Page 92 of Tormented

TWENTY-SEVEN

Abbey

Fuck. Fuckity fuckfuck. That was not supposed to happen like that.

I screwed up. Correction, screwed him. Shit. Now I’m just another used toy to throw on the heap. No connection, no promise, and certainly no public displays before we crossed the boundary. What reason does he have to open up and give himself over to me now? He’s scored the end goal. He’s skipped Go and collected two hundred for his troubles.

Fuck.

“Here.” He holds his hand out, helping me to stand.

I shiver, the water that still drips off my body freezing now that the post-sex cooldown has begun. Sawyer reaches around me to twist the showerhead, lifting his huge hand to test the water before he returns the spray over us.

“You always like it like that?” He envelops me in his hold, crushing my shaking body to his chest and rubbing my back in long, slow strokes as the warm water flows over us.

“Mostly.” Slow and sensual means something special. It means love. It means care and adoration.

I’ve never had any of those.

“Turn around.”

I do as he instructs, and jolt as his hands start a slow, careful job of cleaning me with the soap. In the heat of the moment I could take his touch, but now, when my doubts are screaming at me like an angry crowd . . . it’s hard to let go and relax.

His palms glide down my legs, circling my feet, and then sliding back up to the junction of my thighs. I suck in a sharp breath as he rubs between my legs, cleaning me thoroughly.

If he didn’t want me for anything more than a quick fuck, he wouldn’t be doing this, right? You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Abbey. Still, the man’s track record doesn’t exactly lean to this working out in my favor.

Who’s to say this wasn’t just another way he’s trying to bribe me to talk? I stiffen, waiting for it: the questions, the demands.

A lesson learnt. That’s all he’ll be: another painful lesson of the heart that I can catalogue and use as a reason to shut off again. Perhaps that scared girl I tried to smother with 90 percent proof wasn’t so stupid after all?

“You with me?” Sawyer asks as he sets the soap back in the holder.

“Yeah.” I force a smile, turning my head to see him. “Thanks.”

He grunts, a low throaty sound, and jerks his chin to the door. “Go get dried off while I clean up.”

It’s only logical, what he’s told me to do, yet it still stings like rejection. What did I expect though? We’d cuddle? Fuck, look at him. Sawyer doesn’t cuddle.

He rubs himself down with the soap as I towel off, twisting at the waist to get behind his thighs, and struggling to reach even a third of the way across his back with the size of his arms. I drape the towel over my head, pretending to dry my hair while I watch him through the thin gap in the cotton. He’s sculpted perfection, a marvel of the human body’s engineering. Every muscle is clearly defined, with striations in his shoulders. If I hadn’t witnessed him plow through that meal at the diner, I would have thought he ate a strict diet to maintain such a form.

Who am I kidding? I’m not around him day in, day out to know. Maybe he normally does?

I hang up the towel, gather my clothes into a bundle, and duck out before he’s switched the water off. The bag I brought in from the truck has a change of shorts and tank, as well as fresh underwear. I choose a simple pair of panties and throw the tank on, sans bra. Shoving everything else onto the single chair in the room, I realize I’ve left my phone in the truck.

The water’s shut off in the bathroom, which means Sawyer won’t be too long. I opt to leave the door to our room open slightly so he knows where I’ve gone, and check both ways before dashing across the parking lot to retrieve my phone. It’s still blacker than my soul out here, which this time around gives me some comfort. At least if some perv happens to look out his window at me, he’d need damn good sight to see what I’ve got on display.

I grab my cell and lock the truck before running on tiptoes back to our room.

Sawyer greets me at the door, arms folded over his impressive chest.

“What the fuck were you doin’?”

I’m manhandled indoors before I get a chance to answer.

“I went out to grab my phone,” I protest. “Sheesh.”

“Wearing next to fuck all.”