Page 44 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

When a sob erupts from deep within her, she sinks to the floor, leaning up against the back wall of the stall as she covers her face with her hands. She allows herself a minute, and then another, admitting to herself that no amount of water can wash away her guilt and shame. She’d sold her body to a stranger—and shelikedit. On that floor, pressed against the cream-colored tiles, she can hardly stand being in her own skin. She doesn’t recognize herself. As she cries, her mind berates her, flooding her head with memories of every decision that led her to believe she could do what she’s done. In the end, she acknowledges she had no idea what she had agreed to. Not really.

When the water starts to turn lukewarm, she finally stands and washes her body. The stall fills with the aroma of Stefano’s bodywash, but she hardly notices the masculine scent, wishing only to get out of the shower in order to crawl into bed. After she’s rinsed clean, she frees a groan when she notices she forgot to grab an extra towel. Naked and dripping wet, she leaves footprint puddles across the bathroom to the small closet housing Stefano’s extra linens. She dries herself off and wraps herself in the plush, fluffy material of his big, gray towel before she makes her way into his bedroom.

She heads directly to his dresser and digs through his drawer until she finds what she’s after. Soon, she’s donned a worn, charcoal-gray tank top that fits her just right—which means it hugs Stefano like a second skin—the front readingFifty Shades of Gayin bold, rainbow print font. Sans underwear, she then slips into a pair of silk pajama bottoms. These are too big for her, but she pulls the drawstring tight before she climbs into bed. Hugging one of his fluffy throw pillows close, she doesn’t care that she’s left every light on in every room, or that her damp towel is carelessly left on the hardwood floor, or even that she’s left the front door unlocked. All she can think about is how big of a slut she is.

She doesn’t know how long she lays alone before her exhaustion catches up with her. But as soon as she starts to close her eyes, all she can see is Godrik. Imagining his blue eyes, made darker by the extent of his arousal, forces her own back open in a flash. She hugs the pillow against her chest tighter as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. She bites down hard, willing herself not to cry.

An undiscernible amount of time later, when she hears Stefano enter his apartment, she closes her eyes and sees a different face.Hisface and the way he was looking at her when he walked through a different door. She listens to the click of his dress shoes against the hard floor. He starts and then he stops. Over and over again. It doesn’t take her long to realize he’s picking up her clothing. Upon his entrance to the room, she furrows her brow deeper, refusing to open her eyes. She’s not ready to face him again. Not now. Not now that she understands what he’ll see when he looks at her.

She blows out a slow breath when she hears him in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. It takes him a while, as per usual, but she’s still not prepared when he’s finished. After she hears the light switch and they’re shrouded in darkness, she finally dares to open her eyes. He climbs into bed with her, and she can tell he’s let his mane free, his long hair draping over his shoulders. For a few minutes, he lays opposite her, his hands folded beneath his cheek, his eyes trained on her. She can’t make out the hazel color of his irises, but Jessica doesn’t need the light to feel his stare. She rolls her lips between her teeth, keeping her mouth shut tight in an effort to squelch her emotions. More than anything, she’s grateful for his silence.

Finally, he carefully reaches for the pillow she still hugs to her chest. Jessica doesn’t fight him, but releases it, listening as it makes a soft thud when Stefano tosses it over the side of the bed, and it lands on the floor. Still not speaking a word, he wraps her in his arms. Jessica draws in a shuddered breath as she tucks her face in his neck, and he exhales a calm one. With one arm around her shoulders, he places a hand at the back of her head, holding her to him.

She starts to cry only when her body reminds her the slim arms, flat, lean chest, and delicate frame wrapped around her is nothing compared to the broad, sculpted, solid man who held her only hours before. The man she’s sure she’ll never be able to scrub out of her brain.

The man I’m not sure Iwantto scrub out of my brain.

Shit. I’m such a slut.

Jessica doesn’t rememberfalling asleep or the feel of Stefano getting out of bed in the morning. When she wakes up, the plush mattress beneath her body, the fluffy pillow caressing her cheek, and the soft jersey sheets tangled around her legs are all the reminder she needs that she’s not at home, on the pull-out couch that’s seen better days. The floor-length curtains, which cover the tall windows across Stefano’s bedroom, are mostly closed; but a sliver is enough for the bright, summer sun to slice through the room, alerting her Saturday is well on its way.

