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I lower her toes to the floor and repeat the motion on her other leg, marveling at the slimness of her ankles. Her toes are the daintiest things I’ve ever seen. I yearn to scrub the dirt clear and pamper her until her nails shine and skin glows.
After lowering her foot back to the ground, I turn her by her shoulders to face me and study her expression.
Despite the softness of her body, her mind remains sharp. She studies the area, searching for a way to escape.
She won’t find it.
I open the inner door and use her ponytail as a leash. With the outer door sealing us away from the world, my control dwindles. Pain spears through me as my trousers pinch my hard shaft.
I use the discomfort to center myself and avoid touching her as I stalk across the room. She scrambles to keep up with my long strides and squeaks in alarm when I shove her through the bathroom door in front of me.
Her bare feet squeak against the polished floor as I pull her to a stop. Her eyes widen as she stares at her reflection.
Against the gleaming white of the room, her dirty face and crimson-matted hair look out of place, but my leather jacket shines in the bright light. Her single tear still shimmers on the black fabric over her shoulder. Three portholes allow in the fading sunlight while rows of small lightbulbs hang from the ceiling.
I tighten my hold on her hair and unzip my jacket. As the leather slips off her shoulders, a low rumble leaks from my chest. She stares up at me with a mix of defiance, fear, and hatred.
I haven’t known her for long, but I’m already addicted to her expressive eyes.
With reluctance in every step, she follows my lead into the shower. In order to fit my frame, I ordered my best engineers to connect four of the ancient shower stalls together, and the resulting space fits both me and my omega.
She winces when I turn the dial and cold water pours from the four shower heads, but the temperature warms before the downpour soaks her clothes.
My mouth waters as her shirt plasters to her breasts. The temptation proves too much. I rip her shirt at the shoulder seams and shuck her shorts and panties to her feet. She gasps as I press her back against the wall. I snatch the bar of soap from the shelf. With impatient, jerky movements, I lather my hands and run them over her neck, shoulders, and arms, praying for an ounce of control as magma erupts from my balls and scorches the inside of my shaft.
Warmth leaks from my tip and creates a wet spot inside my pants.
She’s perfect. Small round breasts. Trim waist. Flared hips. Soft skin. Floral scent.
I can’t wait to see her fill out as I feed and pamper her. Imagining her belly growing with my offspring encourages another stream of fire from my tip.
I groan and drop my head back, letting the spray land directly on my face.
Her heart pounds against the heel of my right palm as I pause with my thumbs resting on the well of her collarbones. With her arms still bound behind her, she’s powerless to stop me.
The urge to feel her nails dig into my flesh has me reaching for her wrists, but the embarrassing wetness in my pants stops me in my tracks. I settle my hand on her hip and shake the water from my face before meeting her terrified gaze.
Through the scent of soap and blood as the cut on my side soaks through my shirt, her pheromones thicken. The hint of desire in her natural perfume decimates my composure.
I touch every inch of her, exploring her from neck to knees, palming her breasts, tweaking her nipples, testing her hips, and teasing the smooth expanse of her stomach. She trembles and hides her face behind her curtain of hair, but I spin her around and continue cataloguing her perfection. Her spine, the dimples of her lower back, each globe of her ass, every part of her entices me to touch, squeeze, and worship.
Another wave of magma breaks through my control and warms the leg of my trousers.
I spin her to face me and push her to her knees. She whimpers and struggles, but I force her knees apart and pin her lower half to the wall with my shins. I weave my hand into her hair and drop my forehead to the wall, hoping to cool my ardor, but her panicked jerking excites me further. Her nose and chin bump against my straining trousers.
Her floral perfume thickens as the last of the dirt swirls down the drain, but the sour notes warn me of her predicament.
She’s not quite ready, but she’s too perfect. I need her.
She’s mine.
Chapter 5
Bette
His size overwhelms me as his thighs block out the world. I turn my head, but he towers over me and fills my senses. No matter how hard I struggle, he overpowers me.
The world closes in and I fight against my rising panic as he tilts his hips and rubs his covered groin against the side of my face. Water cascades down his body, creating another layer of confinement. I sputter and cough as my lungs burn from lack of oxygen.
