𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝟏𝟖+] ✔

22

When I wake the next morning, blinded by the sun blazing through my window, I sit up to see Eric lounging on the couch opposite my bed, wearing nothing but black shorts that hang low on his hips. A shadow is casted over his bare chest, mixing with the dark-inked designs, but a beam of light shines across his face, making his eyes glow an ocean blue. He's mesmerising to watch, brows creased, in deep concentration with his bottom lip between his teeth.

He's very handsome. I've always known, even when I refused to admit it while I was with Robbie, and it annoys me that he is fully aware of his good looks. He's been gawked at from every angle while working out, running, even just leaning against a wall gets him noticed.

Not one of my friends could understand why I wasn't attracted to him back in the day, before the dome, before the heartbreak between Robbie and I, before everything. But no matter how much we loathed each other's company, Eric seemed to have always caught my eye when he shouldn't have. He still does, I just never owned up to how appealing he is, until now.

With a hand slung over the back of the chair, he's deeply engrossed with something on his tablet, long fingers strumming the red leather. My parents must not be here, because Mum would have given him a bollocking like she always does, scolding him to put clothes on.

His gaze finds mine, severing his concentration, and for what feels like an eternity, we don't speak, we don't move a muscle. I'm afraid of what I'll say, because all I can think about is him and Ainsley when I should forget about them and focus on keeping myself safe. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he drops his legs from the couch and readjusts himself to a sitting position.

His eyes trail over me, taking in my fluffy pyjamas and chaotic hair. "You look like shit," he eventually says, elbows on his knees. "Apart from resembling a corpse, how are you feeling?"

Always an idiot, even in uncomfortable situations he can't seem to help himself. I want to be civil with him, especially after my dad requested the footage from this room. Maybe this will be our last conversation?

Then I remember the night of the party, how we... in my exact spot... and then he just ran off with my best friend doing God knows what.

It makes me furious.

And the footage...

"My dad-"

"I'm dealing with it," he cuts me off, sternly. "How do you feel?" he asks again, slower than necessary.

Used.

Worthless.

Never good enough.

Sore.

Eric must think I'm like the other girls in the dome that he messes around with then forgets they exist, probably has it in his head that it meant nothing, even after all the things he'd said to me. I bet he pretends it never happened, shrugging it off like it hadn't affected him.

But I know it did.

I remember the strain in his voice against my ear while I felt the pleasure build around me, his forbidden words to go with his extremely reactive body.

And I, the catalyst to his arousal, will be forgotten and pushed to the side so he can enjoy my best friend instead.

Prettier.

More experienced.

Doesn't come with a penalty of death.

He's going to deny the pull between us... deny me. If he is all about the rules regarding my father's wishes for his workers to stay away from me, then Eric should have never approached me to begin with. The flirtatious remarks, the touches, the glances... he's giving me a disjointed migraine, probably sorer than the ache from the showerhead belting me.