Beautifully Cruel

Chapter 7

JENNIE

My apartment is on the third floor. Taehyung doesn't carry me all the way there, though I've no doubt he's strong enough to if he wanted. Instead, he sets me down gently in front of the elevator doors in the lobby and stabs his finger against the call button.

We don't look at each other while we wait for the elevator to arrive, but I'm hyper aware of him standing beside me. He's heat and muscle and danger, a razorblade sheathed in silk. Then there's another silent elevator ride.

Silent but crackling with sexual tension.

I stare straight ahead, willing myself not to think of that elevator scene from Fifty Shades of Grey where Christian slams Ana against the wall, pins her arms overhead, and makes a meal of her. But it's a given that the harder you try not to think of something, the more you do, until you're obsessing and hating yourself for it, helpless to stop.

I imagine him hitting the emergency button and whirling on me to tear off my clothes and shove his throbbing erection inside me, growling against my neck and biting me as I cry out and scratch my fingernails down his back.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, I'm red-faced and sweating.

"What's wrong?" asks Taehyung sharply.

Of course he'd notice. He notices everything, him and his damn wolf's eyes.

I say, "Nothing."

My voice is so high it's like I've been sucking on helium.

Clutching the copy of In Search of Lost Time, I step out, avoiding Taehyung's eyes. He follows right on my heels. 

We stand there staring at each other until I'm squirming and swallowing, all out of breath.

"You're thirsty," he says solemnly. "I'll get you some water."

I shake my head. "I'm fine, thanks. I'm sure you're anxious to get back to your regular schedule of roaming the nighttime city streets, thwarting assaults, and intimidating authority figures." I gesture toward the door

He stares at me for a beat, then turns and disappears soundlessly into the kitchen.

He twists off the metal cap and presses the bottle into my hand.  "Drink. You need to stay hydrated."

He sees the wheels spinning in my brain. "Don't make it more complicated than it is, Jen. Just drink."

"Are you going to stand there and watch me?"

He inclines his head.

"What if I can't, though?"

"Does your throat hurt?"

"No, because of stage fright."

He stares at me.

I crinkle my nose. "Performance anxiety is a thing for me. I get nervous."

Eyes burning, he takes a step toward me. I take a step back. He takes another step and I nervously move back again, until my butt hits the console table and I can't retreat any farther. He leans close to me, and my heart pretends it's a racehorse and starts to gallop.

Into my ear, he says softly, "Jennie. Beautiful girl. Stubborn little queen bee. I want you to drink because water will help you heal, not because I'm trying to control you. Don't defy me just to prove to yourself that you can."

His voice is devastatingly sexy. I'm afraid I might need to grab on to his suit lapels to stop myself from sliding to the floor.

He steps back before that becomes necessary and fixes me with his piercing gaze.

When I'm finished, he murmurs, "Thank you. Now let's get you into bed."

When we get to my room, Taehyung flicks on the light, standing aside to let me enter.

"I, um..." I clear my throat. "I want to take a shower before bed."

I didn't mean it as a provocation, but damn if his eyes don't flash with desire. He looks at the bed, his lashes lowering, then back at me.

"Of course," he says, his voice husky. "I'll let myself out. I left your coat on a chair in the kitchen. Your meds are on the counter in a small white bag."

Then we stand there looking at each other. The awkwardness is crushing.

"Thank you again for what you did," I say quietly. "In the alley. And at the hospital. And for the book. Just...for everything. I know I won't see you again, but I won't ever forget you."

He glances at my mouth. He clenches his jaw. He hesitates for a moment, looking as if words are on the tip of his tongue, but then he exhales and presses his lips together, thinking better of it.

As if to himself, he says, "Maybe in another life."

Then he turns abruptly and leaves.

I listen to the sound of his footsteps fading and the faint squeak of the hinges on the front door. Then everything is quiet except the dull thud of my pulse and the sound of traffic drifting up from the street outside.

With Taehyung gone and my adrenaline waning, exhaustion takes over.

I get undressed and take a hot shower, wincing when the spray hits my cut lip. All the various parts of my body are either sore, stinging, or dead tired. My ribcage aches, and my stomach is tender. All I want to do is crawl under the covers and go to sleep for a year.

But when I emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, that plan is shot.

Taehyung sits on the end of my bed, waiting for me.