The dim light from the single lamp casts shadows that dance and flicker against the sun-bleached wallpaper. In the quiet, my guilt expands within me like a balloon, robbing me of breath at times.
Dinner was tense and short, and not because of Brandon. I was too in my head to enjoy my alone time with him.
He thinks I’m a child, and here I am, acting like one almost on purpose. Is this what I do when I feel rejected?
My whole life, I’ve felt out of place because of my beliefs. Brandon is one of the first few Christians who have accepted me, and his acceptance means something. He’s a pastor, a man of authority in a community I’ll probably always be a part of. At least, if I want to be close to my family.
He makes me feel like I belong. Just as I am.
It hurts to think that he might be hiding the truth from me—that maybe he thinks an atheist is fine for a family friend but not for a lover. I don’t want him to only accept me partially.
I want him to want me as intensely as I want him.
A soft hissing sound pulls me into the present. I sit up and listen. It’s coming from the bathroom. Spraying water.
I get up and pad barefoot across the coarse old carpet. I flick the light switch, illuminating the grimy bathroom in harsh white light. The sink is spraying an arc of water.
I rush forward, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. My fingers slip on the cold metal of the faucet as I turn it, trying to stop the relentless assault of water. But instead of stopping, the spray intensifies. A monstrous jet of icy water drenches me in seconds.
Water seeps into my clothes, and I stumble backward, shielding my face with my hands. I gasp, my breath catching in my throat as the cold water saturates my skin, matting my hair to my face.
I’m soaked through as the water starts to creep out of the bathroom, drenching the carpet. I jump over the growing puddle and snatch up my suitcase. Water sloshes under my feet as I make my way toward the door.
In the quiet darkness of the forest, I use the moonlight as my guide. I run in the direction of Brandon’s bungalow, my soaked clothes clinging to me like a second skin. Goddamn him for making me stay in that shack. Since this is all his fault, he can deal with the aftermath.
I knock frantically on his door, my teeth chattering from the cold. When Brandon opens it and appears in front of me, his eyes grow huge. “Oh my God,” he nearly shouts. “Are you okay? What happened?”
I wave a hand. “I’m fine. I’m just wet, as you can see.”
His dark gaze slowly drifts from my soaked hair down my neck, lingering on my chest.
“My room is flooding.”
He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at my soaked body as if in a trance. A breeze drifts over me, sending a shiver down my spine. “Brandon,” I clip out. “My room is flooding.”
“Sorry.” He blinks once before moving aside quickly, ushering me into his room. Even in my frantic state, I’m immediately hit by the stark contrast between his bungalow and mine. This one is big and luxurious with a fully equipped kitchenette and stainless-steel appliances. I let out an almost hysterical laugh. “Well, I see why they don’t rent out bungalow twenty-seven.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a shack. Hence this.” I gesture at my clothes. “We need to hurry. The room is flooding as we speak. Can you call the front desk?”
He nods before walking to the bedside table, that troubled expression never leaving his face. He feels guilty, I know, and even ten minutes ago, I would probably want to soothe him for it.
Maybe I will later, but not now. Not while I’m soaking wet and cold because of him.
A smile rises to my lips as I roll my suitcase into his bathroom. I was too frantic to appreciate that look on his face when he first opened the door, but when I’m dry, I’ll be able to drink in the memory.
Hypnotized. That’s how I would have described it.
Brandon
My pulse quickens as the phone rings. I can still see the way her clothes clung to her, outlining her every curve. The image burns in my mind.
It’s all my fault. I deserve this punishment.
I acted selfishly, putting her in that clearly unlivable room. What if it was worse than a busted pipe? What if the whole damn thing had caved in on her?
Icy-cold recrimination washes over me. It’s all my fault, and this is what I get. I glance over at the bathroom where shadows play at the bottom of the door. She’s undressing in there, shedding the clothes that were practically painted on her body.
She might be naked at this very moment.
Don’t think about all that pretty skin. Don’t think about the water dripping down it.
The front desk finally picks up after probably the fifteenth ring. I explain the situation briefly, my words stumbling over one another. I can’t keep my gaze from sliding back to the bathroom door. An odd sense of anticipation tingles over my skin.
“I’m sorry,” the office staff says after a pause. “But we’re fully booked. We don’t have any other rooms available.”
