✔️ SLANDEROUS INTENTIONS | +18

Chapter 14

HELENA

I feel like I am in a room full of treasure.

This book is probably far more expensive than my cheap ass. I feel like I've committed a crime by putting ass on his book. But then again, every ornament is precious and artistic, making me feel like I'm in a museum.

In general, I feel out of place in his space. I don't want to touch his belongings, fearing I'll break something valuable, leaving me indebted to him for eternity.

Biting my lip, I look at the book in my hands. It's by Leonardo da Vinci. His name sounds familiar, and the book is called The Codex Leicester. I wonder what it's about, but I'm scared to open it. I'm probably not even allowed to touch it. Knowing his obsessive nature, he wouldn't want anyone touching his things.

Nervously, I put it back on the nightstand. Then I wonder if he'll find out I touched it. Growing paranoid, I start to think that maybe he can smell it. But I showered yesterday, and I'm clean. I even smell like him since I used his products. Picking the book back up, I decide to smell it, just to be sure.

It just smells like a book. Nothing more. So, it should be fine. The hardcover looks good too. He won't find out that my ass was on it for a second.

"What are you doing?" I hear his voice before I feel his presence. Startled, I turn around, hugging the book tightly to my chest.

"Nothing," I squeak, caught red-handed with his book in my hands. I don't know what makes me blush more — my little crime, or him standing there with only a towel around his waist, water dripping from his wet hair onto his chest.

"Smelling my book is nothing?" he asks, taking the book and smelling it himself, his eyes fixed on me like a predator watching its prey. "Why were you smelling it?" There's a hint of curiosity in his voice.

I gulp, wondering if I should tell him the truth or drop a little lie. But then, like a hellhound, he can sniff out every lie that leaves my lips. I'm left with no choice but to tell him the truth.

"I unintentionally sat on it," I admit with a sheepish smile. "But it looks fine, and it smells fine too — my ass didn't damage it."

The blank expression on his face is replaced by a smile I can't quite figure out — is he annoyed or amused? I hope it's the latter.

"You put that ass of yours on my thirty-million-dollar book?" he asks, shocking me to my core. My eyes bulge, and my jaw hits the floor.

"That book is worth thirty... thirty million?" I stammer, feeling sweat forming on every inch of my body, wishing I could dissolve into the ground for sitting on something so valuable.

"You're joking, right?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Why are you randomly leaving a thirty-million-dollar book on your nightstand?"

"Definitely not for your ass to sit on it," he hums, walking to the shelf and returning the book to its rightful place — far from my ass.

"I mean... what about the lighting? You should put such masterpieces back in a safe place after reading them. Old books are sensitive to light," I stammer, trying to come up with a good excuse for why I sat on it.

"The lighting in my room isn't the problem. It's designed so it doesn't damage my books or my eyes. The problem is your ass," he says in a scolding tone, drying his hair with the towel draped over his shoulder.

"If I see that ass on my books again," he starts, walking toward me, "I'm going to punish it." Girl, he eats girls like you for a late-night snack. Keep yourself safe. He's going to roast my ass and serve it for breakfast.