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I gulp, cursing the little voice in the back of my mind reminding me of my fast-approaching demise. From what little I know about kidnapping statistics, I probably have less than forty-eight hours before I wind up sawed to pieces in the Gulf. The thought brings me even less comfort.
An image of the masked man flashes in my mind, and my core pulses against my will. Something is deeply, terribly wrong with me. If the past twenty-four years weren’t enough evidence, this puts the nail in the coffin. Ever since he laid his hands on me, I’d been craving his violent touch. He terrifies me, but he also makes me feel alive. Now that I’ve had a taste of it, I want more. Need more.
Then again, I could just be suffering from a severe case of post-concussive syndrome. Can a hit to the head make you have bizarre sexual fantasies? I groan, cursing myself for not paying better attention in my psych rotation. If neurons weren’t so damn boring, I might have answers to some of these burning questions.
The door to the bedroom creaks open, and without thinking, I scurry back into the far corner of the cage. My breath quickens as the soles of his boots come into view, and I have to hold my hand over my mouth to stop a scream from tearing free. His shoes stop at the foot of the bed, and my heart stalls as a scarred hand reaches down to undo the lock.
“I can hear your heart beating, little flower.” His playful tone sends a shiver down my spine. “Be a good girl and come out of your cage.”
I curl in on myself, crushing my eyes closed and praying that I’ll wake up from this fucked-up nightmare. I don’t want to feel this way. I want to go back to when everything made sense. When my life was boring, and I didn’t have the hots for my kidnapper. I shiver. Even the thought makes me lightheaded. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Don’t make me ask twice, Lillith.” His deep rumble makes my thighs warm, and for some reason, I want to see what happens if I refuse him. Despite everything in me screaming this is a bad idea, I force my shoulders back and snap, “Make me.”
In a blink, he throws the door open and lunges forward, grabbing my ankle in one massive palm. I try holding on to the bars above my head, but my fingers slip from the cool metal as he pulls me feet-first out of the cage.
“Why must you always disobey me?” he growls, scooping my body into his arms and straightening. I beat my fists against his chest, and he groans as I hit the spot just below his clavicle. The bullet hole.
“How’s it healing?” I ask. He looks down at me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was shocked.
“Why are you asking me that?” he wonders, searching my face with that piercing silver eye. My face heats, but I don’t speak a word. Truthfully, I’m not sure what possessed me to ask. It’s not like I care what happens to him. In fact, I should be hoping for something to go wrong. If he dies from an infection, that will make it all the easier to escape.
He sighs and stomps into the bathroom when I refuse to speak. His eyes seem to scream “fine, be that way” before he shoves me roughly into the tub. I glare at him and cross my arms over my exposed breasts, feeling like a bug under a microscope beneath the fluorescent lighting.
“Get in the tub,” he orders, shoving a finger at the massive porcelain basin. “Now, Lillith.”
I shake my head firmly. His jaw clenches as he rolls his eye to the ceiling.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
I gasp as an ice-cold stream beats down on my head and shoulders. It drenches my face and hair, causing goose bumps to crawl along my exposed flesh.
“Fuck,” I hiss, trying to clamber over the side like a drowned raccoon. The masked man pushes me back in, and I flop on my back, sputtering as the water beats down on my face.
“Stay down,” he murmurs. “I need to clean you.”
“The fuck you do!” I hiss, denying the part of me that wants to feel his rough hands on my skin. “I can shower by myself. I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years.”
I’m not sure why I try to lighten the mood, but the man doesn’t seem like he wants to laugh. Instead of speaking, he reaches over my head and palms a bar of soap. It looks brand new and has a strangely familiar floral scent, but I can’t place exactly where I know it from.
The water warms as he rubs the bar between his palms, building up a thick, soapy lather. Giving me no opportunity for protest, he slides in the tub with me and rubs his hands over my legs and feet, then between my toes.
“Hold still,” he growls, tightening his grip on my ankle.
“It tickles.”
He looks up, his dark hair slicked to his forehead from the stream pounding above us. “I don’t care.”
“That’s wildly apparent,” I grumble, my cheeks heating as he massages the lather into my calves. It feels good. Too good. Instinctually, I try to pull away, but the warning look he shoots me has me freezing dead in my tracks.
“Stop moving, Lillith. That’s an order.”
My throat bobs as he rinses his hands under the stream. Cupping the bar between his rough palms, he repeats the process, starting at the base of my collarbone. His slick fingers dance across my chest, sliding under my breast and pawing the area roughly. Without warning, he lunges forward, taking my nipple between his teeth. His tongue lashes out, drawing a whimper from my throat as he toys with the sensitive nub.
“I know just who you are, little flower,” he whispers, dragging his teeth across my nipple as he pulls back. I suck in a breath, my hips bucking forward against my will. Something akin to a chuckle rumbles in his throat as he watches my movements, and he brings a hand up to caress the area. “You’re just as sick as me, Lillith. I know it. Your body knows it. Why don’t you?”
“I’m nothing like you,” I seethe, hating the way my thighs warm at his silky voice. I know if I reach between them, I’ll find exactly what he’s talking about. I do want him, but I shouldn’t, and that’s why I can’t let myself.
“Then why didn’t you stop me?”
