in the middle of the room, I clutched the black bra still in my hands.
What am I saying?
That I’m cured off all the monstrous things that have been done to me?
That I believed the moment Elder stripped, I wouldn’t seize up and have a panic attack?
You’re being ridiculous, Pim.
I wanted to see him naked. I wanted to touch and inspect. But how was that any different to what other men had done to me? How could I objectify him? How could I forget he was more than just a handsome thief? How could I get past what would happen after he was naked?
Yes, I found Elder incredibly attractive—I had since the moment I’d met him. I’d felt something the second his eyes met mine, and it wasn’t lust because, back then, I’d loathed that word.
It was something else, something worthy of seeking, something worthy of wearing lingerie to understand.
Something worth chasing even when it gets bad? Even when you second-guess everything?
My teeth locked together when I had no answers.
I hadn’t been in control of my future for so long, and I still wasn’t. Elder was doing things to me—crazy things, unknown things.
If tonight ended the way he’d hinted, I just had to hope I was strong enough to keep chasing.
Get in the shower.
Hopefully, the running water would calm my thoughts, and I could shed this sudden nervousness.
Turning on my heel, I returned to the bed and scooped up the knickers to match the bra. Rummaging in the red box, I found the black dress again and a pair of strappy heels then strode into the bathroom and shut the door.
For the first time in my life, I would primp and titivate with the sole purpose of making a man desire me.
I wanted to be free.
I wanted to be pretty.
For him.
Stranger things had never happened.
Chapter Twenty-One
______________________________
Elder
I PACED.
I wasn’t proud of it. I became addicted to the soft thud of my dress shoes on the rich blue carpet.
Left nine steps.
Turn around.
Right nine steps.
Repeat.
Ordinarily, when I suffered the jumpy signs of a free-fall into compulsion and repetition, I turned to my cello. I would forget about the world, evict myself from my exhausting mind, and allow the music to think for me. I’d pour everything I was into the melody until I was empty of myself and full of pure notes that didn’t need counting or cataloguing. I’d give myself to the only drug that had any power of keeping me sane.
But I couldn’t do that.
So I had to pace. And pace. I had to pace in steps of nine or the tic and skip of my faulty faculties would destroy tonight before we’d even left the goddamn room.
I’d keep it together. Pim would be ready any second—
The bathroom door opened.