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I looked around, noting the subtle scents — hints of exotic spices.
Strange, I thought, for a prison cell.
Sneik moved closer, his eyes locking onto mine.
For the first time since he claimed me, he spoke. “Your attempts to dissuade me are… amusing,” he remarked, his voice deep and grating. “But unnecessary.”
“But—”
He held up a clawed hand, silencing me. “I claimed you, and you shall be mine. You are here for my pleasure. Your enjoyment is not necessary.”
I blinked, confused.
What did he mean? Before I could probe further, he turned away, leaving me with more questions than answers.
As the door to the cell slid shut, sealing us in, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of dread and sheer terror.
Sneik’s reputation was clearly valid.
And I was going to be the one that bore the cuts, welts, and bruises.
* * *
The bed was massive in size; its sheets looked worn and told the tales of many encounters.
It dominated the room, a looming testament to the Champ’s conquests.
Before I could process any of this, Sneik’s strong hands were on me, tossing me onto the bed.
The softness of the mattress briefly enveloped me, at odds with the rough manner in which I’d been thrown.
The scent was a mix of musky masculinity and the faintest hint of some foreign flower.
His previous conquest?
But comfort was the last thing on my mind.
With adrenaline fueling my movements, I sprang back to my feet, making a dash for the door.
My fingers grazed the cold metal, searching for an exit button or some way out.
Nothing.
Panic set in, and I pounded on the door, each thud echoing the rapid beats of my heart.
The rising panic threatened to overwhelm me, and the recycled air in the cell felt heavy, suffocating.
Behind me, I heard the rustling of clothing, a sound that only heightened my distress.
Turning, my eyes widened as I saw Sneik, now stripped of his battle attire.
His physique, though impressive, was riddled with scars and marks.
Each one narrated a tale of battles faced, of adversaries defeated.
His skin shimmered in the dim lighting of the cell, highlighting the rough, battle-hardened textures.
And there, clawed across his abs, were what appeared to be scratch marks.
