Page 37 of Taking The Virgin

Chapter14

Over the next few days,things settle down a little into a routine forus.

Owen works a lot, and while he’s gone, I make my calls to social services, bank loan officers, and the expensive lawyer I’ve hired with the money from my new escort contract. I touch base with my brothers and sisters to assure them that I’m still here and I haven’t forgottenthem.

But I also take some time to go shopping for more beautiful clothing just as Owen suggested, because I know that will pleasehim.

Last of all, I dance in the music room, laughing until my happiness echoes off the high, sterile walls.

Whenever he comes home, we eat together, our discussions never straying from the nice, civil tone we established that first night of our newest agreement. I learn more than I thought I ever would about the medical robotics and artificial intelligence his company is developing, and my art history-major imagination can’t help but paint all of his avid descriptions into complicated yet beautiful designs and practical sculptures.

The incredible, mind-blowing sex doesn’t change either, and I’m get deeper and deeper into him. Is he doing the same with me? Because, some nights during our afterglow, he stays to cuddle with me, stroking my hair, making me feel cared for and so verysafe.

Sometimes he stays an hour. Sometimes most of the night. But I always wake up to him beinggone.

Tonight starts off the same as it always does after he gets home—with a lovely dinner from Chef Thomas (roasted cod with a ratatouille), a little bit of wine (I’ve definitely learned how much I can handle.), and then I go straight to myroom.

I ready myself for Owen, using all those lotions and soaps he’s bought me, and then Iwait.

Sometimes I recline in bed for him covered only with a sheet.

Sometimes I pose in a chair, feeling sexy in the sheer, delicate lingerie he bought forme.

Whatever he asks for, I give him, and he always responds with an intensity that makes me come for him with noisy, unrestrained fervor.

Tonight I’m lying face-to-face with him long after we’ve gotten it on. He’s stayed with me and has fallen asleep with his burly arm possessively curved over me. I can’t get to sleep myself because I’m edgy, hoping that this will be the night that he doesn’t leave me for his own bed. I want him to stay, to finally cross that flashing red line that separates casual sex from real sex, the kind I want with him more than anything.

The curtains are open, fully letting in the bright moonlight. Shadows from the trees dance over Owen’s face as I risk touching his cheek.

My fingertips scratch against his skin. Lately he’s started to come to me with a bit of stubble on him, and it makes me think that he’s loosening up aroundme.

I touch his hair, which has grown out ever so slightly, as if he’s letting his inner wildness come out a little there, too.

Night by night, it seems that he’s slowly turning into my dirty guy—or at least dirtier than the man I initially met. I doubt he knows what’s happening to him though, because by day, he goes right back to being rigid and impeccable.

But at least I have this Owen afterdark.

I continue touching his hair, his face, stroking him, half afraid he’ll open his eyes and catch me. Half afraid that he won’t.

Then, out of nowhere, he jerks in his sleep, and I brace myself, because sometimes this happens with him—bad dreams. Only twice so far, but I think this is one of the reasons he never stays the entire night.

His expression tightens, and he takes his arm from around me, rolling to his back while pushing one hand away from him in unconscious agitation. It’s as if he’s fighting something off, and I can’t help but think that he’s in a shrinking room that’s suffocating him. As sweat emerges on his tanned skin, I wish I knew what really hauntedhim.

I wish I knew what todo.

He hauls in a choking breath, startling upward. His breathing is heavy as he remains sitting there, tensed up and clearly confused.

I sit up, too, but I don’t touch him. I made that mistake once, only to be brusquely shrugged off. And even though he looked at me as if he regretted it, the damage to my heart wasdone.

Now he looks around while fisting his hands, then lowering them as if he finally realizes that the dream is over; he sees the calm, orderly room he’s actually in. As he shakes his head, he draws up his knees and harshly runs his fingers through his dark hair, putting himself back together again.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I let him get out of bed. His bared muscles are taut all over his massive body as if he’s coiled, stressed and ready to spring.

Please don’t go anywhere tonight, I think. Please stay and let me make you happy.

By some miracle, all he does is move toward a silver velvet chair near the window. He slumps into it, controlling his breathing, looking outside at the crooked tree branches silhouetted against the moonlight.

I know he’ll probably get the chair cleaned tomorrow because of naked skin and germs and all the subtle messes he’s making by sitting there.

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