Chapter 8: The bathroom incident

The light came on.

Our eyes locked in together, his strong emerald bright green eyes looking intensely at me, that I couldn’t help myself gulping down, realizing how close he was.

I’d noticed his eyes looking at my neck and trailing down to my bare chest. When I pulled myself out of his embrace and hurriedly took a towel from the racks and covered myself in a not so swift move, clumsy move is the word.

My face burning and my heart racing from the fall and now from him seeing me naked, cause I could swear he did see my b**bs, I thought to myself.

Lazarus didn’t look away, A slow smirk crossed his face, then he stepped closer and brushed a strand of wet hair away from my mouth with a slight smile “I held my breathe”

”The light had an issue“ but it’s back now, continue with your shower and be out in the next three minutes. he said as he left the bathroom.

I stood there gripping the towel, my knees weak, my skin still warm where his fingers had been.

What is he doing to me? I thought.

And now he’s giving me minutes to be done with my bathroom time.

I swallowed hard at the thought of his hair and his plump lips, then I hurried out of the bathroom not wanting to be punished.

I finished up, put on the nightdress, and stepped back out of the bathroom.

He glanced up, looking at me from head to toe I could feel his eyes linger longer around my chest area and legs longer.

He gestured toward the bed without further comment, already lying facedown, his voice flat and businesslike. "That's the oil. Pour it on my back and work it in properly. I want to actually feel relaxed by the time you're done.

I picked up the small glass bottle with unsteady hands, my heart still beating hard, though the fear in my chest had started to shift into something closer to simple nervousness.

He wasn't looking at me the way I'd braced myself for. He just lay there, eyes closed, like this was ordinary like I was just a staff doing her job, nothing more.

I told myself that was a good thing. I told myself I should be relieved.

Some small, confusing part of me wasn't sure that was the whole truth.

Delia, are you prepared for your first mission tomorrow? His thick Russian voice startled me .

My hands stilled against his back for half a second, the question catching me off guard. I reached carefully for my phone, ready to write anything that might sound more confident than I actually felt.

"Don't stop the massage," he said, before I'd even picked up the phone. Just answer with your face. A nod will do.

I hesitated, my pulse ticking up. It felt strange, I nodded, slow and deliberate, hoping it looked more certain than I felt.

The truth was, I wasn't prepared at all. My stomach had been twisting itself into knots since the moment I’d agreed to go for it to avoid his punishment and to prove myself worthy, and no amount of rehearsing my cover story in the mirror had made the fear sit any easier. But admitting that felt dangerous  like handing him one more reason to decide I wasn't worth the risk.

So I kept my hands moving, steady over his back, and let the nod speak the confidence I didn't actually have.

"Good you better be” He said quietly, eyes still closed, like my fear was something he could sense anyway, whether I showed it or not.

Then slowly, his eyes opened, and he turned to look at me steady, intensely before pinning me in place.

“I don’t want mistakes Stacia“

For a moment, I got lost in how deep his eyes looked in the dim light of the room. There was something unapologetically beautiful about him, handsome in a way that felt almost unfair. My gaze drifted to his plump lips, and a small, reckless thought flashed through my mind before I could stop it.

I think I’m being reckless after all I’d been through with men, I shouldn’t be that easily distracted and not to the most powerful mafia in the city, if he truly knows about my traumas and what I’d been through I doubt he would want anything to do with me, I thought to myself.

I shoved it down immediately. Thoughts like that were a fast way to dig my own grave with a man like him.

I was still caught somewhere in that thought when his eyes moved, just slightly, settling on my face and the weight of his gaze pulled me straight back to reality. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as his face came closer, as if he wanted to kiss me.

i could swear I stopped breathing for a while.

My heart began to race so hard that I was sure he could hear it. I forgot how to breathe, and stared blankly. I wanted to move away, but my body stayed frozen.

He came close, closing the distance until his lips hovered barely a breathe from mine. The breathe of his warm exhale brushed across my cheeks, sending a faint shiver down my spine, Then he whispered.

He leaned close, his breath warm against my ear.

"Delia. I don't want mistakes. Do you understand me?"

He pulled back just enough to look at me directly, his eyes locked on mine, and I nodded fast, almost frantically, desperate for him to see I understood.

Something shifted in his expression. "Good girl," he said, low, and then straightened, stepping back.

I stood there, stunned, heat rushing to my face before I could stop it. ”Good girl. Two words, and my whole body reacted like it meant something it shouldn't. 

I hated how much I'd liked hearing it. I hated it more that some part of me wanted to hear it again, his low sweet Russian accent was doing something to me, Especially since my childhood trauma wasn’t the best and I was hardly praised for anything, being called a good girl almost healed something in me.

He stood up abruptly and my eyes fell on the bulge sticking out of his little black boxers he had on…