Thank you to YukonNights for editing this chapter. DeathMarch4, thank you for review and feedback. All the assistance is greatly appreciated.
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Twice during the night, Michael woke to the reassuring warmth of Mariah's body and the gentle cadence of her breathing. The third time he woke, it was morning. He reached for her, but something felt wrong. It wasn't Mariah next to him. He was instantly swamped with an undefined dread. When he opened his eyes, he found Henry looking back at him. He was flopped on his back with his head on Mariah's pillow. Michael's arm was draped over Henry's side. He sat up abruptly, his heart pounding. Henry looked at him reproachfully.
Mariah was not in his bedroom. Reminding himself that the house was secure did nothing to quell the vague fear that something awful had happened to her - or that she had left him. He hurried to her bedroom to check for her there. His anxiety ratcheted up another notch as he surveyed her empty room, but he still had her bathroom and closet to check. When he reached the seating area in her bedroom, he heard the sound of the shower running in her bathroom. Relief washed over him, and the tension left his body so fast that he needed to sit down on the divan.
Mariah was safe, as he had known all along that she must be, but knowing and feeling are two different things. Chastising himself for his foolish and unfounded fears did nothing to alleviate them. Even now, knowing that she must be in the shower, he decided he would feel better once he actually saw her.
When he stepped into the bathroom, he could hear her singing. He didn't recognize the tune and he couldn't make out the words over the sound of the water. The acoustics of the shower gave the last notes of her song a sweetly haunting quality. He watched her through the glass shower enclosure while he waited to see if she would sing again. When she didn't, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. She didn't react, so he tapped on the glass wall of the shower. She shrieked and jumped back.
"It's just me."
"You scared me!"
He joined her in the shower. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
With his arms wrapped around her, the angst finally faded, replaced with a growing awareness of her body against his.
Mariah hid her disappointment over the interruption of her shower. Yesterday had been emotionally demanding. The much-needed solitude of the shower was her first opportunity to let her thoughts sort themselves out. At least it had been until Michael showed up. She needed some time to herself, but his hands roaming over her body made her doubt she would get that any time soon.
She took a deep breath and tried to relax and focus on her goal. Her priority was ensuring the launch of the project to bring people into the compound. She refused to let her irritation with Michael's boundary issues get in the way of accomplishing that.
She allowed herself to be distracted by his hands moving over her skin. She rested her head against his shoulder, but his erection poking against her backside jarred her out of her efforts to relax. When didn't the man have an erection? None of her prior relationships involved being around her partner all the time. She had always been able to retreat to her own space after sex. That was the way she preferred it.
It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex or that she wasn't attracted to Michael. The wet heat building between her legs was testament to that. The problem was that being around him all the time made it difficult to keep the appropriate emotional distance. It was especially difficult in the constant, breathless state of arousal he had been deliberately provoking.
When he pushed her into that mental space, everything slowed down and she felt like her brain was floating in molasses. It became hard to hold onto her thoughts. She wasn't sure whether Michael's campaign to keep her in a sex-addled state was intended to prevent her from thinking straight, or if he did it because he thought she wouldn't be responsive enough to him otherwise. Maybe he was just playing with his new toy. If that were the case, his level of interest should drop once the newness wore off.
There were advantages to Michael's preoccupation with sex, the first of which was the sex itself. He was either a very intuitive lover or a naturally perfect match for her. She hadn't realized until now that it was possible to feel simultaneously sated and aroused. Her body had never felt so good. Her mind was another matter.
The preoccupation with sex also had the benefit of forestalling conversations that were sure to end badly. Michael constantly tested her boundaries. He kept wanting to know what she was thinking or feeling. It was intrusive. While he might feel he had known her for years because he had been spying on her through the security feeds, she had only known him for three days.
He treated her more like a girlfriend than someone he had coerced into a sexual arrangement. While it was more pleasant being treated like a courtesan, she wasn't blind to the risk it posed. If he treated their arrangement like a romantic relationship, she might start to feel like it was one. Every instinct was warning her that she must not allow him to blur those lines. If it were an option, she would have solved the problem by staying away from him.
Michael interrupted her thoughts. "What were you singing earlier?"
"You heard that? How long were you there?" Realizing he heard her singing in an unguarded moment left her embarrassed and annoyed. She enjoyed singing, but she didn't want to do it in front of people.
