Page 53 of Far From Sherwood Forest

Holy shit.

Are we about to shower together?

It’s interesting how my nerves are fluttering even more than when I knew he was about to fuck me.

“Take off your clothes,” he says as he starts unbuttoning his park shirt.

I move to obey, but my hand freezes on the zipper to my jacket when I get my first peek of his bare chest. Dark hair covers the hard muscles of his pecs. It looks soft, and I’m really tempted to reach out and touch it, to run my fingers down his chest and stomach where more hair is being revealed with each open button. But I don’t. I have a feeling I know how that would go.

“Robin.”

I jolt, my gaze snapping to his as I realize he already has his shirt and shoes off and I’m still standing here fully dressed. “Sorry.”

I quickly unzip my jacket, unbutton my shirt, and slip out of both while he steps out of his jeans. I try to keep working, but…damn him for being so distracting.

There’s dark hair on his long, muscular legs too. I kind ofwant to use his thighs as a pillow. Or let him shove my head between them. I’d be okay with either.

By the time I finally get all my clothes off, steam fills the small bathroom, and Henry stands there in nothing but his tight, black boxer briefs.

Am I drooling yet?

The next time I’m brought to a halt is when Henry turns to check the temperature of the water, giving me his back. There’s hair there too, but beneath it, I can just make out long pink scars, most of them either vertical or diagonal from his shoulders down to the opposite hip, many of them crisscrossing. Almost like they were done by…awhip.

This time, I can’t stop myself from stepping forward and reaching out to touch him as his name comes out as a haunted whisper.

“Henry…”

He spins around so fast he’s practically a blur. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist before I can touch him. The look in his eyes as he scowls at me is pure murder. Beneath it, however, is something different. A fear. A vulnerability. He must know I can see it because he snarls, baring his teeth as his grip tightens, causing me to wince.

Then, without a word about it, he releases me.

“Get in,” he says, his voice stiff as he bends over to pick both our clothes up off the floor. “I’ll put these in the wash.”

I watch him leave, my heart sinking.

I guess I ruined my chance to shower with him.

Once he’s gone, I step beneath the spray, letting the hot water beat over me. My shoulders are a little sore from my arms being forced behind my back for so long. My cheek stings from where it was rubbing up against the tree. I’m pretty sure I’ll have marks everywhere Henry bit me. And don’t even get me started on how sore my ass is. I almost didn’t think I was going to be ableto go through with it for a minute there.

But none of that is what’s in the forefront of my mind.

What the hell are those scars from? Were they from his time back in Nottingham or did he somehow get them here?

And why do I want to hurt whoever put them there?

I know better than to think he’d tell me anything about them, so I really should let it go. I cantryat least.

Finding a bottle of shampoo, I pour some into my hand and start to wash my hair.

Fuck, I’m going to smell like him.

If it’s not glaringly obvious, I’m becoming obsessed. My attraction to him hit me so hard and fast that I didn’t have time to question it. My other feelings for him? Well, those are creeping up slower. I could probably put a stop to them before I can’t control them at all.

I know it doesn’t make any sense, especially when he refuses to talk to me about pretty much anything. But I’ve never believed feelings like that come from learning little details about a person like their favorite color or what genre of music they listen to.

They come from how that person makes youfeel.

Sure, when Henry first showed up here a few months ago, he didn’t make me feel all that great. But, since then, I’ve seen the edges of some of his layers. One of them makes me feel like he could take care of me. Another makes me feel like I want to take care ofhim.