The walk-in closet is huge—bigger than my old bedroom. It’s neatly divided in half, the left section for his things, and the right for mine. The boxes from yesterday are gone, and my new outfits hang, sorted by length, then color. The new shoes fill square wooden compartments. There are two dressers in the center, back to back and forming an island, that have a pair of boxes on top. One contains cufflinks and the other some feminine jewelry. The drawers facing left are filled with female underwear in my size.
None of my old things are here. They would’ve looked out of place in a home that’s obviously worth tens of millions of dollars.
I take a green ankle-length silk robe and go into the bathroom. It’s all various shades of white with a little chrome. Cream-colored tiles cover the floor, and I realize after a moment that they’re heated. Even the walls are off-white, like something out of a model home. Two joined sections of the walls are made of frosted glass, letting the outside light in without compromising privacy. The toiletries make it clear which side of the double vanity is mine. All the feminine products are high-end luxury items, not my usual drugstore stuff. The multi-head shower is encased in clear glass, and the tub is big enough to fit at least three full-grown adults. A chrome rack built into the floor between the tub and the shower door has four ivory towels on it.
I look at myself in the mirror. Despite the lunch and nap, I’m pale. I frown. Maybe it’s all the whiteness in here that’s making me look so ghostly.
I strip down and shower. The hot water sluices down my body, clearing my head. I get rid of all my makeup and what little styling product is in my hair. Elliot will undoubtedly want sex before the day’s over.
You’re married now. Of course he wants it.
Except I feel more like I’ve been bought than married. I wish I could talk to Traci. She’s one of the girls who told me all about the wonders of mind-blowing sex. She would know how I should prepare myself. Just the idea of sex with Elliot is sending nervous jitters through my system even as excitement floods through me. But how could I explain the contradiction?
Finally I cut the water and wrap myself in a thick towel. It’s warm from the rack. I almost slip when I spot Elliot. He’s in a semi-casual V-neck gray shirt and black slacks. Slightly damp hair says he’s also washed recently. Leaning against the edge of the double vanity with his hands resting on the marble counter, he watches me with hooded eyes. But the stark desire in his gaze is unmistakable.
Heat rises to my skin like bubbles, and I clutch the towel tighter. His lips tilt into a cockeyed grin, and my stomach flips, my mouth drying up. Is this it? My heart starts to pound, knocking erratically against my chest until it almost hurts.
He pushes himself up, then grabs a fresh towel and comes over to stand in front of me. Very carefully, he dries my wet hair. He smells amazing this close—fresh soap and tantalizing warm male flesh. His strong fingers massage my scalp as he moves the towel over my locks.
“You are remarkably beautiful.”
The soft rasp of his smoky voice turns my knees weak. Heat pools between my legs, pulsing gently. The unfamiliar feel of the wedding band on my ring finger says to give in. He is my husband after all. There’s nothing wrong with having sex with one’s spouse.
I take a step forward. His thick erection prods against my belly. I lick my lips, tongue barely coming out of my mouth, and he watches like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
His breathing roughens and he drops the towel. “Put on the robe and come to the terrace,” he says, a flush in his cheeks. His words are even, but the heat in his eyes is searing. “The double doors at the end of the hall.”
I nod wordlessly, then watch him leave. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I’d be able to follow him immediately. Not when my legs feel like so much wet paper maché.
I drag the towel over my body, then put some lotion on my skin, enjoying the light peach scent. Whoever selected this stuff did a good job.
I put on a pale pink lip gloss and shrug into the robe, then walk out to the terrace, my bare feet padding on the cool wooden floor. The view is spectacular—so much open space. The city is literally at my feet. An infinity pool reflects the orange and purple saturating the sky, and I spread my arms. My chest seems to open, and I feel so free.
“Enjoying the view?” Elliot asks from behind me.
“Yes.” I turn around. “It’s stunning. I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave here.”
He smiles, then links my hand in his. “This way.” He tugs me toward an intimate dinner for two set up between the pool and the glass railing.