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He was like an animal devouring me. He bit me. He drew my blood. Licked it. Came on my skin. If he could’ve written his name on me in semen, I think he would have. He looked supremely pleased with himself as he did it.
This wasn’t going through the motions to do what he thought I’d like. This was what he wanted. And it was visceral, carnal, primal.
And then he carried me into the shower and painstakingly washed me clean, kissing me, smiling at me the whole time. Inadvertently tickling my feet as he even got between my toes. I didn’t laugh, though. I just got increasingly uncomfortable and fidgety with the whole thing.
And now the swoony psycho wants me to wear a pretty dress to meet his parents.
This ought to be interesting.
I look through the clothing he sent and am miffed about the fact that the two blue dresses do seem to be the most suitable for a brunch with fancy, rich people. I wasn’t planning to wear one of the blue ones and have him think I did it to please him, it’s just that the other dresses are either too business-like, too sexy, or more for a vacation or an afternoon wandering antique shops or farmer’s markets. The two blue dresses are both perfect for a brunch at a significant other’s parents – not that I think of him as my other half – but I decide on the slightly demurer option.
I grab the dress, some of the new underthings, and a pair of the new shoes, some strappy espadrilles. As he slips out in a towel, I move back toward the bathroom, since that’s where all my makeup and hair stuff is.
His eyes flash with heat as he sees which dress I’m taking in with me and he crowds me, making sure I see the smile as I try to glide by him on my way back in.
I say nothing as I close the door over, but it won’t close tight, because he broke it. The latch is hanging by just one screw.
I shake my head as I survey the damage and then decide to get on with this. Today ought to be interesting, hopefully presenting an opportunity to talk to a member of the Steele family about this problem. Since I don’t know what to make of his sister, I’ll be assessing the rest of them in an effort to choose the one most likely to help.
I’m almost done blow drying my hair when Derek comes in, dressed in a dark suit and depositing a mug of coffee beside me on the vanity counter.
He kisses the side of my head. I see his lips move as he smiles, and I can’t hear what he’s saying with the hairdryer going, though am pretty sure I lip-read the word beautiful. My finger hovers briefly over the switch but I decide against turning it off. I’m supposed to be being bitchy.
Though, being bitchy when he kissed me this morning did not have the effect of turning him off. At all.
At that thought, more belly dips ensue.
I’ve got frayed nerves as we leave, as I ponder how this day might go. He takes my hand as soon as I’m in the hallway, looking at a waiting and smiling Grace Steele who is standing by the elevator.
“Good morning!” she sunnily greets, “We’ll go together.”
“No,” Derek counters. “We have plans afterwards.”
“What plans?” she asks and smiles bigger, catching me staring at her gorgeous shoes.
She’s looking breathtaking in a flowy ivory, red, and gold dress, which is pretty and suits her, but the showstopper is the shoes. Shoes that probably cost more than one of my bi-weekly paychecks. They’re strappy platform sandals with bling-laden gold flowers at the toe strap, a blingy red flower at the ankle, and red soles.
“A surprise for Chloe,” Derek says, and lifts my hand so he can press his lips to my index knuckle.
I don’t react visibly, but I’m thinking I’ve had way more than enough surprises from Derek already.
“Drive me there, then, and I’ll get someone else to drop me back off. Or I’ll use Daddy’s or Mom’s driver.” She steps into the waiting elevator.
“Nice, right?” she asks, so I look up from her shoes to her face. She knows I’m admiring them, so she bends her leg to show it off.
“Very,” I say.
“Why don’t you take your own car?” Derek asks, holding the elevator door and gesturing for me to go ahead of him.
“Because…” she drawls, “I plan to get snockered. Why else? You know how these SS brunches go.” Her gaze slides my way. “Yes, I occasionally refer to Shannon Steele with the same acronym as Hitler’s elite guard. Not making light of the holocaust – more like… describing Mom’s personality when it comes to parties. Wanna get drunk with me, Chloe?” She links arms with me.
I startle in surprise.
“I promise, it’ll make this brunch more pleasant.”
“Maybe next time,” Derek answers for me in a droll tone as the elevator door closes.
“You’re no fun,” she complains. “Me and Nay will definitely be snockered. So will Mom.”
