Page 20 of Never Forget

“I don’t need help showering.”

“I know you don’t, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate me trying to give you a bath. Besides, I need one, too,” he says, gesturing to the drying smears of cum embedded in the light fur of his stomach and in his pubes.

He shrugs like this is completely normal for us and pulls me into the rain shower-style shower that is more than big enough for us both, wincing at the heat of the water.

“Why did you make it so hot?”

“Because I know you like to shower in water hot enough to boil us mere mortals.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “You can turn it down if you like.”

“I’ll be fine. Come here.” Scott pulls me against him and meets my gaze. His intense amber eyes burn hotter than the water. “You rolled your eyes at me,” he says softly.

“And?” I know better than to roll my eyes when we’re playing or doing a scene, but those dynamics don’t follow us outside of our bedroom activities.

“You said that whenever we’re in here, you’re mine. The doors are still closed, and no one else is here, which means I’m still in charge, right?”

Well, I only have myself to blame, because yes, I did technically say that. I should have been more specific about what I meant. This is an exchange, and what Scott gets from this is the relief that controlling my environment gives him. I wanted to comfort his anxiety when he confessed to being stressed over my safety by reminding him of that control, and in the process, I gave him wider parameters than I really meant to.

The smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. Pushing my boundaries gives him joy—and boners—but he never fully oversteps.

“So what now?” I ask, looking up at him with equal parts lust and trepidation.

FIVE

SCOTT

Unknown: Hey man, I’m just trying to help you out.

—number blocked⁠—

Alarms scream, blaring so loudly my brain can barely comprehend my next move. Red lights flash across the hotel walls in violent outbursts, turning the lobby into a strobed nightmare of shadows, motion, and noise. So much noise.

Guests stumble towards the exits clutching bags and phones, some in plush hotel robes, others in half-buttoned clothes or pajamas. Children are crying. There’s some pompous asshole yelling at an employee over being woken up in such a manner, as if their comfort is more important than everyone’s safety. As if that very employee isn’t potentially risking their life to help his snooty ass get outside instead of saving themselves.

The sounds bounce off marble and glass until it all blurs together into a deafening roar.

I shove through a crowd gathering near the revolving doors, pressing my free hand against my other ear.

“Cory!” I shout again. The chaos on both sides of the phone is too loud to hear anything.

“Scott! Where are you?”

Relief rushes through me so hard my knees almost buckle.

“I’m in the lobby. Where is everyone? Do you have them? Do you have Naz?” I bark, probably sounding harsher than I mean to, but I have to yell to be heard over the sounds of chaos around us.

A woman carrying a tiny yapping dog nearly runs into me. I sidestep around her and keep moving, looking over the heads of the crowd rushing outside, still not seeing any signs of our group.

“Do you have Naz?” There’s no answer, just more jumbled sounds and a static sound like the phone is being fumbled against fabric. “Cory! Do you have Naz?!” I shout into the receiver.

Cory says something, but the words are swallowed by another wave of noise. I catch maybe every third word.

“Band… Moving… Package… Outside.”

The last thing I hear is a curse before the line disconnects. I stare down at my phone for a beat before jamming it back into my pocket and turning in a slow circle.

Nothing. No sign of Cory or Eric, of Blake, or any of the band. No sign of Naz.