The Collector | 18+

【32】Peas & Tea

Ever since I'd gotten to the estate, I'd done my best to avoid Ulrik Westergaard's path. It was pretty clear that I'd rather not be near him if I could prevent it, given how unpredictable things were between us.

But it was nothing compared to the way I would avoid him now.

After the eight-minute drive back to the house, with his erected length stuck between us, I couldn't even look him in the eye. Not when I'd been sitting there, growing wetter by the minute, so horny I had to stop myself from undulating on top of him. Thank God Jakob had been right there, unknowingly forcing us to behave.

Once he'd dropped us by the main door, I'd exchanged a very awkward, very conflicted look with Ulrik, and then had skedaddled to my room like a coward. The fact that I wasn't even cold anymore, when I'd been chilled to the bones just before the ride, was clear proof of my inner turmoil and acute arousal. Nothing was fixed and everything was worse.

Following a warm shower and a very special use of the fancy showerhead, I went to pick my outfit of the day, regretting how professional all of my clothes were. After all this mess, I wanted to spend the rest of the day in sweatpants and a T-shirt, not in pegged pants and a silk shirt. Someone knocked on the door just as I was done selecting my ensemble, so I secured my towel under my arms and went to check it.

I cracked the door open, only to see it was Ulrik. He seemed surprised to find me with a towel wrapped around me and another around my hair, as he averted his eyes quickly. Although he was dressed, he was just out of the shower as well, his hair still wet and his scent fresh and clean.

"I wanted to check on you, to make sure your ankle doesn't need professional intervention."

"It's really fine. I can barely feel it anymore," I insisted.

His eyes met mine, slightly defiant. "I can come back when you're dressed, but it would put me at ease if I could make sure of it myself."

While his intentions were good, it was annoying that he refused to believe that I knew my body enough to recognize it wasn't a sprain. With a bothered sigh, I opened the door wider and went to sit on the bed, making sure my towel didn't reveal anything. With a frustrated pout on my lips, I extended my "injured" foot toward him, flattening my hands on the cover behind me, leaning back for comfort.

Without a word, he made his way into the room, and then kneeled before me. With delicate hands, he grabbed my foot, which sent a small shiver up my leg. I did my best to keep my thighs tightly closed, for fear he might see right up my intimacy, and watched as he gently squeezed the tender area and twisted my foot.

"Aren't we supposed to only meet during meals?" I reminded him.

"These are special circumstances, I'd say."

His fingers slowly slid higher on my calf as he angled my foot in a different direction, and the intensity of the shiver he triggered had me jolt a little.

"Did that hurt?" he asked, evidently worried. Our eyes connected, and it was clear that I wasn't the only one overwhelmed by the sensuality of the moment. His hands on my bare leg, as I sat almost naked before him, were taking my mind away from any potential injury.

"No, it didn't."

My bold admission took him by surprise, and I regretted my words right away. With the way his pupils doubled in size, I guessed he'd understood what had happened to me. His wandering hand became more adventurous as he kept his hold on my foot. When he reached the sensitive skin behind my knee, I squirmed again on the bed.

"I don't think any ankle injury would require you to check that high," I pointed out, troubled by how sultry my voice sounded.

"I had in mind to inspect your hip, kjære."