Page 43 of Claimed
I scour his face, noting the slight shadow over his jaw. The crimson cast to his eyes. The way they are rimmed in even more red.
“Are you … okay?” I ask softly.
He looks at me for a very long time. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”
My head bobs in agreement. “Okay.” I force some of my embarrassment down. “I could. Use the restroom, I mean. If you don’t mind letting me up.”
He walks to me and unties my arms.
I was right. His eyes are red-rimmed.
Something inside me melts like the idiot I am.
A demon that apologizes and cries?
He makes quick work of the knots, every motion practiced. Easy.
I know who tied me in place.
Why does that not sound so bad now? I muse.
Once he is done, I rub my wrists for a second before climbing to my feet. He steps back.
“The others are out in the front room. Don’t run.”
I give him a look. “I don’t even know where we are, Caine. I’m not stupid.”
“Never said you were, Onyx.”
Eyeing him warily now, I brush past him and enter the bathroom. I close the door behind me and lock it.
It won’t stop any of them, but it makes me feel better.
The space is still balmy from his shower, and his damn scent is heavy in the room. His discarded clothes scatter the floor like he just dropped them where he stood. And I imagine he did.
I walk behind the small divider wall, shuck my body suit, and handle my human business. Coming back out, I wash my hands. Once. Twice. Just for something to do.
Though my eyes dip toward the shower, I have no other clothes save for my body suit and it was never meant to be worn for this long.
“Onyx?” Caine’s voice is soft through the door. Almost hesitant.
I bite my lip and glance at his open duffel. Then at my suit in a heap on the floor. “Could I …” Damn it.Just ask, Onyx. Taking a deep breath, I call, “Could I borrow one of your shirts? I’m roasting in the suit.”
There is a pause. “You want one of my shirts?”
“Or someone else’s if you would prefer me not to—”
“No. It’s fine.” His voice comes out harried, low. “Help yourself.”
I bend cautiously, eyeing the door. But I can’t make him out from inside the room.
His clothes spill from the top, like he just grabbed whatever his hands closed over first. Snaring a black tee with a v-neck collar, I riffle through T-shirts, jeans, socks, slacks, and dress shirts. But there is no underwear.
No boxers.
No briefs.
Nothing to cover my thong.
