Where's Molly(43)

A towel is wrapped tightly around my body, and my hair tumbles over my shoulders in a mass of curls, water dripping from the ends.

Anxiety is holding every last one of my nerves hostage. I'm standing at the door, staring at it as if it's the mirror on the wall from Snow White, and it’s going to tell me my future.

Will I like sex?

I've never had an orgasm before. Too caught up in trying to survive to even consider it. I’ve always avoided intimacy or anything to do with sex. After what my father did to me, and then everything that happened in Francesca’s house—I never felt inclined to try.

Now, I wish I had. If I don't even know what I like, how will he?

I'm too much in my head.

Surely, he can figure it out.

Inhaling deeply, I swing open the door and find the room empty. That's both disappointing and relieving. Had he been standing there, I probably wouldn't know what to do with myself. But that means I'm going to have to seek him out now. Which sounds equally terrifying.

What the fuck am I even supposed to say to him?

Hi, excuse me, can you put your dick inside me? I'm not sure if I’ll like it, but let's find out together.

I'm going to embarrass myself. I just know it.

I walk over to the bed, noticing a pile of clothing folded atop. They look like men's clothing, and when I pick up the soft black t-shirt, I'm instantly hit with a delectable scent—a mix of vetiver and sandalwood.

My eyes nearly roll, and I'm unabashed in the way I practically stuff the soft fabric up my nose.

“Smell good?”

The voice is so sudden, there's no containing the loud screech that bursts from my throat. I drop the shirt while I whip around, my towel unraveling from the quick movement. I catch it before it falls completely, then bar my arm across my breasts and hold it there, though it only manages to cover my center. With my other hand, I grip the towel against my stomach, keeping it from swaying and exposing me further.

My heart is on the verge of exploding out of my chest, and I'm too stunned to get my shit together and cover myself properly. At this moment, I hardly remember how to breathe. My lungs are functioning no better than an old, rusty engine that was left abandoned in a junkyard.

Green eyes darken, a red-hot flame burning within. They blaze a trail over my exposed flesh, unashamed by the way his stare so readily devours me. I don't miss the way it catches on the white bite marks imprinted on my skin. My hips, my thighs, my stomach…

His teeth visibly clench, rage flashing across his gaze.

“What?” The delayed question comes out as a breathless squeak.

Nostrils flaring, he takes a step toward me, and the battered muscle in my chest flies up into my throat. I lock my knees, forcing myself to stand still despite how much I want to back away.

Distinctly, I feel a bead of water drip onto the swell of my breast, which his gaze immediately tracks. The droplet slowly trails down the valley between my breasts, and the muscle in his jaw pulses, nearly tearing through his skin. His animalistic gaze snaps up to mine, his chin tipping low as he stares at me fiercely from beneath thick brows.

Heat gathers low in my stomach, sinking down between my trembling thighs. My clit pulses from that single look alone, and I know that if he were to part my legs, he'd see the evidence glistening from within.

Never in my life have I ever felt this way. Never has my core felt so… empty.

He's silent as he stalks toward me, but I'm positive my escalated heart rate is audible.

I shift on my feet, feeling how slick I've become. It's almost embarrassing, yet it's a reaction the men in Francesca's house would claim, but never actually accomplished. They wanted us to weep for them, but the only thing they ever made wet was our eyes.

Cage, on the other hand, easily makes my pussy weep, and he hasn't even touched me yet.

He stops an inch before me, the heat radiating from him warming my skin. Goosebumps scatter across my flesh, and a shiver tumbles down my spine. It feels as if bees are buzzing beneath the surface, their fluttering wings creating electricity and engulfing my body in it.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks quietly.

It's a question that requires a simple answer. Yes or no. Yet, my brain turns it over as if he presented me with a complicated math equation.

The throbbing between my legs screams its answer, though my head can do nothing but focus on how I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

“I-I'm not very good at this,” I mumble, keeping my eyes pinned to his chest. I'm not brave enough to meet his stare. It'll eat me alive, and I'm too afraid that I’ll allow it to chase me away before I can let him touch me.

“Has anyone made you feel good before?”

I lick my lips, feeling like any moisture in my body has flooded south.

“No.”

“Then that's all you need to do. You don’t need to do anything else, except let me make you feel good.”

My nod is choppy, and the butterflies in my stomach have been freed. But they're hungry, too, and they've begun to tear at my insides. Especially as his forefinger hooks beneath my chin and forces it up, until my stare snaps to his like a magnet.

“Where do you want me to kiss first?” he asks, his tone hushed, deep and rough.

Silently, I reach up and brush my fingers across my lips, drawing his attention there.