"I just heard the last little bit. It was pretty. I didn't know you could sing."
"Everyone can sing."
"I meant... Never mind. What was the song you were singing?"
"Just an old ballad. Could you hand me the shampoo?"
Instead of handing her the shampoo, he started washing her hair for her. His fingers moving in circles over her scalp relaxed her. By the time he rinsed her hair, her irritation faded. She realized that she had to stop letting herself react to every little thing he did that rubbed her the wrong way. It was counterproductive.
The insistent voice of reason reminded her that she needed to focus on developing her mental defenses, but Michael was currently sabotaging those efforts. He had moved her hair aside and was kissing the back of her neck. Her shiver gave away her reaction to his touch there, and his arms tightened around her. With one of his arms crossed between her breasts and the other wrapped from the top of her ribs to her waist, she was firmly caged against his chest. His exertion of physical control triggered another warning in her mind, but then his teeth grazed the side of her neck, and she felt the stupefying pull of arousal again.
The weight of his cock nestled against the cleft of her ass caused her mind to wander. She remembered the way it felt in her hand, how smoothly the silky skin slid over the solid core. The memory summoned an image of his precum welling up in a crystal-clear bead before it yielded to gravity.
Michael's lips brushed her ear. "What are you thinking about, kitten?"
"Huh? Oh, I was thinking about the shower tile." She named the first thing she saw.
He nipped her earlobe. "The tile, hmmm?"
"Yes. It's very tasteful."
His hands slid over her wet skin to fondle her breasts. He kissed the side of her neck. "Tell me what you like about the tiles."
"The color." Her breath caught when he licked the water from her neck.
"Just the color?" He nibbled his way down the side of her neck.
"The shape is very modern." She was sure he was teasing her, but she was stuck in her poorly chosen lie.
"You mean rectangles?"
His fingers were strumming across her nipples now. She struggled to think of an answer. "It's the proportions."
He smiled to himself. She was such a terrible liar. The tension in her body rose every time she told him another silly installment of her story about the tile. Her head tilted subtly away from him, unconsciously signaling the discomfort lying was causing her. Tempted by the bend of her neck, he closed his teeth over the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Her breath caught, and he sucked at the delicate skin there. When he released her neck, he raised his mouth to her ear.
"You know what I think, kitten?" He pinched a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "I think you weren't thinking about the tiles at all. Do you want to know why I think that?"
She shook her head no, and he chuckled. He spent a moment playing with her nipples, tugging and twisting lightly.
"I don't think thoughts about the tiles made you start rubbing your ass against my cock."
She looked back at him in shock. Had she really been doing that? She looked away quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind, kitten. I love feeling your ass wiggling against me like that. I just wanted to know what you were thinking about that made you do it."
She tried to cross her arms, but his hands were in the way. When she tried to start washing so she could get out of the shower, he took the soap from her. He kept her trapped in his arms while he soaped his hands and began bathing her. He massaged her arms as he washed them, until she relaxed under his touch. When he reached her neck, her chin tipped up and her head fell back against his shoulder. Her eyes closed and she seemed to have forgotten about her little lie.
His hands slid down her chest to soap her breasts. "Don't you think you'd better tell me?"
Her eyes opened. "Tell you... oh, about the tiles?"
"No, you already told me you like the tiles because they're pretty-colored rectangles. Don't you think you'd better tell me what you were really thinking about?"
"I don't remember."
"Really?" Amusement shaded his voice. "Do you need me to help you remember?" He slowly rocked his hips so that she could feel his cock rubbing against her ass.
"I can't remember when you do things like that."
He pinched her nipples and tugged them until they slipped from his soapy fingers. "Things like that?"
She nodded.
His hands slid lower to her slick heat. He soaped her slowly. His finger slid up and down over her clit. "What about things like that?"
She nodded again. He gave her clit a pinch, then turned her to face him. "Look at me."
He watched her eyes as his hands slid over her back. The black of her dilated pupils was swallowing up the warm brown of her irises. "Are you listening to me?"
She stared back at him just a fraction of a second longer than it should have taken her to answer. "I'm listening."
He rubbed her shoulders and started working his hands down the muscles on either side of her spine. "I want you to tell me what you were thinking about."
"When I—?"
