Delayed by Nathan Kingsly (the false prince TXT) 📗

I use a hand on the wall until I get to the lobby and the closet. It takes me a few minutes to find the roll of duct tape. It’s buried behind a stack of batteries, which I also pocket a few in case we end up needing them.

I’m determined to go back to the room, I am soaked, and I need to get out of these clothes. Though that’s not happening until I find Emma, and she is not where I left her. The room is empty.

Panic spikes my blood. My breathing becomes shallow and comes fast, my hands now slicked with sweat slide against the door frame, my head feels light as I look around. In fact, I don’t see anyone. Eating up the distance between where I stand and the next corner feels slower than I know it to be. I’m impatient, my mind creating endless circumstances that would cause her to leave, but moving too fast to pinpoint one that’s most likely.

Soon, I’m running, and I’m not sure where I'm headed until I come to someone and I’m gripping them by the arm.

“Have you seen, Emma?” I ask them.

They shake their head, eyes big in their face, and I move onto the next one standing next to the first. This one knowing what I’ll do, slaps my hands away and shakes her head.

“Liam?”

I twist as if on a sick carnival ride that won’t stop. The one that spoke my name is unfamiliar. “Do you know where Emma is?” I ask.

She nods and approaches like I’m a wild animal spotted out of its cage. “She went back to her room. Are you alright?” Her hand hangs in the air but never makes contact. For which I am grateful because the wild part isn’t unfounded.

“Thanks,” I say before brushing past to reach the stairs.

I’ve never taken a pair of stairs so quickly in my life. I likely look like a lunatic as I come upon our door. It rattles under my fist. It escapes me to use the key card.

Emma opens the door, looking happy to see me, but her smile fades. “Liam ... ”

Pushing into the room, I close the door; she moves into the corner out of the way as I lock it tight. Twisting to her, my fists go on either side of her head.

“Why didn’t you stay where you were?”

Her mouth thins and turns white. “The staff told us to return to our rooms.”

“Why?”

“To check our water,” she bites back as if she has a right to be pissed, but it’s only then that I hear the running water behind me in the bathroom. Part of me knows to be relieved. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You should have stayed; what if something happened to you?” My question comes out low and rough, exposing me. I take in my first real breath, and it rattles in my chest. I force my hands to unclench and rest them flat against the wall and door.

Her features soften, “I’m fine,” she breathes. Her hand strokes my face, then slides to brush back the hair that made its way into my face.

As my eyes can attest, she is fine, but am I?

I’ve done so much in the past years to distance myself from everyone, even blood, to avoid this feeling. Yet here I am, bringing myself down from an anxiety attack.

Her hand grabs hold of my arm and tugs until it slides down the wall, and her hand is in mine. She leads us to the bathroom. “You look stressed; good thing I drew a bath, huh?”

I don’t respond, not yet trusting myself to not snap at her again. As I take several more breaths in, the nausea leaves me, and so does most of my anger.

She lets go of me to turn off the water. Looking around, it’s lit with at least ten candles in various colors and scents that settle heavy in the room.

Resting my eyes on Emma, her lifting the shirt over her head has me holding my breath. Her bra, dark black with gold trim, has my hands tingling with the remembrance of how they feel squeezed in my palm. With a quick flick of her wrist, it slides down her arms and to the floor. I swallow back my moan. My eyes move from her exposed breasts to her thumbs hooked inside her leggings as she wiggles from them. My palms curl at the urge of wanting to touch her. The simple act of removing her clothes seems like a seduction though there’s no eye contact, and it is over quickly. I suspect no matter what she’s doing, I will find the pleasure in it, even more so if it results in her nakedness.

She lowers herself into the bath. Her breasts, perfect globes, peek out as she settles, her nipples hardening in the air. When I tear my eyes from following the curve of her body all the way down to her feet,  she reaches out an arm to me.

What will it mean if I give in to her? To this feeling that is replacing my panic? It’s only for a little while, I remind myself, and once it’s over, I can go back to what I know. Right?

Stripping, I can feel her eyes on me, and my body starts to respond. I hear her shift in the water, and I turn my head as I drop my pants to the floor. On her knees, her fingers reach for me, and I reach back. Once I’m standing in front of her, she drops my hand.

Shivering, I watch her two index fingers glide across the matching pistols on either side of my hips. They rest at the end of the barrel, not even a centimeter away from my dick that jerks in anticipation.

“So.” She looks up, her breath coming quicker. “What are these for if everything means something?"

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Sucking in a breath, my body stiffens as she wraps a firm hand around