“What about the room next to mine? It was vacant just this afternoon.”
“I’m so sorry, but it’s no longer available.”
Dizziness descends over me, making me sway forward.
God, no.
Deliver me from this. Keep me from sinning.
I beg you.
Mariana will have to stay here. In my room. My blood runs hot and cold at the same time, my heart pounding against my chest.
As I slam down the phone, Mariana walks out of the bathroom. She’s wearing a large, baggy T-shirt, and a fist clenches around my gut. This is what she looks like in her bed at night. If I were sleeping with her, I could slip my hands under that big shirt and kiss her from her naval to that beautiful pink…
No.
This isn’t even a fantasy anymore. She’s here. She’s real. My beautiful Mariana. Sinning now feels as inevitable as the moment David ordered Bathsheba be brought into his chamber.
God, please help me.
Of all the women in the world, why does it have to be her I crave so intensely? I don’t want calamity in my life if I sin with her again. I don’t want to lose the family I’ve come to need as if it were my own.
“You’ll have to stay here.” My voice is hushed and husky, and Mariana’s eyes widen. Fuck, I didn’t mean to use that bedroom voice.
“What about the bungalow next door?”
“No.” My voice feels disembodied, as if in a dream. “It’s booked. There’s nowhere else for you to go.”
The words seem to settle over her slowly. Those big brown eyes drift around the room before settling on my bed, and a darkness rises within me. I want to grab her by the throat, punish her for making me think these wicked thoughts.
“Would you mind—” Her lips close.
“What?” My tone is sharp and commanding, and those brown eyes grow wide and vulnerable.
I need to calm the fuck down. She can’t know what I’m thinking.
Then it will be over.
She licks that full bottom lip. “Would it be too much trouble if I took a bath? I’m still shivering from all that cold water.”
I fight the groan about to leave my lips.
Mariana bathing. While I sit here. Left to imagine what’s on the other side of that door.
“Of course,” I answer. “Get to it.”
Based on the slight widening of her eyes, it must have sounded like a command again, when I meant for it to be a suggestion. Why does the dominant side of me always come out with her? I thought I left these proclivities behind me with the meaningless one-night stands. With effort, I turn away from her and sit on the bed, pretending to look at my phone.
The faucet turns on, muffled through the closed door. Heat engulfs my whole body, and my skin vibrates with electricity. I try to steady myself. To focus on anything that isn’t Mariana’s bare, beautiful skin.
I turn on the TV, hoping the noise will drown out my thoughts. I scroll aimlessly through the hotel’s limited selection of shows and movies, but my mind keeps drifting back to that bathroom.
The sound of water splashing calls to my senses. What is she doing? Scrubbing herself? No. She’s bathing just to get warm.
But maybe her thoughts are going in the same direction as mine, and she’s using this strange set of circumstances to touch herself. Warmth radiates from my thighs to my gut as my thumb brushes over my cock.
Oh, fuck.
This has to stop.
I clench my fist and set it firmly at my side before standing up and walking to the fridge. I pull out the bottle of beer I picked up from the market earlier. I pop the cap and take a swig.
No. This is a bad idea. Lowered inhibitions are the last thing I need when Mariana’s going to sleep in my room tonight.
I frantically reach for my phone and check the time. I haven’t heard a peep from her in ten minutes. What if she fell asleep? What if she’s hurt?
I find myself standing in front of the bathroom door, my heart pounding in my chest. I knock lightly, my voice barely a whisper. “Mariana?”
No answer.
“Mariana,” I say louder. I’m about to knock again when something wicked within me halts my fist. I’ve already called for her twice. I’d be entirely justified to peek inside to make sure she’s okay…
I am justified. I am worried she’s hurt.
I push the door open, my pulse drumming loud in my ears. The soft glow from the vanity lights spills out, casting long shadows over the room. When my gaze drifts to the tub, I nearly fall over at the sight in front of me. She rests against the back of the tub with her mouth open, but she’s not asleep.
Her hand is moving rapidly under the water.
“Shit,” she squeaks before lifting her hands and covering her breasts with her palms.
It only makes my cock even harder.
“Mari,” I croak out. The heat that surges through me is as relentless as a desert sun.
There’s no going back now.
I’m lost.
