He steps closer. “You’re here,” he says. A pause. “I brought you here.”
I shiver.There’s always a catch.
He turns and continues down the hallway. “I’ll take the spare room,” he says.
Relief hits me again, harder this time. “Oh,” I breathe. “Okay.”
He turns now, and his mouth shifts slightly. Not quite a smile. Like he expected it.
He pushes open the door.
The bedroom is immaculate. The bed made precisely, dark linens pulled tight. No clutter. No softness.
The comforter, however, is plush. I can’t even imagine the thread count on the sheets, but just by looking at them I know they’re going to be far more comfortable than anything I’ve slept in recently.
The headboard is leather, dark and dominant. I turn to take in the rest of the huge room.
There’s a large painting facing the bed. It’s abstract, but it gives off dark vibes. Moody. Sensual. Lots of black and grays and a hint of red. Soren’s signature color palette, as I’m starting to learn.
It doesn’t feel like a place someone relaxes. It feels like a place someone prepares to go forth and conquer the world.
Two black nightstands with drawers flank the bed. There are speakers strategically placed throughout the room, no doubt part of a top-of-the-line sound system.
My stomach clenches at the thought of him having brought other women here before me.
Why am I jealous?
As I scan the space, I can’t help but notice that everything seems so deliberate. Almost too organized. Clean in a way that feels intentional, like he fastidiously prepared for my arrival.
But then again, maybe I’m overthinking things. What guy doesn’t clean up his place before a woman comes to stay? It would be weirder if I walked into messy bedsheets covered in cum stains and a leftover box of half-stale cookies on the nightstand.
Is that what you would have preferred, Ivy?
Get a grip.
Soren sets my backpack down, opens a drawer, and pulls out a T-shirt. “Wear this.” He tosses it to me.
I catch it automatically. “I—I might have pajamas in my backpack,” I say. “Let me check.”
He waves that off. “The T-shirt is super comfortable. Feel the material.”
I roll the fabric between my thumb and forefinger. He’s right, it’s deliciously butter-soft. Made for bare skin.
“You’ll sleep better.”
It sounds like care.
It feels like a decision.
I don’t argue, though. Cozy sounds… nice, and much needed.
He gestures across the room and through a door to the side. “Bathroom,” he explains.
I pad across the floor in the direction he’s pointing.
The bathroom is insane. The vanity is marble, and it even has one of those magnifying mirrors where you can apply your makeup.
I close the door behind me as I continue to take it all in.