Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four

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My heart rages in my chest, pounding so loudly that it's all that fills my ears. So much so that I'm positive the man standing in front of me, watching me like a hawk, can hear it.

Then again, he's precisely the cause of it...as well as its incessant, far more angry echo between my thighs.

The air around me feels impossibly dense, almost compact, teeming with the two words he just uttered to me.

Upstairs.

Now.

And in spite of the clear, concise, resounding command, I stay frozen on the dining table for several seconds, simply unable to move as every nerve in my body short-circuits, struggling desperately to process everything it's being bombarded with.

But, ironically, the crippling intensity of his eyes soon puts an end to that and I feel myself shifting under the weight of his stripping gaze; unable to take any more of the ominous, icy pair.

I scoot off the table with far more difficulty than an action as simple as that should pose, my free hand wobbling as it pushes me off the edge, barely able to perform the trivial function as the other clutches the front of my robe closed, my fingers digging into the fabric as though it's going to disappear if I don't grip hard enough.

The bottom of the robe clings to my ass as I descend, the back of the fabric now damp with distinct, unmistakable moisture. I think I hear the slightest, most subtle squeak as I slide down, and my eyes briefly slam shut against the mortifying sound.

Oh, my God...

I'm not sure if I want to throw up or just cave into myself and die.

Perhaps both.

Never in my life have I felt this overwhelmingly embarrassed, a million flames of humiliation scorching my entire face.

My toes meet the cold floor again, the contact slightly jarring and, somehow, the sensation is far more vivid than before they involuntarily left it, like my sense of touch has been amplified a thousand fold.

My feet falter instantly, unprepared for the impact, my legs shaking even worse than my wrists, and I have to grip the arm of the chair to keep from falling flat on my already sore, throbbing ass as my knees threaten to give out.

Impulsively, I reach for the cincher, the discarded belt hanging off the edge of the table a few feet away, feeling all kinds of self-conscious as I sense my behind rapidly cooling. I can't stop myself from picturing the large, wet print on the back of the robe, more than likely visible to even the most inattentive eyes—completely unlike the ones currently on me.

"Leave it," Frost orders, his voice resounding, his tone absolute. "And take that robe off. From here on out, I don't want to see you in anything for the rest of your stay."

A lump the size of the Himalayas forms in my throat at that statement, seeming to close off my airways because, suddenly, it's hard to breathe or swallow. An onset of dizziness nearly topples me, and my head feels light, like my skull is made of foam. The thought—no, the mere idea—is beyond disconcerting; being completely naked in front of a man for the very first time in my life. And one so unnervingly enigmatic, no less.

Under the most fucked up circumstances.

Frost's eyes stay on me, severe and impatient, clearly waiting for me to do as he demands. My own eyes slam closed, and I have to clench my teeth until my temples hurt to do what I'm about to.

With rickety, unstable fingers, I clutch the front of the robe and slowly pull it over my shoulders, exhaling harshly as I feel the oversized garment slide down my arms and back. With all the reluctance in the universe and more, I involuntarily slip out of it, every last micro-motion drenched in hesitation and regret. The cold, revealing air hits every inch of my bare skin, and my eyes shut even tighter as I feel my nipples hardening against the low temperature, goosebumps breaking out all over my suddenly heavy breasts.

I feel unbelievably exposed. Stripped to my very soul. Laid wide open before the dangerous, devouring eyes before of me.

It takes all the willpower I have to open mine again, but I can't risk looking at Frost or even in his general direction, my gaze cast toward the ground. I step out of the robe pooled at my ankles, frowning as I move away from what has briefly served as my security blanket and the last layer of physical armor—one that he has now robbed me of.

I walk past his tall, imposing frame, my eyes still averted, folding my arms over my chest as I feel lava oozing out of my face.

My heart lurches up my throat, seeming to get stuck there because it feels like I'm trying to swallow gravel. A shit ton of it.

I wobble out of the dining room and back up the grand staircase on super shaky legs, having to hold on to the metal railing to keep my knees from disintegrating underneath me. Frost follows closely behind me, his body barely an inch away from my naked form, and I can practically feel the heat radiating from him even through his clothes.

