Page 73 of Hunted By Valentine

No matter how carefully I move, pain lances through me with every movement, my muscles screaming in protest. Ugly purple and blue marks mottle the pale skin of my thighs. Souvenirs from Michael’s cruel hands.

I stand on unsteady feet, stumbling slightly as a wave of dizziness washes over me. How long did I walk last night? From Jack’s place in Manhattan to Valentine’s place in Brooklyn had to be miles. My bare feet ache, the soles throbbing and torn from pounding the unforgiving pavement.

Everything hurts. Inside and out.

Gritting my teeth, I force my arms above my head in a full body stretch. God, I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years rather than one night. My limbs are beyond stiff, and I have a kink in my neck like I’ve been laid in the same position for way too long.

I catch my reflection in the sleek floor-length mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me. Dark hair wild and tangled. Porcelain skin marred by contusions. Haunted green eyes red-rimmed from crying.

As I look around the bedroom, self-doubt wraps icy tendrils around my heart, squeezing ruthlessly.You’re not good enough for a man like him,a vicious voice whispers in my mind.You’re damaged goods. Used up and thrown away by your own husband. What could you possibly offer Valentine?I press a fist to my trembling lips, fighting back the sob building in my chest. I’m so tired of feeling weak. Powerless. A pretty plaything to… amuse.

The bedroom door swings open, startling me from my spiraling thoughts. I gasp softly, my heart stuttering against my ribcage as Valentine enters the bedroom, his tall frame filling the doorway.

He’s no longer naked, but dressed in dark sweatpants and nothing else, well, apart from the wrap around his wrist. My gaze trails over his chiseled abs, the sculpted planes of his chest, before settling on his face. He’s sweating, I realize. Beads of moisture glisten on his forehead, making his hair stick to the skin.

His smirk and arched eyebrow has heat pooling between my thighs as I recall how I fell asleep, and I’m hit with a wave of arousal. “You’re finally awake.” It’s not a question, but a statement of fact.

I swallow, my throat dry as sandpaper. “Y-yes.” I clear my throat to get rid of the remnants of sleep. “How long have I been asleep?” I ask.

“Asleep?” he asks, clearly amused. He walks over to the window and pulls the blinds up, revealing the darkness outside. “Almost twenty-four hours. I had to keep checking on you to make sure you were still alive.”

I guess that explains why I feel so awful. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask, confused. Well, not confused. I’m more annoyed that I’ve spent so much time sleeping instead of being awake with him.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “You don’t think I tried? You tried to slap me once. The other times you just ignored me.” Moving closer, he gently cups my face. “Do you need anything?”

“A shower,” I reply immediately. “Maybe some food.”

Leaning down, he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let me show you where the bathroom is. I’ll cook while you shower.”

I follow him through the loft and into the sparse bathroom. Its dark tiles make the room look smaller, more intimate. Valentine turns the water on for me, and while we wait for it to get warm, he reaches under the sink for a spare toothbrush that’s still in its shiny plastic packaging.

“Towels are in there,” he says, pointing at a closet. “Just call if you need anything.”

As he moves toward the door, I call, “Wait.” he halts in his movements, turning around to face me. “Don’t you need to shower as well?” I ask, gesturing at his body.

“I can wait.”

“Or you could join me,” I suggest, beckoning him closer with the crook of my finger.

“Or I could join you,” he smirks. “What a great way to save natural resources.”

Loving this almost playful side of him, I turn and stride into the shower, shaking my ass a little for good measure. “And I’m all about preserving resources, Professor,” I sass.

As soon as I’m under the sprays of water, I tilt my head back and close my eyes, letting the water cascade over me. It tugs a little at my stitches, but it’s only a slight discomfort compared to the feeling of getting clean.

When I open my eyes again, Valentine is standing so close our bodies almost touch. There’s a bottle of shampoo in his hands. “Can I wash your hair?” he asks.

My heart melts at his soft tone and the concern in his eyes. Unable to form words, I nod before spinning around and giving him my back. Showering with Valentine is one of the best experiences of my life.

Despite his obvious erection that’s digging into my back, he takes his time lathering my hair in shampoo, extra careful around the stitches. His fingers are pure magic as they massage the shampoo into my roots.

“That feels so good,” I moan, leaning my head back against him.

He reaches for the showerhead, holding it as he rinses my hair free of any suds. Next he applies conditioner, which I’m pleasantly surprised that he has. He adds it to the lower half of my hair before once again rinsing.

“Will you let me wash you?” he asks, his tone reserved as though he thinks I’m going to say no.

“Yes,” I reply.

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