Page 72 of Twisted Little Thing

CHAPTER XXIV

Nicky

"Thank you."

My voice is faint and hoarse. I am lying in his arms, reveling in the sweet post-orgasmic state.

"We're not done, yet," he whispers. "I am just giving you a little rest."

"My roommate will be home soon," I interject as I randomly remember Yuka.

She is out meeting a friend, but I know she will come home before she heads out for work tonight.

"Okay," he says. "We'll go somewhere else then."

"A hotel," I presume.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Where then?" I ask.

"You'll see," he replies. "Get dressed."

He loosens his grip around me so I can get up. The ribbon is still in his hand. He has unfastened the knot right after my orgasm died down, so I could comfortably cuddle up in his arms.

I climb out of bed and proceed to get dressed, watched intently by Evan, who is now sitting up on my bed and observing my every move again.

"I love this," he comments.

"What?" I ask as I am getting myself into my dress.

"Your reactions," he explains. "The tiny signs of discomfort and nervousness when I look at you. The way you shield your eyes from me, hiding behind your beautiful hair."

I look at him, dumbfounded.

"The way your hands shake just a tiny little bit," he continues. "And you keep fixing things on yourself. Your clothes, your hair. You become so self-conscious and shy when my eyes are on you."

I frown at him. But as I feel the urge to move my hand up to my hair to play with an especially wild lock that keeps blocking my view, I realize that he is right.

"You're... creepy," I whisper.

He laughs and gets up from the bed to zip up my dress at the back.

"And you are incredibly cute, Nicky," he says. "Let's go."

Of course, his driver is waiting for us downstairs. Evan still doesn't share with me where exactly we are going, and I decide not to ask. What’s the point? He didn't tell me before and he won’t tell me now.

"So," he proceeds after we have been driving for a few minutes. "I am ready to talk about your homework now."

I glance over to him and frown. How could he think of that now? Is it really that important? Essential to determining where this relationship is going?

"I haven't done it yet," I admit. "My head was... elsewhere."

"Is that so," he says, looking unhappy. "I am disappointed to hear that."

"To be honest," I add, "I don't feel comfortable with it. I don't like you trying to interfere with my life like that. All these things are none of your business until –"

"Yes, they are," he interrupts me. "I told you that it is important for me to take care of you – and to see you happy."

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