Page 69 of Say You Hate Me
Gods.
“How drunk are you?” he asks skeptically, rubbing his eyes. His hair is messy, his face has day-old scruff, and his torso is chiseled and hard. But my eyes won’t leave the behemoth thing sticking out the top of his boxers.
“It doesn’t matter, I consent,” I say, taking a step forward.
He holds a hand out. “Natalia.”
“I like it when you say my name,” I purr, kicking my booties off. “It’s not fair that you look like thatandyou’re denying me sex. Has anyone ever died of sex deprivation before? I might need to go to the hospital.”
His mouth twitches, and he stretches both arms above his head, yawning.
“I’m not fucking you while you’re this drunk.”
I stare at him, stumbling slightly. “I said I consent,” I whine, my voice quiet.
He laughs and drags me to the bedroom where he proceeds to undress me.
“I knew you’d give in,” I chide victoriously.
“I’m not giving in. I’m putting you to bed.”
“Pleeeeease,” I beg, struggling against him. “I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Doubtful,” he mutters, pushing me into the bathroom. There’s a glass of water sitting on the edge of the sink, and suddenly I am parched. I drink two giant glasses of water, and Anderson hands me two pills.
“Ibuprofen, for your hangover tomorrow.”
I make atsk-ing sound. “I won’t have a hangover.”
He hands me a washcloth for my face and his toothbrush. I oblige him, thinking I’ll trick him when we get into bed.
When I finish, he removes my bra and throws a large shirt over me, not looking at my peaked nipples. Nowthat’ssome self-control-yoga-mindset shit.
“Get in the bed, Natalia.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer, laughing as I fall into bed. I hear him sigh.
I start to turn to face him, but he moves against me and envelopes me in a tight squeeze, his body to my back. And he’s warm—so warm. One of his hands holds my hands to my chest, and the other strokes my hair. My eyes flutter from open to closed a few times, and my mind relaxes.
“I think I’m falling for you, Anderson Møllen.” The words are out of my mouth before I can say anything else—before I can consciously think about them.
In the next second, I fall fast asleep beside him.
40
Natalia
I wakeup to a note from Anderson on my pillow, and I smile as I read it.
Quick trip in the plane up to Santa Barbara with Luca for a meeting. Be back tonight. Help yourself to anything. Don’t worry about locking up—I can do it remotely so text me when you leave. Take your time. Xo, A.
Xo.
It’s so not his style that I actually laugh as I throw the luxurious covers off. My head isn’t pounding like usual. Seems his cocktail of ibuprofen, water, and sleep actually helped. I want to stay in his cozy bedroom forever, but my stomach is screaming at me for some food. I stand, looking around. I love this bedroom. Neutral textiles, dark blue walls, and light wood furniture. There’s a tapestry hung above his bed, several books on his nightstand, a faux fur rug under the bed, and a closet with a pile of clothes on the ground. Something about the pile of clothes makes me smile. He’s not perfect—notthe honed, statuesque persona he gives off at work. He lives in his house and he uses it. And I like that.
I take my time getting ready, first by showering and using a hefty amount of his fancy shampoo and conditioner. Then I grab an oversized T-shirt, inhaling the citrus scent of him, and putz around the house. I do the dishes in the sink, make myself an omelet, and pull one of the books off his bookshelf to read while I eat and drink my coffee. He doesn’t have a TV—something I’ve been meaning to ask him about.Whodoesn’t own a TV? That’s going to be a point of contention, I can already tell.
The thought makes me slam my book shut and stop chewing. A point of contention? As in, am I planning on moving in here with him?
