【Kidnapping 绑架】Chapter 8
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He turned around to step out of his pants, while trying to block the view of her figure as much as possible, keeping her away from the dirty questing looks from those two by the door. Only his underwear left now. He heard the rustling of her clothes falling upon the floor behind him.
“Are you satisfied now?” the words hardly got through his gritted teeth.
“Do you celebrities always take shower with your underwear on?” Titters. “When I say clothes, I mean all of them.”
He clenched his fist. “You went too far.” his voice trembled, anger bubbling. “I’ll do it. But let her alone. I beg you have the least decency to a lady’s privacy.”
“What’s the good of seeing your nudity?”
Bitter retort was forming in his mind, yet before he could let out a word Darcy took a move first. Coming out from his behind, she strode straight towards the door.
With not a stitch on.
Shivering slightly though, her steps were firm, her gesture fair and square.
He could do nothing but gazing at her in surprise and awe. Head held high, shoulders squared, she directly faced the lewd looks. Orange light embraced her lean, fit figure.
The body curves. The tightened muscle lines. The spindle Achilles tendon. The swift, firm gait. He couldn’t took his eyes off her. So were the two bullies, who obviously were startled by her unexpected bold move, for for a moment they just stared with their mouth opened, no eroticism left anymore in their widened eyes.
There must be something in her face made the man leaning upon the door took a step backward unconsciously. Anger? Hatred? Disgust? Dispisement? Or expressionless? He could not see it, but felt the effect. Something chaste and solemn radiating from her piercing their shameless minds and pushing them back while she shut the bathroom door in front of them, encountering no resistance.
Then she turned around to face him, with only dusky light left between. He saw her completely.
His ears must be surprisingly red, for the heat also claimed his cheeks.
Female bodies would not usually unnerve him, for, well, to be honest he did have amount of experiences of dealing with them in both acting life and personal life, though this might not be known by the public. He could be bashful and easily flushed while characterising his roles, yet was actually always at an easy and relaxed state with the ladies.
At this very moment, however, this figure in front of him unsettled him. With the solemn atmosphere fading, some inexplicable tension crept in. He couldn’t bear looking directly at her body, though it was alluringly unobstructed. In a fluster he encountered her eyes, which were once unswerving but now filled with uncertainty and coyness, as if it occurred to her for the first time that she was totally naked, and, being with a unfamiliar man.
Her eyes flickered and fell. He looked down with her, and... Bugger! Reflexively covering his crotch, he turned around abruptly and cursed to himself.
Eagerly he wanted to say something to cover the tangible embarrassment. “Sorry I... You, you can take your shower first. I won’t look!” And then wished he’d said nothing at all.
Avoiding looking at her, he went for the farthest corner from the shower, faced the wall and shut his eyes. He heard her came around slowly, gathered their clothes and piled them on the sink beside the door. Then the water came out, splashing on the ceramic floor and, he could imagine, her flesh. Through the sound of water he couldn’t help wondering her present movements.
NO. Don’t think of that. He squeezed his eyes harder, trying to distract himself to will his erection down.
The vapour came from the constant hot water filled the small room. The damp climbed along his skin, only making him more uncomfortable with the fever inside him if not aggravating his arousal.
Stop picturing her! He cursed himself in mind.
He tried to memorize Sonnet 65 of Shakespeare’s, as he always did while his parents quarreling with each other when he was a boy. After all the years, it had became a little habbit to calm himself when required.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
...
The patter of showerdrops kept ringing.
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