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He’s searching my face as he continues to dab my cheeks with the cloth, staring into my eyes the way he did before, no iciness, only warmth. Warmth with a smitten expression on his face.
I say nothing. I just keep crying.
He doesn’t look unhinged. He doesn’t look dangerous. But he is. Sitting here smiling at me with that tender expression while I cry in the bathtub with him.
Why is he doing this to me?
When the water is just about to the rim, he moves us upright so he can reach the taps and turn them off.
And he lounges in the hot, bubbly water with me like we don’t have a care in the world, nowhere else to be, and nothing to talk about. He runs the wet washcloth over various parts of my body, snuggling me, dotting my hairline with little kisses.
My tears have dried. I’m staring off into space when he says, “Hungry? You skipped dinner, didn’t you?”
“Not hungry,” I manage to rasp.
“Come on, I got something you’ll like.” He nudges me so I’ll stand and takes my hand, helping me out of the tub before wrapping a thick towel around me.
He grabs another towel for himself, dries off quickly and wraps it around his waist, tucking the end in while casually saying, “I’ll leave your bathrobe on the end of the bed for you. Got it for you today. Got you some slippers, too. See that you always have a pair on when you’re there.” He kisses me softly, holding my jaw with one hand.
“Mm,” he adds and then runs the backs of his fingers down my cheekbone. “You’re beautiful, Chloe. Fucking you is my new favorite thing.”
I do nothing until he leaves. When he does, I close the door and shakily sit on the toilet.
I blow my nose and do my business, then while washing my hands I examine my red, puffy face before I sigh and move out to his bedroom, where he’s already made the bed and folded my clothes, putting them on the end of the bench beside a very soft pink robe. On the floor beside my sneakers are slippers that match the robe.
I put them on, hang the towel up, and dreading what might happen next, I leave his room and find him setting the table.
It’s dark now but instead of turning lights on, he’s lit the dining space with multiple candles. There’s wine. And there’s a platter of taco shells along with taco fixings in the middle of the table.
Derek looks at me, smiles, and pulls a chair out for me.
“Taco Tuesday,” he announces.
Adam isn’t a fan of tacos, so I usually go out for them with Alannah or Coraline. Or I used to go. I haven’t had tacos in months. I can only guess he’s surmised I love tacos because I’ve probably gushed about them online.
I sit and he pours me a glass of my favorite sweet frizzante wine. I haven’t bought a bottle since I finished that one that led to pulling out my vibrator. I certainly don’t want to drink any right now.
I stare at Derek as he sits opposite me.
“If this were a date instead of blackmail, I’d be getting lucky tonight, wouldn’t I? Oh wait...” He flashes a devious grin then throws his head back and laughs.
My face flames as my blood boils with an onslaught of anger.
He sobers. “You’re pissed now, but just wait. I’ll win you over.” He pours himself a glass of wine and starts to put together a taco.
“I’d make one for you, too, little bunny, but I don’t know what you like in yours. Show me.”
I remain still.
Derek leans forward slightly and orders, “Show me, Chloe.”
“Fuck you,” I manage.
He stares for a moment and I’m wondering if I’ve just made a grave error.
He takes a bite of his taco.
“Mm.” He chews, swallows, and wipes his mouth. “Pretty good. We have a girl who drops food off when we need it. Me and my siblings here, I mean. One of my sisters cooks, went to culinary school, but she doesn’t use her condo here much. Lives in Phoenix with her husband. My other sister doesn’t cook at all. Paulina’s versatile, can make pretty much anything, so I use her whenever I don’t feel like going out while I’m in town. Whatever you’re in the mood for, I can have done in a few hours most days. I’ve already got plans for our next dinner. Have some.”
