Page 17 of Along for the Ride

I’m stuck.

Instead of making my escape now, I’ll have to wait for an opportune moment. One where I’m better prepared. And clothed. It’s probably for the best, because as I reach the bathroom door, my legs threaten to buckle when a massive wave of nausea crashes over me. Lights spin in front of my eyes, and I grab the doorframe to stop my body from landing on the tile floor. A high whine pierces my ears.

Just as my grip loosens and I begin to fall forward, I’m wrapped in warmth and power. My head dips back and I see his face. His lips move within his beard, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I blink until the fog begins to recede.

“You need to lie down.” His voice comes from miles away, but it’s getting closer.

He carries me to the bed and places me on top of the comforter before walking away. Moments later, he returns with a cool wash rag and places it on my forehead. I try to push his hands away. I don’t want his help. This was a lesson I learned the hard way many years ago. Men don’t help.

They hurt.

“Get the fuck off me,” I mutter.

He walks away again and I close my eyes, thinking he’s gotten the message, but he returns with a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the room. He sits on the edge of the bed and holds it out to me, and I take it because my body’s needs outweigh my pride. I sit up and rip off the cap before guzzling the cold liquid.

His hand lurches forward and pulls the bottle from my grasp.

“What the fuck?” I say. “First you force feed me help, and now you’re snatching it away. Make up your fucking mind.”

“You’ll just puke it up if you inhale it like that.” He holds it toward me again but pulls it away when I reach for it. “Sip it.”

I lean forward and snatch it from his hand, hating that he’s probably right. Goddamn him.

Taking small gulps of water is a monumental task, but I manage to muster enough willpower to make it happen. Each icy gulp slides down my throat like a cold stone dropping into the empty well of my stomach. After a few sips, I force myself to stop, glad that I’m able to keep it down.

“How do you know so much about what I’m going through?” I ask as I screw the cap onto the bottle. “Are you a recovering addict or something?”

He shakes his head, opens his mouth, then decides to keep his secrets. It’s probably best. The less we learn about each other, the better. I don’t even know why I asked. I certainly don’t give a shit.

When he gets to his feet again, I swallow hard. Against my will, my eyes glide to the massive erection at my eye level. It points toward his navel and nearly pokes from the top of his boxer briefs, but the thickness is what holds my attention. Disgustingly thick. Horrifyingly big. Fuck an ax. He could probably chop wood withthatthing.

It would certainly splitmein half, I think, and my cheeks blaze hot.

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a cock before,” he says with a smirk, and I finally look away from his bulging crotch, embarrassed I’ve been caught staring.

“Most strangers don’t make a habit of shoving their morning wood in my face, so you’ll have to excuse my fucking surprise,” I say. “Where are my clothes? I’d like to get dressed now.”

He goes to the dresser against the wall and opens the top drawer. He pulls my clothes from inside and tosses them to me. I pull the fabric against my face and breathe in the fresh scent. Bright floral notes soothe my senses. A person can’t understand the simple joy of clean clothes until they’ve gone without them, and I’ve been dirty for far too long.

“When did you get these from the laundry room?” I ask.

“I’ve been up for a couple of hours now.”

Bullshit. I’m a light sleeper. If he’d left the room, I’d have heard it. “You were still sleeping when I got out of bed,” I say.

“No, I was pretending to sleep when you got out of bed. I wanted to see what you’d do.” He steps into his pants and buttons them, finally hiding the third leg. “I need that shirt.”

I motion for him to turn around, but he only shakes his head. If he won’t turn around and give me some privacy, I’ll go to the bathroom. I put my feet on the floor, but before I can stand, his hands grip the hem of the shirt and he lifts it over my head. As my arms lower to cover my breasts, the shirt comes off and I’m completely bare.

“What the hell?” I scream as I scramble to find my shirt. It’s inside out, so I have to spend another mortifying thirty seconds righting it before I can cover my body. All while he’s standing behind me, watching and laughing. I don’t find any of this funny.

“If I wanted to see your tits, I’d have seen them by now,” he says.

“Is that a threat?”

His shoulders lift in a shrug. “Maybe.” He pulls his shirt over his torso, but it doesn’t hide the muscles underneath. If anything, it accentuates them. “You need to learn to trust me a little.”

I reach for my shorts, stand, and slide them over my ass. Fuck it. If he wants to look, he can look. I’m not playing games with him. “You’re doing a piss-poor job of earning my trust if that’s been your goal so far.”

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