“Jude,” I took a step forward, and shivered, running a hand over my goose-fleshed arms.
He held out a palm, stopping me mid-step. “Don’t—” He cleared his throat, pressing his fist to his mouth. “Please. You’re drunk.”
My eyes dipped to the hard outline of his cock, pushing against the front of his pants. “But you’re not.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Have a seat on the floor, facing the bed. Wait for me there, eyes forward.”
“The floor—”
“Marlena.” His no-nonsense tone snapped through my body like a cracking whip. Before I knew what I was doing, I lunged for the floor, sitting cross-legged, facing the bed. “Good girl, Poppy.”
The tension in my back released, warmth spiraling around my spine. A few minutes passed with me sitting there like that. What was he doing? What was taking so long?
I looked over my shoulder, catching Jude’s eyes in the mirror over the sink. He had his hands buried in my toiletry bag. “Eyes forward, Marlena,” he scolded. His voice was no-nonsense, but in his eyes, a glint of humor. With a huff, I turned back around, staring at the boring damask comforter and lush embroidered pillows. A few minutes later, his legs appeared in front of me and he sat on the bed, setting a few things beside him. He curled his fingers under my chin, tipping my head up toward the light. “Eyes closed,” he commanded.
I did as I was told, feeling my lashes sweep against the tops of my cheeks. The room spun in the dark and then a warm cloth swiped across my face. Over my forehead, eyes, cheeks. In long, gentle strokes, Jude was washing off what little makeup remained on my face.
My eyes jolted open. I had a process for removing my makeup. An intricate process that involved eye cream and moisturizer and essential oils. “Relax,” Jude whispered, dapping the cloth at the tip of my nose.
“These products are—”
“Marly. I’m an actor. You think I don’t know how to apply moisturizer?”
Well, that was true. I was about to object, but stopped myself. This was part of the research. Part of the process.Trust the process. “Okay,” I said. “I trust you.”And I can always fix whatever you do wrong after you leave.
“Good girl, Poppy.” The cool cloth was more abrasive on my face than I was used to, but wasn’t entirely unwelcome. And paired with Jude’s gentle circular movements, my skin felt refreshed. More exfoliated than usual. I had no doubt my cheeks, forehead and chin were bright red. Stupid fair, sensitive skin. I pressed my lips together, stopping myself from telling him to not use a washcloth.
With my eyes still closed, I relaxed my neck as Jude tilted my chin right… then left. Then, peeking out of one eye, I caught the way Jude’s eyes flashed, examining my skin. “I’ll use cotton balls tomorrow,” he said, practically reading my thoughts. “Something softer to wash your face.”
“I could have told you that,” I whispered, an arrogant smirk lifting the corners of my mouth.
The rough sound of his chuckle percolated in the air between us, churning, brewing inside my body. “But isn’t there something more fulfilling about me discovering it on my own? About relinquishing the control and realizing that…” he paused and taking a dropper full of oil, added a few drops to his palms, warming it in his hands. Then, leaning forward, he whispered, “I’ve got you.”
Was it more fulfilling? Surprising, yes. Unusual, forsure. He pressed the oil onto the tender skin beneath my eyes and around my forehead and chin, sweeping his fingers up my neck. “Turn around for me.”
After I turned, he scooped his hands into my hair and then slowly worked the hairbrush through, carefully working out the knots.
“Think,” Jude said. “Close your eyes and tell me about how me taking care of you makes you feel.”
When I closed my eyes, Jude was everywhere. Behind me, in front of me… even inside me. In my lungs, in my thoughts. His musky scent was thick and consuming.How do I feel?… Weird. I feel fucking weird.But I couldn’t say that. Even though I was new at this, I was pretty sure that would earn me a punishment. “I feel a little… childlike,” I answered.
The hairbrush paused for a second at the crown of my head before it started moving down my hair once more. “What does that mean?”
My mom popped into my thoughts. I didn’t often think of Cynthia Taylor. I didn’tletmyself think about her. “It makes me feel nostalgic. My mom used to brush my hair before bed every night.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
The sweet memory was painful and tore a bitter laugh from my throat. Sweet. And like too much sugar, thinking about my mom would cause a cavity if I wasn’t careful. “Because I was three. I barely knew how to wipe my own ass, let alone brush my hair.” There was a sharp tug on my hair… a warning.
“Don’t use humor to protect yourself.”
Damn him. Damn him for seeing right through me. And damn him for calling me on it. “Sorry,” I said. “You’ve shown me a side of yourself today you don’t reveal to many people. And I’m just… I’m shitting all over it.”
A single burst of short laughter snorted through his nose. Even his laugh was intense. “I wouldn’t say you’re shitting all over it. And I’m going to let it slide that you haven’t been addressing me as ‘Sir’ this whole time.” He rapped the hairbrush against my lower back. “Turn back around.”
I spun back to face him, giving a shrug. “Sorry,” I said. “Sir.”
“You know how you can make it up to me?” Jude asked. A million filthy thoughts whirred through my mind. “Tell me how this makes you feel. Without using humor to protect yourself.”
