Chapter 43 Longest pee in history
Okay, so the rational side of me is praying that Natte will just leave me outside my room – what small part of it there is left. But I know he won’t.
“Key,” he says, stopping outside my door.
I rummage in my handbag, and pull my key card out. Reaching down, I put it into the slot and push the handle down, as Natte shoves my door open with his leg.
He carries me through the darkened living room of my suite, letting the door swing shut behind us. I drop my shoes to the floor and toss my handbag onto the sofa as he passes by it.
“Fuck!” he curses, walking into the coffee table.
“You okay,” I stifle a giggle.
“No,” he grumbles. “It hurts like a mother fucker.”
“I’ll rub it better for you.”
“Is that a promise?” His tone is serious. He’s staring down at me, his eyes impenetrable in the darkness of my suite.
Looking away, I say nothing.
We reach the bedroom and Natte gently deposits me down on the bed.
“Why thank you kind, sir,” I say putting on a really bad Southern accent like Sam's, except his is actually cool. “Your work here is done.”
“Not yet, it’s not.” He pulls his boots off and climbs onto the bed, lying down beside me.
“Are you staying?” I ask, nervous.
“Of course I am. I’m not leaving my girl drunk and alone. You might be sick and choke on your own vomit.”
His girl? And also, worst excuse ever for climbing into my bed, Natte, seriously.
But then I’m not exactly fighting him out of here either.
“I’m not drunk,” I giggle. “And just trust me, I’ve taken care of myself in worse states than this.”
“Yeah? Well you shouldn’t have had to.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Was that a dig at Pine?
He turns on his side and faces me in the darkness. “Do you want me to go?” he murmurs, and his voice suddenly sounds all deep and intense.
Shivers envelop me. My heart rate increases, and my breathing hitches.
“No, it’s fine, stay. But I need to pee,” I say, my voice turning pitchy, as I climb off the bed.
I cross the bedroom on seriously wobbly legs, which have nothing to do with the alcohol in my system, and everything to do with Natte in my bed over there, and grab my pyjamas; a vest and short set, and stumble into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I pee, brush my teeth, take my make up off and climb in the shower.
After I finish my shower, I put my pyjamas on, towel dry my newly clean hair, and tie it damp into a messy knot.
I’m hoping I’ve been gone long enough so that Natte has fallen asleep because I’ve got a feeling if he hasn’t, I’m soon going to be making the mistake, I really want to make with him tonight.
I turn the light off before opening the bathroom door, then I quietly let myself back into the bedroom and pad my way across the carpeted floor.
As I’m nearing the bed, Natte utters, “Well that was the longest pee in history. What the fuck were you doing in there?”
So he is still awake. Crap.
“I took a shower, just like you should.”
“You saying I smell?” he chuckles.
“I’m saying I value my continued ability to breathe,” I reply, climbing into bed.
“That bad?”
“Let’s just say the coffee table isn’t the only thing that got assaulted tonight.”
He laughs softly. “Rude.”
I pull the duvet back and climb into bed.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, but if you’re too lazy to take a shower, can you at least take your stinky ass clothes off, and get your own blanket out of the wardrobe.”
Laying on my back, I tuck the duvet safely around me.
Like that will stop Natte getting near me if he wants to. The man could undress a woman with one look alone.
“Yes ma’am.”
He clambers up off the bed and I watch in the dark as he pulls his T shirt off over his head and removes his jeans, leaving him in just his boxer shorts. His sexy, tight black boxer shorts.
“Fuck, I do stink,” he says sniffing his T shirt, then his armpit. “I’ll take a quick shower.”
“Please do,” I mumble, trying very hard not to stare.
“You sure you don’t want to join me?” he throws over his shoulder casually.
My heart nearly combusts. “Absolutely not.”
“Shame,” he says lightly. “Could’ve saved water.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re still thinking about it,” he counters.
“I am not.”
“You paused.”
“I did not pause.”
“You absolutely paused,” he says, pushing the bathroom door open. “I heard the silence.”
“That was me being horrified,” I call after him.
“Sure it was,” he chuckles, leaving the door ajar as the light floods into the bedroom.
I lay here, my heart beating up a storm in my chest. My whole body on fire, as I listen to the running water, I feel so desperate to go climb back in that shower with Natte, and do things with him I shouldn’t want to do.
“Don’t you dare even think about it,” I whisper to myself, clutching the duvet tighter.
From the bathroom, his voice floats out over the sound of the water. “You talking to yourself in there?”
“No!”
“Liar,” he singsongs. “That’s what people do when they’re plotting something.”
“I’m plotting sleep,” I snap back.
“Sleep sounds boring.”
“It’s not supposed to be exciting, Natte. That’s the point.”
“Depends who you’re sleeping next to,” he replies smoothly.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you let me stay.”
“That was a safety decision.”
“Right,” he laughs softly. “For your safety or mine?”
“For mine,” I say quickly. “You’re the hazard here.”
“Ouch,” he says. “I’m wounded.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I might not,” he teases. “You’ve been very mean to me tonight.”
“I offered to rub your injury better,” I remind him.
“That offer sounded very conditional.”
“It was revoked after you got smug.”
“I was not smug,” he argues from behind the spray. “I was charming.”
“You walked into a table.”
“That table attacked me.”
I bite my lip to stop smiling. “You’re blaming furniture now?”
“Yes,” he says firmly. “Hostile interior design.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You like me ridiculous.”
I don’t answer that. Because… damn it.
The water shuts off.
My stomach flips violently as I hear him moving around, the rustle of a towel, there is a low hum of him muttering to himself.
“You alive out there?” he calls.
“Barely,” I reply before I can stop myself.
“Good,” he says. “I’d hate to think my absence killed you.”
“I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” I lie.
“Sure you were.”
The bathroom door opens wider and he re-emerges a few minutes later, wearing only a towel around his waist, his hair all damp and mussed up.
I’m so done for.
He leaves the bathroom door ajar again, a splay of light in the room illuminating his nearly naked form, his tattoos looking intricate in the low light.
He looks beautiful, and I wonder if he’s done it on purpose leaving the light on him, giving me a full view.
Maybe he left the door open while he was getting a shower on purpose too.
“You’re staring,” he says quietly.
“I am not,” I squeak, immediately turning my face toward the ceiling.
“You are,” he insists, amused. “I can feel it.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Uh huh.” He pads closer to the bed. “You’ve been very quiet suddenly.”
“I’m conserving energy.”
“For what?”
“For… sleeping,” I say weakly.
He huffs a laugh. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“You’re terrible at wearing clothes,” I shoot back.
“That sounds like a compliment.”
“It’s a complaint,” I say quickly. “A very strong complaint.”
“Noted.” He pauses. “Should I get dressed?”
My brain screams yes. My mouth betrays me. “…You don’t have to.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Dangerous answer,” he murmurs.
“I mean— you’re already clean,” I rush out. “No need to put dirty clothes back on.”
“So you’re thinking about my clothes now?” he asks, his voice turning low and teasing.
“I’m thinking about hygiene!”
“Right. Hygiene.” He chuckles softly. “You’re very invested in my hygiene tonight.”
“Someone has to be.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly. My breath catches as the scent of the soap drifts toward me, it is warm and fresh and unfair.
“Better?” he asks quietly.
“…Yes,” I admit. “Much less hazardous.”
“Good,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to endanger you.”
“You already are,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He shifts under the covers beside me, the warmth of his body instantly wrapping around me without touching.
“Go to sleep,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
My heart thunders against my ribs.
“That’s the problem,” I whisper, barely audible.
He doesn’t reply, but I swear I feel his smile in the dark.