Page 41 of Captive Ruin

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“Not at all. I liked it.”

He presses his hips forward and his cock pokes into my ass, then slips between my thighs, rubbing against me. It’s very clear he liked it.

It also makes me realize that he’s not the only one aroused. I am, too, and I don’t know why. Some dream.

“I’m sore,” I say quickly.

“Oh dear.” He doesn’t sound like he means it. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Fuck.

My body tightens at the memory of his tongue, nipples aching, stomach clenching, my arousal spiking.

“It’s Monday,” I try desperately, remembering in time. “I need to go. I’ll be late for work.”

“It’s only 6:15.”

“Shit, is it?” I sit up and slide toward the edge of the bed, keeping my back to him. Luckily, he releases me. “I’m going to be late.”

“Really? Where do you work, California?”

“I have to shower, get dressed, open the gallery. I’m usually there by…” Nine. “…seven.”

“Early start.” He rolls onto his back, sitting half up against a pillow, watching me. The duvet falls across his hips, leaving an expanse of chest and stomach that makes me hesitate. But no, I am not getting back into bed with this man, merely because his body made a pact with Satan.

He runs a hand through his hair, showing that chest off to perfection. Nice arms, too.

There’s a tent in the duvet where his morning wood must be. I quickly glance away.

Cold shower. That’s what I need.

My robe is in the living room, where he stripped it off me. At least he didn’t make me sleep in the cuffs. They’re still dangling from the headboard, managing to look menacing even in their dormant form.

I settle for a T-shirt from my dresser, pulling it on so at least I’m covered.

“Shall I make some coffee?” he asks.

Is he serious right now? He wants to make me coffee after what he did to me last night? Like this morning after is somehow not as awkward as it sure the hell feels to me?

“Uh… sure. French press is in the cupboard.” I walk for the door, pausing after three steps. “Thank you.” Damn him and his civility.

“My pleasure.”

I run.

The bathroom door doesn’t have a lock, because I never bothered to ask the landlord to replace it when it broke.

I shower quickly, the water as cold as I can bear it, half expecting him to enter at any moment. But when he hasn’t after a few minutes, I turn the water warm and shampoo my hair. There’s a smell of coffee coming from the kitchen when I’m done, and I wrap myself in the biggest towel I have.

He actually did it. The man who forced his way in here, stripped me, cuffed me, fucked me after spanking me and licking me, ignored all my protests and told me I liked it, has now made coffee for me.

Like we’re in a goddamn relationship.

I don’t know what to make of that. I’m still confused about last night, and the things he said.

“Strays often bite… until they’re broken in.”