Page 27 of Innocent Intentions

He leans into my touch, his massive body pressing into my legs.

Jesus. He's been here five minutes, and I’m already whipped.

I shake my head.

“Welcome to your new home, Benny Boo Boo.”

Chapter 10

Margot

I don’t know how much time has passed, but when I glance outside, the sun has set. I don’t even remember closing my eyes, but I feel shockingly well-rested. Even over the covers, this has to be the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept in.

But now that my brain is functioning again, one thing is painfully clear. I feel disgusting in my alley-murder-outfit.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I make my decision. I’m taking a shower.

I march into his absurdly organized closet and start picking out clothes.

A pair of gray sweatpants.Picture him in those.

A black t-shirt that’s soft, perfectly broken in.

A pair of socks.

And… boxer briefs.

I hesitate, staring at them for a long moment.

Screw it. I inspect them thoroughly, even sniffing to make sure they’re clean. When they pass my stringent hygiene test, I scoop them up.

If he didn’t want me borrowing his clothes, he shouldn’t have kidnapped me. So, that’s on him.

Actions have consequences, Matty.

I head to the luxury spa paradise. I mean bathroom.

It takes me several failed attempts to figure out the wall-mounted showerhead from hell. When the water finally heats to a perfect near scalding temperature, I let it run for a few extra minutes. To wash off any potential orgy residue.

Because God only knows who or what has been in this shower.

Once I step in, it’s heaven. I scrub myself down with his ridiculously expensive soaps, inhaling that fresh, crisp scent that smells like him.

I hate how much I like it.

Before I get out, I wash my own clothes and hang them to dry. Because I have standards.

I dry myself off with a towel and pull on my borrowed outfit.

The boxer briefs fit embarrassingly well. The soft, loose t-shirt goes mid-thigh. I forego my bra; that thing needed a wash more than my girls need to be perky. The sweatpants are ridiculously long. I have to fold them four times at the ankle to keep from tripping.

At this point, I’m playing dress-up in my kidnapper’s closet. But that’s his problem, not mine.

I rummage through his cabinet, looking for necessities.

Wide-tooth comb? Found it.

Toothbrush? Jackpot.

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