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Unlike wedded couples who went at it like deviants and consummated their marriage with love and joy, this wedding had been cemented without a single touch. Three nights of nothing but sleep. In our dreams, I’d become his. In our nightmares, he’d bought me.
I hate him.
Ignore him.
Running my fingers under my awful collar, I choked down claustrophobia as I rinsed away any dirt beneath. Repeating the process with my cuffs, I managed to ignore him during my entire wash.
Only once I’d sluiced off the soap and had nothing else to do but get out did I gather my courage and face him.
I froze.
Ever so slowly, he stripped off his underwear, kicked them into the corner, and entered the shower. The large, black-tiled space with its massive rain head and bench seat had seemed cavernous with just me inside.
Now, it felt like the tiniest prison.
My skin prickled as he reached around me and gathered a handful of soap from the dispenser.
A whiff of honeysuckle and jojoba fragranced the steamy hot air as he ran his hands under his arms, over the scant hair on his sculptured chest, and down, down to his hardening cock.
Look away, Ily.
Look away now.
I tried.
I really did.
But my eyes glued themselves to his fist. My breath turned thin as he worked himself. My heart floundered like a dying thing as any sign of flaccidity turned into velvet-wrapped steel.
Nudging me out of the way, he stepped under the stream, hissed at the hot temperature, then turned it down until icicles dripped from the showerhead.
I gasped and dashed to the glass door.
Only, his hand lashed out, snapping around my cuffed wrist.
I flinched as his fingers tightened, pressing against my pounding pulse.
Yet he didn’t say a word.
Not a single one.
He held me and rinsed in snow, then flipped the water back to hot and yanked me under it.
I spluttered as he pressed me against the chilly tiles and dropped his hand between my legs.
I shot onto my tiptoes as a single finger found me, slipped through my shower-wet folds, then penetrated.
Good God—
The invasion.
The intrusion.
I gritted my teeth as he stroked me.
I didn’t fight back as he hooked his finger and found that disloyal, deluded spot.
My tummy clenched as he continued to touch with all the arrogance of a man who knew I had nowhere else to go.
The stagnant silence and heavy weight of cursed synergy between us only made my heart thunder harder.
Bending his neck, he pressed his mouth to the vein in my throat.
I didn’t know if he meant to kiss me or bite me, but all my senses shot to where his lips caressed, scrambling as his one finger became two, and he still didn’t speak.
He rocked his hand between my legs all while his cock hung heavy and hungry between his.
Billowing steam thickened, obscuring his face as he pulled away from my neck and ensnared me with his silver stare.
Every urge and self-preservation ordered me to look down. To bow or kneel or do any number of things to get him off me and far, far away.
But a guttural groan fell from him as his fingers feathered inside me, and my body finally answered.
Against my will.
Against the very fabric of right and wrong.
I grew wet from his skilled touch.
I had no power over the tingles and tugging.
My cheeks blazed as he worked me deeper, harder, his hand pumping in that perfect rhythm, his thumb finding my clit and forcing me deeper, deeper into a vortex that promised sublime shattering.
I grabbed his wrist and tried to stop him.
His tendons flexed beneath my hold, but he never ceased.
His fingers withdrawing and thrusting, in and out of me.
Our gazes locked as he forced me higher on my tiptoes, knowing I couldn’t run. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t stop this.
He might’ve been speaking the truth that our previous couplings hadn’t been rape, but now I knew who he truly was.
And this…this wasn’t wanted.
I opened my mouth to tell him no. To see if that word held any power.
But his hand clamped over my lips, and he shook his head.
The first communication in three days.
With the stealth of a terrifying beast, he pressed his cheek to mine and breathed, “On your hands and knees, little nightmare.”
My eyes flared as he removed his fingers and reached out of the shower for one of the many towels on the rack. I scowled as he brought it beneath the spray and hot droplets instantly drowned it, making the plush white cotton go soggy.
Slapping it onto the floor, he pointed at it.
He didn’t speak again.
Didn’t have to.
We both knew who the Master was, and I cursed him all over again as he clamped a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down.
And down.
And down.
He didn’t stop pushing me until I kneeled on the towel.
The moment I kneeled, he twisted me away, then pressed on my nape, urging me forward.
