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“Relax,” I coo into her ear and run my hands over her shoulders, massaging them lightly. “Turn around and close your eyes.”
She moves hesitantly but follows my command. As soon as she is facing me, her eyes flutter shut. I know she’s scared, and she has every right to be, but I want her body to trust me, even if her mind can’t.
I could still fuck her even if she didn’t trust me, but it would be difficult, and I’d rather fuck a woman who wants and craves my touch than cowers and cries every time I come near her.
Grabbing the shower gel, I pour a generous amount into the palm of my hand. Moving my hand over her smooth milky skin, I slowly massage the soap in, working the tension out of her muscles as best I can without hurting her. A soft sigh slips from her mouth, and the sound goes straight to my cock. Almost as if she realizes the effect the sound has on me, she tenses up, and her eyes pop open.
Staring down into a pair of crystal blues, it’s as if I can see right through her. See her fears, her pains. She’s like glass, and I’m the proverbial hammer that’s going to shatter her.
“It’s just a shower. Relax, you have nothing to be afraid of,” I assure her, even though I don’t have to.
Her pink lips turn down at the sides, forming a frown. “You. You told me to be scared of you and what you are going to do with me,” she repeats my own words back at me.
I shake my head. “Yes, but not now. I’m not going to fuck or hurt you right now.”
Fuck me. I sound like a complete bastard.
Fear flicks across her face. “No, but you will later. You already told me I don’t matter, that my feelings don’t matter.”
I did, and I wasn’t lying. Her feelings don’t matter, she doesn’t matter, not in the sense that she thinks she does.
“I’m many things, but I’m not a liar. I’m not going to pretend I care about you when I don’t, and when I say I won’t hurt you, I mean, I won’t hurt you physically. Like I said before, I didn’t buy you because I wanted a girlfriend. If that were the case, I could have anyone. I bought you because I want to fuck you continuously until I’ve had my fill.” It’s not a lie, but it feels like one. It also makes me feel like a complete asshole for saying it.
“So, I’m basically a live-in whore who doesn’t get paid?”
The way she spits the words back at me only makes me feel worse. Anger eats away at my resolve. She isn’t in control. I am. She doesn’t make the rules. I do.
“You’re whatever I want you to be.” My voice booms through the small space. “Would it make you feel better if I pay you? Or would that make it worse?”
Her eyebrows furrow, and she opens her mouth as if she’s going to respond, but clearly thinks better of it and closes her mouth a moment later.
Obviously, my response is sufficient since she has nothing more she wants to say. The conversation fizzles to the back of my mind. Continuing, I wash her entire body, cleaning every crevice and inch before easing her beneath the spray of water to rinse away the soap.
The water cascades over her skin, and the droplets shimmer like diamonds. Beauty. She is beauty, and I’m the bastard that’s taken her and placed her in a cell of steel. A cell that she will never break free from, so long as I live.
“Turn around, so I can wash your hair.”
Squirting shampoo onto my palm, I move on to washing her hair and massage the soap into her scalp. I love watching how she melts beneath my fingertips. Taking a step back, she collides with my chest. This time, she doesn’t shriek or even tense up.
Progress.
Fear in this situation is required to some degree, but I’m starting to realize that I want her to trust me. I want her to seek my body for protection, for warmth. I want her to want me.
“That feels so good,” she murmurs.
Leaning forward, my lips brush against her ear. “That’s the point.”
“I didn’t think you could be gentle,” she confesses.
“I can be a lot of things under certain circumstances.” I rinse my hands and grab her by the hips to turn her around, so I can rinse the soap out of her hair.
Steam fills the bathroom, making it feel like a sauna. Fallon lets me rinse her hair without resistance, and when I’m finished, I wash myself quickly.
I can feel her eyes on me, watching my movements. It doesn’t bother me she stares. In fact, it’s fascinating, especially since I know mentally, she doesn’t want me. It only shows me that regardless of what she says, some part of her is interested in me.