My sense of embarrassment hikes with each step I take, and I can't stop thinking about how my super-duper bare behind looks climbing up. I can actually feel his stabbing gaze on me even without seeing it—not that I'd dare confirm. As much as I hate to admit it, I straight up don't have the balls to.

My first instinct is to try to walk faster, to put as much distance as I can between us, but, like a shitty joke, I also find myself in one hell of a conundrum because, at the same time, I don't want to give him the kind of view of my ass that he would most definitely get if I were much farther ahead of him.

So, basically...I'm screwed either way.

The melded wetness between my legs forces me to slow my steps, the ample, slick heat reminding me of its existence—and the reason for it—with every step I take, involuntarily rubbing into my skin as my thighs slide against each other. And as if that's not bad enough, my two-faced, rogue vagina pulses as if it's on drugs, demanding more even though it just had more than it could obviously handle just moments ago. So much so that I feel new, hot moisture forming inside it, joining the copious mesh of Frost's saliva and the secretion he practically forced from me.

Nothing but the sounds of our mismatched footsteps punctuate the deafening silence...except for the blood that's violently swishing around in my head. After a torturous, muted stretch of eternity, we finally get to the top of the staircase, the tension in the air so thick you couldn't cut through it with a chainsaw. I reluctantly take my hand off the railing, letting go of my last line of support, with nothing but myself to rely on now.

My fingers curl into fists as my hands fall to my sides, my spine going rigid, the muscles in my back tensing until they almost go numb. My ass cheeks clench involuntarily, as though they're trying to shield themselves from Frost's severe eyes, and while it's probably a hell of a long shot, I can only pray he doesn't notice.

I finally chance a peek at him over my shoulder, trying to be as inconspicuous as I can, but I almost jump right out of my skin when my eyes meet the intensity and barely-contained lust in his.

I whip my head forward so fast my neck nearly snaps, keeping my gaze ahead as I blink rapidly against what I just saw; something primal and dangerous and borderline ruthless. Something...not normal. I guess the silver lining with our current positions is that he can't see my face—and just how much he freaks me out.

Against my will, my stomach tingles restlessly, my lower belly fluttering without my permission, my heart thudding wildly in my ears. Because of him.

But before I can take another breath, I feel him inching closer to me, erasing the small distance between us almost entirely, until I can literally feel him breathing down my neck, short streams of warm, humid air grazing my nape.

My lungs seize in my chest and my eyes flutter closed, the anticipation of contact heavy in the air, making my heart knot up in my chest. Palpable heat seems to emanate from his, and my own body readily absorbs it. Impulsively, I bite down on my bottom lip, expecting him to touch me...when he walks right past me, his broad shoulder a thread away from mine without touching it. He strides ahead, walking past my door without a word and eventually disappearing from my sight as he turns a corner. Before I realize it, I'm by myself, in front of my bedroom door with my heart still beating a million miles a second and my legs about to collapse.

Like a compulsion, I stare ahead to where his form had just been seconds ago even after he's gone, wondering where he went and what he's up to now. I struggle to swallow, imagining every scenario that this devious, scheming, blue-eyed devil could have up his sleeve.

A crushing shiver rips through me as a result.

I inhale deeply, as both a measure to calm my heart and mentally prepare myself for what's to come...whatever the hell that may be.

With stiffened, trembling fingers, I manage to turn the door knob after a brief struggle and step into my room, but now, the semi-familiar space fails to offer the same sense of security that it did not that long ago. I have to resist the urge to make a dash for the bathroom and cover myself with one of the towels in there—not that I have even the slightest energy to run—choosing instead to shuffle to the edge of the bed on achy feet.

I sit on it almost timidly, unable to stop myself from grabbing one of the many throw pillows and hugging it to my naked chest like a shield, regardless of how ridiculous that might look.

I sit there, waiting with not-so-bated breath and all the apprehension in the cosmos because, frankly, it's all I can do; every cell in my body trembling, vibrating with distress, my senses far more heightened than they should be, my nerves on overdrive.

But I suppose I don't have to wait too long—and I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse considering my unhealthily anxious state—because soon, Frost appears in the doorway again, stepping into the room with a single item in his hand.

A tote bag.

***

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