Finally, the bathrobe was pulled down enough to reveal Dakota's wound.
It was the high-pressure water jet that had struck her tender skin, leaving a red patch and peeling off a few thin layers of skin in some spots.
"We need to apply some ointment."
Curtis lowered his eyelashes to examine her wound, his deep and dark gaze not exactly innocent.
Dakota gripped the pillow beside her even tighter, "I, um, it might be hard for me to apply it myself..."
"Mmm." Curtis's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.
Even with just one word, one could tell his voice was tight and hoarse.
"I'll do it."
Dakota buried her face deeper into the pillow, feeling even more frustrated.
She couldn't see Curtis's face or his movements, so her other senses were heightened.
She only heard the sound of rummaging through the medicine box.
And faintly heard Curtis's breathing.
Then, a large, warm hand coated with ointment was placed on Dakota's back.
In that moment.
both their breaths became rapid.
Curtis's palm slowly caressed Dakota's back, the slippery and warm ointment creating a sensual friction that made her spine tingle.
For Dakota, she could hardly feel the pain from the broken skin, only the electric sensation of Curtis's palm moving over her, making her feel soft and tingly wherever it touched.
And for Curtis,
even as the person with control, he found himself sinking into the overwhelming desire of this night.
There was only one thought left.
He had succumbed.
He seemed unable to resist the subtle allure Dakota exuded. She barely did anything, and yet he willingly took the bait and surrendered.
But he wasn't entirely sure.
He feared he might just be temporarily bewitched and wanted to find more evidence.
The ointment application was finished.
Dakota could swear on her most precious hand that this was the longest, most awkward five minutes of her life.
So, when Curtis stopped,
she quickly pulled up her bathrobe, blushing as she sat up and buried her chin in the collar.
"Thank you."
His Mrs. Pineda was so shy her voice was barely audible.
And Curtis pretended to be calm, giving a slight nod as a response.
He suppressed his agitated heart, hiding his primal desires, and calmly put away the medicines and medical boxes.
Then he casually turned his head and asked, "Come back to Whispering Pines with me tonight?"
This time, Dakota no longer thought he was being showy.
After Lailah reminded her, she realized she had teased him while drunk, and the burst pipe made it unsuitable for her to stay at Maplewood Lane for the time being.
Dakota nodded slightly, her face red.
She tugged at her bathrobe, feeling uncomfortable, "I'll go upstairs and pack some things."
Curtis nodded and took out his phone.
He leaned lazily against the stairs, playing with his phone as he waited for Dakota to come down, then took her and her luggage to Whispering Pines, which had been awaiting its mistress.
In the days that followed, Dakota stayed at Whispering Pines. They each had their own bedroom and didn't bother each other, but they often ran into each other in different corners of the house.
Late at night, the scent of steam and fragrance drifted from the bathroom.
Dakota, wrapped in a towel with her slim shoulders and collarbone exposed, her long, pale legs showing, knocked on the door of the guest room next door, her wet hair hanging loose.
Curtis was already lying in bed ready to sleep.
He lazily opened the door, only to be met by Dakota's bedroom eyes, still flushed from the steam of the bathroom.
"Curtis..."
She lifted her face to look at him.
Her inky wet hair fell over her shoulders, the ends still dripping, sliding down her skin occasionally, "Could I borrow your hair dryer?"
In the evening, Curtis had just returned home from work to see a figure in the glass greenhouse bathed in the sunset's rosy glow.
Dakota sat in front of an easel, wearing a loose white men's shirt that showed off her tiny waist and long legs due to its short length, dazzling like a pair of pistols.
Curtis pushed the door open.
Dakota paused her painting and turned to look at him, her long lashes fluttering, revealing a small red paint mark near her eye, like a beauty mark.
"Curtis..."
She tilted her head proudly, "I didn't bring many changes of clothes. Making decorative paintings can get messy. I hope you don't mind lending me a shirt."
After breakfast, Curtis got ready to leave, carefully fastening his cufflinks and adjusting his tie in front of the foyer mirror.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned around and saw Dakota, wearing a black satin slip dress, rubbing her sleepy eyes as she came downstairs.
One arm hung loosely, the strap of the dress slipping down her cream-like skin, partially revealing the curve beneath.
"Curtis..."
Dakota's voice was soft when she just woke up, "Is there any breakfast left? Should I reheat it?"
No matter where or when, Dakota's voice calling his name in different tones often took him by surprise.
"Curtis, move aside."
"Curtis, are you hungry?"
"Curtis, can I hitch a ride tomorrow morning?"
"Curtis..."
"Curtis..."
"Curtis!"
"..."
Damn.
Lying in bed in the early hours, whenever he closed his eyes, images of Dakota wrapped in a towel, wearing pajamas, stealing his shirts, and teasing him without effort flooded his mind.
Those calls of "Curtis" tickled his heart.
His central nervous system was awakened.
Throbbing reverberated in the silent midnight.
Woken by erotic dreams in the middle of the night, Curtis finally couldn't resist and got out of bed to step into the bathroom.
Water droplets ran down his prominent brow, across his slightly parted lips, down his neck, and into the shadow of his collarbone as his Adam's apple moved.
In the final moment, Curtis bowed his head, his hand bracing against the mist-covered tiles. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to steady himself, then exhaled, "Damn."
It seems he really had fallen hard.
She hadn't done anything, and yet he fell completely, surrendering willingly.
