Page 132 of Ruthless Intent

I uncap the water, swallow the pills, then stand up.

I have no idea what time it is, but since he isn’t knocking down the door and threatening me, I’m going to assume I have time to take a shower … in the room where things I never want to think about again happened.

I twist my hair up into a knot at the back of my head, grab clean clothes and underwear from my suitcase, and go into the bathroom from hell.

There’s no trace of Zain ever having been in there. No clothes, no bedding, nothing. I avoid looking at the sink where that happened, and keep my focus trained on the shower.

Which is no better, because that other thing happened in there, and it’s hard not to see Zain standing under the water, head thrown back, hand fisting his dick.

Oh my god! Stop thinking about it!

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

ZAIN

I don’t sleep. Not that it’s anything new. Since the first night of my incarceration, I’ve rarely been able to sleep for more than a couple of hours, but this is different.

I lie on the cold floor, stare up at the ceiling, and count the minutes until I can legitimately get back up without disturbing Ashley.

What the fuck were you thinking?

I wasn’t. That’s just it. Not about the important things, anyway. The second it became clear that she’d watched me jerk off, all I could think about was seeing her come.

Putting my hands on her was a mistake. Feeling how silky her skin was, how warm, how soft. It fired up a hunger I haven’t felt in a long time.

And once I had my mouth on her, my fingers inside her, it became a battle not to take more. To drive my dick into her body, and take everything.

Her lips tasted like wine, and her pussy tasted like heaven.

Her moans and cries echo around my head. The way she writhed against my mouth, the way her fingernails dug into my scalp … I haven’t felt that alive in a long time.

And it’s a battle not to leave the bathroom and join her in bed. But I don’t. I stay where I am—on the floor, in the bathroom, and watch the time slowly pass on the screen of my cell phone.

As soon as it turns four a.m., I stand up. Everyone should be asleep … she should be asleep. I pull on the sweats and T-shirt I’d brought in the night before, and ease the door open carefully.

The room beyond is in darkness, and I creep through without even looking at the bed. I don’t want to see her lying there. I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist the temptation, if I see her.

My steps are silent as I walk across the hall and down the stairs, and I’m in the kitchen a couple of minutes later. Making sure the door is closed, I set up the coffee machine and turn it on.

I’ll have a drink, then go for a run. It’s going to be another long day today, and I need my wits about me. When the coffee machine makes a noise which indicates it’s ready, I pour a drink and sit at the table.

It’s Wednesday. Peter should be arriving at around ten to, in his words, prep me for the interview. The channel’s presenter will be here at eleven. I’m curious to see if Marissa or Esme show up.

The interview is going out live. I’ve caught the advertisements for it here and there over the past couple of days.

Now it’s here, I’m second-guessing myself. What I have to say is going to set off a new chain of events, and I can’t warn anyone in advance because I need their reactions to be genuine.

Sipping my coffee, I lean back on the chair and stretch my legs out in front of me. This is the first real moment I’ve just sat quietly, without any noise.

It’s … nice. And I’m looking forward to getting more time like this in the future.

This will all be worth it.

I have to keep telling myself that.

Once I’ve finished my coffee, I rinse the mug, and set it on the drainer, then go out into the reception hall. I left a pair of sneakers near the door, so I shove my feet into them, unlock the front door and step outside.

The early morning air is already warm, and I do a couple of stretches before jogging down the drive.

---