Blinking her eyes open, Jessica is temporarily engulfed in the blissful comfort found before awareness. For a moment, she’s merely in her best friend’s bed, her body relaxed, even if her head feels foggy and tired. As sleep starts to drift further and further away, the state of her mind begins to chase away the loose muscles of her body. She tenses, clutching her pillow for something to hang onto as she’s slammed with a fresh wave of guilt and shame. It tugs her under, and she seals her eyes closed tight as she mentally flails to find solid ground.

Shoving aside memories from the previous night, she tries to remember herwhy.The dawning of a new day beckons her to shift her thinking, to remember the deposit she’s sure to find in her account if she were to look in that very moment. But such awareness doesn’t make her feel any better. It doesn’t change what she’s done or how good it felt. The light of the sun peering down through the oceanic amount of confusion she drowns in seems farther and farther out of reach.

Shit. I’m a slut, she thinks, wishing to give up her fight and just drown.

“Your mom called.”

Jessica is pulled from her thoughts at the sound of Stefano’s voice. She shifts her gaze and finds him leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, his long, dark hair unruly from a night of sleep and spilled around his shoulders; his chest bare, and his silk pajama bottoms hanging low around his narrow hips; his hazel eyes, leaning toward dark green at the moment, calculating as he stares at her—and a steaming mug of coffee clasped in his elegant hands.

She doesn’t respond, too distracted by the look in his eyes. Last night, under the blanket of twilight, she could hide from his judgement. The sun, meager as it is with the drapes drawn closed, leaves no room for hiding.

Her silence doesn’t seem to be something he minds as he goes on to say, “I answered. Told her you were here; that I wanted your company last night.”

He lifts his mug to his lips and takes a slow swig. His gesture is one she understands is full of mercy. She should have at least sent a text to her mother last night, but she hadn’t thought of that. Yet, regardless of Stefano’s kindness, it’s impossible for himnotto see her sluttiness. Not now. Not after what happened.

When Jessica doesn’t speak, he swallows and then turns to make his way out of the room. She doesn’t move, both relieved and apprehensive for the gift of more time alone. She’s familiar with how this will go. Last night, Stefano didn’t make her talk—but she’d cried herself to sleep in his arms. She isn’t going to get to leave without a thorough conversation; a conversation she dreads, no matter how much she loves and trusts him.Becauseshe loves and trusts him.

When Stefano reappears in his doorway, not even thirty seconds later, any reprieve Jessica feels vanishes. He nonchalantly brings his mug to his lips a second time with one hand, using his other to hold up the lacey garment from last night. Jessica’s stomach drops. She pushes herself up, supporting herself on her hands as she continues to stare at him.

“He gave this to you,” Stefano says, breaking the silence.

This stays on.

Jessica remembers Godrik’s words as he pulled her against him.

And the shoes.

Swallowing hard, Jessica offers Stefano no more than a nod. She doesn’t know what to say. Even if she did, the heat crawling up her spine and wrapping itself around her neck feels like a noose.

“Gifts are prohibited. Bea’s rules. Her collection of women makes a lucrative living. Johns aren’t meant towoowhat does not belong to them.”

Her mouth falls open, as if she’s going to say something, but then nothing comes out. The searing heat around her neck begins to creep into her cheeks. Her first reaction is to be embarrassed, his comment like a reprimand that simplyprovesshe’s done something wrong. Before she can wrestle her embarrassment into submission, she’s smacked down by another emotion—disappointment.She clamps her lips closed, shakes her head, and closes her eyes, trying to pretend Godrik’s kind gesture meant nothing. Only, the more she thinks about it, the kinder the gesture becomes.

It’s yours.

He hadn’t said much. Not the whole night, and especially not about the robe he’d given her—but in her mind, it doesn’t negate the fact that, every time she’s been with him, he’s given her something. That first night, it was dance. The second, it was an orgasm. When he came to her for a third time, she knew he would take more—and he did—but before he did, hegave. Then he gave, and gave, and gave some more.

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