Page 11 of Toxic

I’m just finishing the second when he comes back with robes and towels. He hands over mine. I look up into his somber expression, nodding, moving my hand from the shirt.

He makes quick work of my blouse, pulling it from my jeans. He gives me a towel to cover myself, turning me away from him unsnapping my bra. My breasts feel heavy when they fall free. Shrugging, I let the lace prison fall down my arms. Reaching around he takes it adding it to the pile.

“Turn around, please.” His voice sounds disconnected from the moment like he’s trying to hold himself apart.

When I move back around his fingers slip into my waistband, unsnapping my jeans. I suck my belly in when I feel his breath on me as he drops down to work them down.

His eyes are locked on my plump tummy. He pauses when he realizes I’m not wearing panties. He bites his lip, then his gaze skates up my body and his eyes meet mine in a brief hot moment before I make myself look away. A blush is burning my cheeks. I press my freezing hands to my face. I should have warned him. I don’t know how I forgot.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, horror clouding my every word.

“I’m not,” he mutters to himself but I can still hear.

Slowly, he pulls the wet material down my thighs until it reaches my feet and I’m able to step free.

Rising he tosses the wet jeans on top of the other material. “Don’t worry. I’ll have the staff dry clean them and have them ready by the time you’re ready to leave.

“Follow me, please.” He’s not seen to any of his needs. I follow him to what I immediately realize is his bathroom.

He stops at the door. “Everything you need is here.” He waves me inside.

After I step past him, he steps back, and the door closes automatically. The room is immaculate. If cleanliness is close to godliness, then surely, he’s going to heaven. Sleek counters and a multi-head shower head’s platinum sparkle are offset by steel gray stone.

Placing the robe he loaned to me on the bench near the soaking tub, I look longingly at it for a moment thinking how I wished I didn’t have to wash my hair but knowing I can’t risk not taking care of it tonight.

When I step in the alcove, the water automatically comes on. A heavy spray hits my body in a massaging beat. “Ohmygoodness,” I moan in rapture, making a slow turn to let the water hit aching tired muscles I didn’t know I had.

I recall telling him how often I wish I had a better shower than the dorm issued one. If I knew he had what I longed for I would’ve already come for a visit and finagled a way to stay over. I giggle a little to myself thinking of how I can make the excuse in the future. His whole set-up is divine. The ultimate bachelor pad.

I pause pumping the unscented but thick soap into the soft brand-new sponge he placed on the inset shower shelf. He seems very comfortable with me in his space. He must have guests all the time. I don’t know why but realizing I’m one of many dampens my mood. Why that is when he never made me promises, makes me feel a little sick. He only said I was his. He never said he was mine. Typical man. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had several “mines”.

After washing my body the necessary two times, I take a skeptical look at the shampoo and the conditioner. Not having a choice, I depress the button twice to get a generous amount. I sniff then sniff again. It smells exactly like mine. Realizing as I rub the lather into my hands and hair, I wonder of the chances of a Japanese billionaire using the exact same shampoo andconditioner that I, a Black American fellowship student, uses. That would be none.

Were the dossiers they received that thorough? Did he know my cycle? Good because I needed all the help I could get with that wonky monster.

After rinsing the conditioner and moisturizing in another unscented thick body butter, I pick up another robe off the warmer as I go over to the sink. In the inlaid counter is a toothbrush the exact replica of the one I own, and my preferred toothpaste. A knock has me turning to the door, answering, “Come in.”

He steps in freshly showered and shaven. He’s wearing black silk lounge pants and a long-sleeve black t-shirt. I snatch my head back to the mirror when I see the way his dick is swinging with every step he takes in my direction. Taking in my blush and wide eyes I cast my eyes down just as he comes to stand beside me. “I thought you might need these for your hair.”

“Thanks,” I say, looking into the basket placed before me. Inside is a super soft cotton pj set in my size which is not even found in this country.

“Where did you get all these?” I ask. Again, the exact products I use.

“I made some calls.” He shrugs. “There is an American military post here you know.” Yes, I know, but it’s not close. He’d have to make that call a while ago. Not today.

“When you’re done, we’ll eat.” He gives me a small smile reeking of self-satisfaction.

After twenty minutes of detangling and moisturizing, I defuse my hair just enough so that it’s not dripping. Normally I wouldn’t put any heat on my hair at all but I’m already freezing. Going to bed with my head wet has never been my thing and after the drama of today that’s the last thing I want.

Taking a last-minute look, I notice how my nipples protrude through the material. I pull the robe around me, so I don’t risk poking his eyes out.

“Have a seat.” He stands as I approach the sofa. The seating is deep. The material feels like velvet but is actually a brushed cotton or soft linen, obviously custom. The seating is so deep should I sit all the way back with my back to the cushions, only my ankles would reach past the edge.

I resist the urge to curl around the soft pillows and sleep. My grumbling tummy will probably have something to say about it as well.

The aromas wafting from the steaming dishes have me sitting up straighter. He places the dishes in front of me before disappearing behind a wall I assume houses his kitchen. He comes back out with empty bowls, cutlery, chopsticks, and spoons.

Placing all the items between us to allow me to pick what I prefer to use, he sits beside me and starts serving me. First, he spoons a thick creamy soup into a bowl and hands it to me. “Arigato, Hisashi.” My trembling smile draws his gaze. His attention remains on me for a moment, but he doesn’t press me.

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