Page 43 of The Sinner: James

“Don’t move,” he barks, letting go of me.

My head swivels as new sounds register with me––a cabinet door opening and closing and a glass bottle clinking against the porcelain sink.

He rolls up my sleeve and cleans my wound before disinfecting my skin, the cold sensation morphing into a painful sting.

“Ouch... It hurts.”

“You could’ve stayed home,” he tosses at me in a rude tone.

Promptly, I go silent.

He slips his hands inside my top, rolls it all up, and takes it off. Hard as steel, my nipples revolt inside my lace-trimmed bra.

I freeze and wait, unable to tell what his silence means.

Self-conscious, I cross my arms over my chest, though.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says calmly.

“Why do I still have the blindfold on?”

“I’m more comfortable that way,” he says, surprising me.

“You’re more comfortable that way?” I scoff at him.

“Uh-huh,” he says, unfazed.

“Are you eyeing me?”

“I don’t need to. You made sure your top covered nothing.”

I hear the rustle of his clothes as he pulls away from me, heading to the door.

“Don’t take it off,” he barks from the bedroom.

Moments later, his footsteps move back to me.

“Here,” he says, plopping a stack of clothes into my arms. “You’ve got a T-shirt and shorts that are not even close to your size but good enough to sleep in. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I pivot toward him as his voice seems to move away from me and grab his arm.

“Hey. Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“Where?”

“There are other bedrooms.”

“You can sleep here.”

“No, I can’t. And you know it,” he throws at me, irritation growing in his voice.

“I won’t touch you.”

“It’s not you I’m afraid of.”

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