Lola

He gave her a meaningful look, then jerked his chin toward his tied hands. “I have to pee.”

“Oh.”

The tension in the air popped like a balloon.

She blinked. “Right. Yeah. That’s… fair.”

“I mean, unless you want me to piss in your bed.”

She grimaced. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’ve been tied to a bed for the better part of a day by a woman who kidnapped me at Burning Man and feeds me key lime yogurt. I’m allowed a little flair.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But if I untie you, you have to pinky swear not to kill me.”

His brow knit. “I’m sorry… what?”

“You heard me. Pinky swear. It’s legally binding where I’m from.”

“You’re deranged.”

And you’re the one tied to a bed by someone deranged. So… deal with it.”

With a long-suffering groan, he extended his pinky as best he could from the restraints. Lola wrapped hers around it and gave a firm shake.

“There. Official.”

“You’re certifiable,” he muttered.

“I’ve been called worse.”

Lola started on the knots, which took a few minutes with how intricate they’d be woven and him yanking on them had only made them tighter.

I’m impressed with myself. These woven handcuffs were super effective and worked like Chinese finger cuff. I’ll probably never be able to recreate this masterpiece. What a shame.

Once his hands were free, he flexed his wrists, rolled his shoulders with a wince, and slowly sat up. Holy hell, he was tall. Now that he wasn’t crumpled like a sad croissant, he was all long limbs, tanned skin, and muscles that had no business looking that sculpted.

It should be illegal for this man to have clothes on. Holy hell. That V-line leading down into his shorts…I want to lick it.

She cleared her throat and very intentionally tried not stare.

“Bathroom’s this way,” she muttered.

He followed her down the hall, moving like someone still regaining full mobility. Or a predator who knew exactly what he was doing.

At the door, he paused. “Privacy?”

She snorted. “You want privacy now?”

He looked her dead in the eye. “I haven’t killed you yet. That earns me a closed door.”

“Touché.” She gave a little bow and walked off, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge to keep her hands busy.

When she returned, the door was cracked open, steam spilling from the small gap. She paused just outside, meaning to knock or call out—

Then he spoke. “Still there?”

Lola jumped. “Y-yeah?”

“I need shampoo.”

“You’re already in the shower?”

“You untied me. The least I can do is not smell like I crawled out of a desert orgy.”

She snorted and pushed the door open just enough to slide the bottle across the counter.

He was a silhouette behind the curtain—tall, broad, the kind of outline that made her knees go soft. Water ran in rivulets down the sheer liner, highlighting every curve of his torso and the movement of his arms as he slicked back his hair.

“You’re staring.”

“I am not.”

“Uh-huh, I can feel it through your shower curtain.”

Lola opened her mouth to fire back—

“Thought you didn’t trust me,” he called over the spray. “But you untied me and now you’re watching me shower. That a good sign?”

“I also listened to you pee like a baby deer learning to walk, so let’s not read too much into it.”

He laughed. Deep, rich, warm. “You’re weird.”

“Says the guy who took a shower in his captor’s bathroom without permission.”

“You offered me yogurt and unsupervised plumbing. That’s practically a honeymoon.”

Lola rolled her eyes, leaning against the sink. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I could say the same about you watching me.”

“I wasn’t watching—”

“Want me to step out so you can get a better look?”

She choked on her own spit.

“I’m kidding,” he said, but there was a smile in his voice, “mostly.”

She turned to leave, cheeks on fire.

Just as she reached the door, he added, “Lola.”

She paused.

“I mean it. Thanks… for not panicking. And for the pillow. And the yogurt.”

“Don’t get mushy on me now.”

“Too late.”

Hoodie….back? Oh, that must have been his that I woke up in. Well he doesn’t seem as boring as his festival wardrobe would imply.

I want to bite those quads. No, keep your mouth to yourself. You don’t know this man and you just had him imprisoned in your home for the last half day. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t call the cops.

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