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I don’t like the sound of the bottle as she crushes the plastic. My head twitches to the side, but I guess the woman isn’t really happy right now.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I press the loofah against her shoulder, making her wince, and point out the obvious since she doesn’t want to accept it. “I’m washing you.”
She raises a hand, ready to rip the thing from my fingers, but I snatch her wrist with my free hand. “Do you know what I love, little sunflower?”
She eyes me suspiciously, and I’m surprised she doesn’t know the answer. It’s not like I ever tried to hide it.
“Hurting you.”
My eyes roam over her naked body, at the way she brought her knees up. Only her lower stomach, hips, upper thighs, and intimate area are submerged. She’s hiding her pussy by keeping her legs tight and her knees to her chest.
“And I’ll hurt you, Kayla. I’ll hurt you a lot.” When my grip tightens on her wrist, I love the way she grits her teeth so her mouth doesn’t twist in pain. “So don’t give me any reason to do it more than I already will.”
Her lips flatten, and she takes a deep breath before relaxing her shoulders. I let go of her wrist, and her arm falls numbly into the water.
I nod at her because I’m not sure how else to tell her this is what I expected. She sits there like a lifeless puppet whose strings got cut as I wash her shoulders and neck. I move on to her back, and she silently rests her chin on her knees, her gaze lost.
Pushing her long black hair over one shoulder, I focus on scrubbing. She’ll talk eventually. In the meantime, I observe her back, then her stomach as I move her to start working on her chest. I do her breasts, but I make sure to keep it clinical.
She needs to understand I am just establishing control. I am not bringing her pleasure yet. That will only come if she behaves.
She drops her head back against the tiles behind her and squeezes her eyes shut when I move down her stomach.
I ignore the way her nipples have hardened, but my dick doesn’t.
My dick fucking loves Kayla. Always has.
There’s something about her body that makes her so…alive. Even more so now that she has black and purple bruises all over her stomach and that she tries to stop herself from whimpering when I go over them with the loofah.
I observe her body from head to toe as steam billows around her. She has makeup running down her damp face, and a black bruise on her cheek. Her nose is slightly swollen, dry blood still sticking below her nostrils, and her lips are cut and chapped.
Goosebumps litter her pale skin as I drop the loofah and caress one of her tattoos with my thumb. This one just below her right breast is a noose one would use to hang themselves. It’s small, a bit thick and gray from how old it is. She’s got plenty of them. Some done too young, some covering scars. The Kings’ crown at her neck is a statement of her pride. To the family she was born into and the reason she is so one-track minded.
Kayla thinks her ultimate win is to be at the head of her pathetic gang. To own the North Shore. Silly dreams of a silly girl. Why reign over a kingdom when you could rule the world? Why be a queen when you could be a goddess? I could give her that. I would have if she hadn’t sent me to prison.
Not because I enjoyed fucking her more than I enjoyed fucking other women. And I really did. Not because I felt anything for her, but because she is useful, resourceful, intelligent, and a great person to have by your side.
Sadly, for her, she ruined that by trying to outshine the master. Big mistake.
I caress one of her many scars. Proof that she’s been through much more than anyone else around her. Proof that she’s powerful and people have tried to take that away from her.
Emma Scott was wrong. Kayla is still standing. Except now, she’ll be standing by my side. At all times.
My hand goes lower, finding a new scar. I trace my thumb just above her pubic bone, where the line of her underwear would be if she was wearing any.
“This is new.”
Her hand plunges under the water, seizing my wrist.
She doesn’t hesitate one second. “This is NSC trying to gut me alive while you were away.”
“And you survived?”
She snorts, her eyes opening to meet mine. “I survive everything, Nate. You, more than anyone, should know that.”
That’s true. “Let go of my wrist and spread your legs.”
