Page 35

“Good job, baby” he tells me, looking around the room that shows no evidence of the atrocities committed here. Then he continues, with the sarcastic smirk “Ms Stones…?”

“Don’t” I warn

“Sawyer… Stones…” and he tries hard to suppress his laughter, and fails. Miserably. “Your parents must have hated you”

“Of everything from today, my name is the least fucked thing”

“Co-signed. If you don’t like your surname, we could always change it…” quickly moving on from that absolute bombshell the-fuck-did-he-just-say moment, he gets back to the more important job, of trying to get into my pants “Anyway…” and he looks me up and down, licking his lips

“Abso-fucking-lutely the fuck not” I do not have the energy in any way shape or form, but I find myself explaining “I’m sore from earlier, my knees hurt, I’m tired…”

He interrupts me abruptly, cutting my sentence, cupping his hand over my mouth, and placing his other hand on my hip, pinning me to the cupboards. Shushing me. Warmth radiates from my cheek as he kisses it, moving his cheek to mine rubbing our faces together with a tenderness I’ve rarely seen from him.

“Stop talking. No is a full sentence”

His fingertips find my scalp once more and I let my head fall back, my eyes close and he transports me back. The tingles it sends through my body are indescribable. I might be wavering here.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Take me to bed my gigantic Greek sex God. My horniness immediately stifled to an ember as he picks me up so gently. I feel the fatigue seeping out of me, overwhelming tiredness sits in every muscle. The energy deficit I’m running today becomes entirely apparent with each step up the stairs.

“One more thing, not a sex thing…” he starts, his voice low in my ear.

“Mhm?” I dreamily enquire

“You’re filthy, we’ve got to get you cleaned”

“Speak for yourself!” but then my jumper puffs a cloud of bodily odour through my collar and I can’t argue against that

“We both know you’re going to be a bitch in the morning if you wake up gross and stinking of eau-de-Key and forensic evidence”

I tantrum groan, but we both know that he’s right. I faux-cry like a brat. I can’t comprehend the idea of anything except just dying in bed right now.

“Are you saying I’m gross?” I ask him, with a sarcastic uwu impression, implying that his truth is somehow going to hurt my feelings

“I’m saying your current state of hygiene doesn’t match your typical expectation of hygiene”

Shooketh. I mean how do I even answer that? And how did he manage to make it so clinically inoffensive. Ruining my fun, to be honest. Not cool, Nik.

With a shrug he finishes “Doesn’t bother me, I’d fuck you on a landfill pile whilst praying thanks to the rats for gracing you with their piss”

Eww. Dude. Eww.

Sitting me down on the shower seat, he strips me off like a toddler after a long day at the beach. I’m basically a mannequin at this point, our clothes go into a pile, and he stands before me. Intimidating as fuck. I don’t really want to interact with him right now, I’m enjoying the peep show, so I keep my eyes closed but peeking just a little as he turns the shower on and the room quickly steams.

Maybe this is all a dream. I’ll wake up in the morning and realise none of it actually happened. I scare myself with that one, because some of today needs to stay in any universe. Some of today will be the stuff of recurring nightmares. Some will be the stuff of shower alone time recollection. Nevertheless he gives himself a methodical yet maniacal scrub.

Turning to me, flying half mast, he offers me the shower gel and pouffe. He takes my petty teenager’s groan as the hint it was intended, dousing the pouffe and taking a knee in front of me. The relief my body feels from the contact of his palm on the top of my thigh removes a weight from my chest that I didn’t even know I was carrying.

The most unusual thing happens next. Or perhaps the first time that I’ve consciously noticed it. This man is dangerous, exciting, thrilling, electrifying. My heart races when he’s near, everything flutters. But this time, with his firm pressure, soapy hands running themselves over my body something else happens. The opposite, in fact. My breathing, my heart, everything slows and settles.

His hands don’t just wash away the grime of the day, they wash away everything. My paradoxical predator. He repairs walls in the same room he takes lives. The same hands that cause immense pain, provide me immense pleasure. That incite fear in others, incite safety and comfort in me.

It would appear, girl, that we are more than fucked. We are fused.

After the remainder of the almost disappointingly uneventful shower and dry down, he sits himself in the middle of the bed, with his back to the wall, legs spread open in a V. Double tapping the mattress between his legs, inviting me to sit. Which I do, my back to his chest, using him as my own personal recliner. He flicks on the hockey highlights and I get ready to settle into some normalcy with him.

Just as I snuggle my ass into the right place, Reddy appears from his giant, tattooed hand. I don’t know why it breaks me, but it does. I breathe in his innocence, holding him tight. Mirroring my treatment of my bear, he holds my wrists, bracing his shielding arms around me. For a minute I just sit, being held whilst holding my teddy. Infantile safety encapsulating me.

Long enough for the first wave of “oh my fuck” to start to sink in, as I begin to doze I hear the crunch under Nik’s boots. Startling awake Nik does his most genius move yet. Squeezes me tightly, just for a second as I squeeze my eyes once again. The kiss on the top of my head reminds my body I’m safe. The room lightens for a second and I hear him inhale, and the spliff hits my lips.