Unethical

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sarah

I try to cover my bathroom window with a towel, but I can’t find something to hook it to. I blow out a frustrated breath and let the blood-red towel fall to the base of the windowsill. When my eyes scan the dark backyard, I don’t see anything, but I get the eerie feeling he’s watching me. He fucking knew where I lived, and he said he would come back for me tonight.

I made a mistake. A stupid and unethical mistake that can ruin everything I’ve ever worked for. As fucked up as Maxim is, something about him heats my blood. Something that makes me curious to know more. I learned too much about him, though, like how his cock feels.

But that’s not the only problem. I also have this situation with the masked man who always shows up the same day. I’ve had such a dry spell, and now I’ve somehow attracted two psychopaths. What’s wrong with me? Do I have vulnerable written across my fucking forehead or something?

I scan the ground, trying to see him hiding somewhere in the shadows, but the only movement is the wind through the trees. I can’t decide if it’s worse to see him out there or to know that he might be.

As a shiver rushes through me, I again try to finagle some way to block off his ability to see me. I never got curtains for this window because it faces the woods. Gripping the thick fabric, I raise it above my head and try to cram the corners into the sill, but the weight just brings it down again. This is pointless. Maybe I can cut holes into the corners and hook them over the corners of the frame.

As I grasp the towel again, the doorbell cries with a cheery tone that freezes me in my tracks, and the towel falls from my grasp once more. I walk down the stairs, heading toward the front door, and I know who waits outside.

Call the police, I tell myself. But instead of listening, I grip the doorknob and ease it open.

“Are you trying to fuck with my nightly show, doc?” Maxim says as he stands on my doorstep. “Don’t be selfish.”

His words infuriate me. He has some nerve. My privacy is not selfish. He’s the selfish one. No, that word doesn’t describe him well enough. He’s evil .

“I’m calling the cops, Maxim,” I say.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait,” he goads, crossing his arms over his chest.

I will. I’ll fucking call them.

My hands refuse my demands to grab the phone, and my feet refuse to listen when I beg them to step away so we can slam the door in his face. He’s so frustrating. But something in my body wants more, even when my mind doesn’t.

“Didn’t think so. May I come in?” He pushes past me before I can answer, then grabs my arm and tugs me toward the stairs.

I dig my heels in. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’re going to shower, and I’m getting a front-row seat this time.”

His strong grip is too powerful to fight. He just drags me, no matter what I grip and grab on the way up the stairs. Maxim walks me into the bathroom and locks the door before standing in front of it.

“Let me go,” I say.

“I’m not doing anything to you. Just do what you usually do. Pretend I’m not even here,” he says, leaning back against the door.

He’s insane. Clinical. I’m not getting undressed in front of him, even if I already have and didn’t know about it. Even if he’s gotten a piece of my body in my office. This is different. A shower is my private time. It’s my personal space.

He motions for me to go on. Fuck him. “Do you need me to get violent with you, doc? You know I’m capable of a great deal of violence.”

I blow out a defeated breath because I do know.

I reach up and unbutton my silk shirt. The fabric spreads, and his eyes force their way through me, seeing into my very soul. I let the shirt fall to the ground. When I unclip my bra and let that fall, a low growl leaves his lips. I lower my skirt, but he doesn’t step toward me, even when I’m naked in front of him. With caution marking every step, I climb into my shower, close the curtain, and breathe a sigh of relief against the wall. He’s not gone, but at least he can’t see me behind the opaque curtain.

Until it rips across the rod and he just stands beside me, his hands wrapped around the metal, staring at me.

His eyes assault me. I’ve never felt so picked apart by a single glare. He fucks me with them as they glide over every inch of my body.

“You’re a sexy fucking thing,” he growls.

“Thanks?” I say, because what else do you say to someone who compliments you under duress?

“Goodnight. I sure will have one,” he says before releasing the metal bar and ripping the curtain across.

“Maxim?” I yell.

It sounds like he left, though, so I fall back against the wall, my breath halting in my chest. I’m afraid to open the curtain again. Afraid to leave the sanctity of my shower.

I finish washing up as quickly as I can and turn off the water. I slide the curtain open and look around the empty bathroom. He’s definitely gone. At least from my bathroom. My clothes are also gone, though.

Goddamn it.

I wrap the towel around me, and as I tuck it into itself, I catch a glimpse of my silk shirt in the hallway, just outside the door. I follow it, finding my bra on the steps. Like Hansel and Gretel, I follow the breadcrumbs of strewn clothing. My skirt guides me toward the front door. And wrapped around the doorknob are my black panties. I pick them off and feel warm, slick wetness on the material.

He came in my fucking underwear.

Are you kidding me? Disgusting. He’s vile.

So why does his warm come on my panties make my thighs clench?