Page 20 of Scream
Little zings zap around in my brain like sparks, shooting straight down to my dick. I shake them away, not allowing myself to think of her as…attractive. That’s the last thing I need to think about my bride-to-be. She said it herself - we’re nothing but a farce. Names on a piece of paper. Nothing more, nothing less. So, I smirk instead at the knowledge that it seems shedoesown something that isn’t pink, other than that fucking black dress she showed up in to the world’s poorest excuse of a funeral.
I wonder what she sees in herself.
Kitten eyes snap to mine, yelping as she dives for her robe. Once she has it on and tied it in place, her eyes are glued to my feet. “Is... something the matter?”
“Yeah, there’s forty fucking knobs in the goddamn thing. How do I work it?”
Her eyes lift and widen. “Oh! Sorry,” she rushes past me a little too quickly, that scent of her infiltrating me as she powers by. I follow her as she starts pointing to all the different knobs. “Heat, Cold, Power. If you’d like to turn on the body spray jets, it’s this one,” she mumbles nervously, and my nose scrunches. Is she afraid of me? “This button out here warms the floor for you when step out. I recommend turning it on at least a minute or two before doing so. I also took the liberty of ordering the things on your preference list Jonathan gave me, they’re all there.”
Of course she did. My fiancé might be a bit of a bitch, but she is zealous. I stare at the corner of the shower where the marble shelves are. It’s a state-of-the-art kind of shower; the kind that’s in my penthouse only flipped. I should’ve just played with the knobs and figured it all out. I grunt at her which causes her to leave me with an aggravated sigh.
When I saunter out of the bathroom, she’s sitting at her vanity, hair in champagne waves falling to the middle of her back, held back by some stretchy, fuzzy pink thing around her face. Her eyes are already lined and cat-eyed, lips glossy, and I stare without wanting to while she applies powder, or contour, or blush, or some shit. The dust of the powder bounces off her cheeks, creating a soft glow. So… feminine.
I should have jerked off in the shower.
I blink when her eyes land on me in her reflection, and I have to look away, then look around sheepishly for my suitcase. Not finding it, I ask, “Where’s my luggage?”
“Oh, I put it away in the closet to the left.”
I head there, even though I'm right where I hesitantly want to be. I open the fucking suitcase, pulling out casual slacks, a blue button-up, and undergarments. I dry myself properly, hang the towel on the doorknob, then step into my boxer-briefs, socks, and trousers. I step out with my undershirt, shirt and socks in hand, and Sabrina brushes past me.
“Are you finished in here?”
I grunt, “I’ve already seen you, you know? You don’t have to hide.”
This time I watch as the pink crawls up her neck to the apple of her cheeks, unable to meet my gaze. “I’d prefer you forget that.”
I won’t.
It’s the entire reason I should’ve fisted my cock until I came all over the fucking tiled walls of the shower.
Without answering her, I bend to put my socks on and while I button up my shirt that stayed crisp in my valise, all I can think is she’s undressed in there, picturing her champagne hair cascading down her back and shoulders, probably framing her ample breasts perfectly, deadly curves in her bra and panties looking so fucking…virginal.
My dick roars to lifeagainjust as the closet door clicks open and she steps out and Christ, I don’t ever think I’ve ever had my heart beat so slowly in my ribcage my entire life. Black wedge boots stop just above her ankles, baby pink sweater dress that clings to every fucking curve swoops down at her neckline like a loose turtleneck, hiding her breasts and it stops just below her knees, showing off her shapely calves. I was right about her hair cascading around her in golden waves, parted in the middle, framing her heart-shaped face.
“Oops,” she mumbles, reaching back into the closet and I see the material of the dress stretch across her ass as she bends forward, grabbing a purse and a pristine, snow-white coat.
I swallow, hurrying to step into my casual Italian loafers, grab my black, double-breasted overcoat, and follow her out of her room, chills rushing up my forearms with each click of her booted heels against the marble floors beneath our feet.
Matilda and Derek wait for us at the base of the curved white-oak staircase, Derek rushing to put a coat on his wife. Sabrina puts her forearm to the side, the one where her coat is carelessly draped over, and it hits my abdomen. Withholding my eyeroll, I take it from her and help her into it like an actual gentleman, careful not to touch her, of course. I catch a scarred face with mix-matched eyes by the entryway to the den - suit still so fucking crisp and edgy. He puts a tumbler full ofclear liquid to his lips, and swallows, maintaining eye contact, pursing his lips as he swallows.
Sabrina tightens her coat by the waist, the fur trim pushing out like an extra dress, a little Russian doll. Parker takes a step forward, hiding his little smirk well.
“Oh Parker! Are you joining us tonight?” Sabrina asks.
He shakes his head once. “Not tonight, Miss Winters.”
“Oh,” she sounds disappointed. “Next time?”
“Sure, Miss Winters,” he drawls.
She slightly bobs her head, mouths something to him, and he blinks at her in return.
I don’t fucking like it.
“Oh, I told you, he was defending my honor, Mum! Truly you should have seen it! The man swung, and oh, it was so quick the way my Maksim swung back. Oh, I’ve never seen anything so…” she sighs dreamily, “manly.”
I’ll say one thing about my betrothed - she’s a damn good liar. She has Matilda practically swooning in my direction as I take another swig of the amber liquid in my crystal tumbler. I grin, chuckling at how goddamn easy it was for Sabrina to make her parents like me. So fuck it. I can play along. “Yeah, well, you know, nobody tries to touch my woman and gets away with it.”
