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My shirt was missing from my cold body, water droplets splashing up at my skin from the puddle where we sat. Pebbled nipples met the chill, and his gaze dipped.
I couldn’t ask him what the hell he was doing. He couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer, even if he could.
I pushed myself under the water, needing the heat to erase the ice forming in my blood. I hid what he'd already seen behind my arms, and I was almost sure I saw a flash of white teeth in the dark.
The monster was smiling at me, finding humor in my embarrassment.
He stood. Expensive shoes splashed through the water, proving he found things disposable.
I gulped, a tear falling into the water below. He stood before me, his crotch, with a very prominent bulge, too close to my face as he leaned in to dispense a blob of shampoo into his hands.
Those expensive shoes nudged me, encouraging me to turn around.
The mango-scented gel touched my scalp, dancing around hair strands and bald patches as his magic fingers directed. He was careful not to get it in my eyes...funny, I didn’t think he would care if something burned me. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already set my heart alight.
I glanced back, and he was still careful. His hand created a barrier against my forehead before his thin thread of patience snapped, forcing me forward.
Anger made me stiff. I had questions for him...him and his passive handsome face. He acted nonchalantly, making me think this was normal to him. Mistreatment and cruelty weren’t how I was raised to treat people...regardless of circumstance.
I bit my tongue, literally. It was the only way to keep my hateful words inside.
He didn’t deserve to hear them. He didn’t deserve my hate and sneers. He didn’t deserve my voice.
And I deserved compassion I wouldn’t get.
He pulled the shower head into his hand and watched as the bubbles in my hair slid down my back. When he was done, he guided me back with his hands, not that wretched shoe this time. He sat in the water, wet clothes still on, his eyes examining my face.
He washed me with a peach-colored shower gel and a clean sponge in circular motions, starting at my breasts. He massaged all kinds of emotions to the surface as he washed away weeks of dirt. I dared another glance at his face, finding he was already looking at me with his icy stare.
My breaths came harder. Faster. Drawing his attention to my mouth. His gaze dwelled a little too long, and something, neither of us could say what, compelled him closer.
A whisper of breath asked for a kiss as it skated across my lips. And I gave it. I didn’t pull away when a simple kiss became passionate, when it became more. When this fully dressed man shadowed over me, his tongue dominant and demanding to my sweet and innocent mouth. He laid me down, his body over mine. Close. So close. The shower rained on us, and the bulge between his legs pressed into me.
Thoughts of what he had me do down in that cell came flooding back, and I choked on them. Them, or his tongue, as it pushed deeper into my mouth, deep enough for me to lick his scar.
He pulled back slightly, his own insecurities giving me space to turn away. I wanted nothing at all to do with him because that scar was the only thing he hadn’t fucking lied about.
He seized my cheeks, and my mouth popped open by the sheer force of his grip. His tongue rushed back inside, insecurity hidden by control and vulgar dominance. His fingers loosened, slipping down to my throat but going no farther. His grip tightened around my throat. He wasn’t hurting me, but he was showing me he could and was choosing not to.
The hand necklace made me wet.
The inability to move my legs made me grateful for the first time ever. I couldn’t buck up against him like my body begged to. Fingers moved to my breast, kneading the nipple between his forefinger and thumb. I clenched against nothing, but his crotch was close, his hips rocking, teasing.
Arousal pooled in my eyes, lust in his. His hand moved again, squeezing my breast before tracing my minimal curves. It disappeared between my legs. A long finger made my back arch from the water below as it sank inside me.
I moaned again, and he swallowed it. Another finger, another moan. I kissed him back with the same fervor and need he plastered into me. My body tightened, gripping his digits and pulling them deeper, and that was when he did it.
He pulled out.
He froze above me and placed one single kiss on my lips that left us both confused, then he pulled me from the floor and tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of garbage—that no longer smelled like garbage—and he turned off the shower.
Arousal still leaked between my legs, the scent of it thick in the air with the mango shampoo. Shame coated everywhere else.
I dangled, the blood rushing to my head, swamping all my thoughts and helping my embarrassment redden my cheeks.
We walked through a low-lit bedroom. Black artsy furniture filled the space, while gold accessories accented and brightened it up.
Before I could take anything in, we were in the hallway. It was long and dark, creepy, and made creepier by this nutjob’s volatile moods. His grip on my legs would put another bruise on me, but I wouldn’t feel the pain from this one.
