Page 113 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
Yet before I can look to ensure he is, I hear the metallic screech of the rings from the curtain sliding against the metal pole, the vinyl being snatched away. My entire body flinches and a second later, a hand grabs the back of my neck, jerking me backward. My calves collide with the sides of the tub but I lift my feet to keep myself upright and a moment later, I’m inside the shower.
A cry leaves my lips, but a palm slams over my mouth, and for a second, as my attacker closes the curtain again, drenching us in darkness, I don’t think it’s Sullen. Because it’sbare fingersover my skin.
Fear squeezes through me and my bladder feels tight and full and I’m not even just afraid for myself. If Sullen is caught by Writhe, Stein will kill him.
Something warm trickles down my thigh, soaking my underwear, and when I inhale through my nose, my nostrils flaring wide with fear as I try to breathe, I smell my pee.
And I knowhedoes too, but I’m too relievedto be embarrassed when I hear Sullen in my ear. “Oh dear,” he says quietly, his throaty voice a balm to the terror in my veins. “You had an accident.”
I close my eyes in the dark, damp space, marveling over the fact the stream of water hasn’t gotten me soaked yet. My body is so close to the curtain and maybe Sullen adjusted the showerhead so it doesn’t reach us here. Either way, I don’t care.
Despite how his hand is pressed tightly to my mouth, other arm wrapped around my waist like a snake crushing its victim, I still feel giddy with solace.
My legs tremble, though, the water rushing behind me not enough to drown out my heartbeat in my head. “Sullen.” I manage to mumble the word beneath his palm. I don’t open my eyes. “Are you okay?”
He tugs me closer to his body, and I feel the water on him pressing into my clothes, drenching me. My socks are soaked, clinging to my feet, and it’s an icky sensation, yet I can’t find it in me to care enough to remove them.
Slowly, Sullen slides his arm down my waist until his bare fingers grip my thigh, just under the short hem of my skirt. He slides them up higher, making my muscles jump, then he laughs against my ear.
“I feel it,” he says quietly, and my face flushes hot as I realize what he means. I peed on myself. My body burns with the fact, and I am trembling, but I don’t try to hide away. “Did I scare you so badly, Little Sun?”
I open my eyes then and twist my head to stare up at him. His gaze meets mine, lashes wet and thick.
Heisdressed, I realize, bandana still around his throat. He is drenched, and I wonder if he showered just like this, or if he got dressed afterward and kept the water running for some reason. Maybe to see if I was going to betray him by slicing through his boundaries.
“Sullen,” I whisper again, and he slides his hand down to my throat, curling his fingers softly around my neck so I can speak. “I’m sorry. I just… I saw the power went out, in the hallway.”
“It’s an old hotel,” he muses quietly, watching me. “This isn’t the luxury you’re used to.”
I narrow my eyes, feeling braver with his taunt. “And I saw…blood.”
A twisted smile curves his full lips. Water glides down the line of his jaw, the tip of his nose, a drop on his mouth, right at the corner. I have the sudden, vicious urge to lick it off.
“Did you?” he asks quietly. Then he drags me toward the showerhead and the hot water sprays all over me, oozing through my scalp, dripping down my shirt, over my stomach, my skirt, lower still. I shiver despite the warmth. The feeling of clothing sticking to my skin makes me feel dirty, even though I know it’s also washing away the urine on my thighs, his hand still gripping one tightly.
I feel his erection as he crushes me to him, and I don’t look away from him even through the water drenching me. He’s now behind the spray of it and he looks at me with cruel amusement as he debases me.
He doesn’t understand this is exactly what I want.
But I can’t let go of the blood on the tile. The nerves I felt thinking he wasn’t in here.
I try to twist in his arms, to see the rest of him, make sure he is whole, but he only squeezes me tighter, both with his hand around my throat and his arm over my waist.
I shiver in his grasp, the water blurring my vision, drenching me entirely as he only stares at me. “It’s your blood,” I gasp out. “It wasn’t here before.”
He tilts his head, staring at my mouth. “You are very observant.”
“What happened? Are you…hurt?”
His dark eyes slowly slide back up to mine. “I’m always hurt.” He says it so flatly, no emotion in his words. It chills me more. But before I can say anything to that, he releases me, only to turn, putting his back to the shower curtain, to theescape.He pushes me, pressing my spine against the tile as he pins me there with one hand pressed over my chest.
Slowly, he reaches up with his bare fingers and brushes back his hood, water dripping now over his face. But it’s his hair I’m staring at as he studies me carefully, as if waiting for a reaction.
I couldn’t hide it even if I wanted to.
His strands are thick, a dark, chocolatey shade of brown, cool in tone. It’s cut in a haphazard style, tufts longer in places, strands above his brow, but overall, very short. And despite the sporadic lengths, being able to take him in like this, without his hood, it feels… sacred. His cheekbones appear even higher, his nose sharper, lips fuller, the line of his jaw more severe, especially with water gliding along his face and the stubble there.
He is breathtaking.
