Page 63 of Promise of Punishment

“Come for me, Fable,” he orders, and I do, for the third time tonight, screaming at the prolonged intensity.

He groans and climaxes, coming on my back.

One minute we were snuggling in the tub—him reclined with me between his legs while he washed me. The next, he was holding me like a boyfriend would.

If that wasn’t enough to blow my mind and make me want to both run away and fuse myself to him forever, his hands started exploring my body under the water in the most sensual way. A soft graze of my nipple. A brush of my clit. Then his fingers were inside me, and I was riding them like a dying alien who needs orgasms to survive.

After I came, he set me on my knees and said, “My turn, angel.”

I can’t tell which I like better, when he says my name or calls me angel. It’s a huge turn-on. Everything about him is. I don’t know how anyone can walk away from this. Literally—I will feel this in the morning—but also figuratively. Where do you go from here? No one will match up. I get why Noah is so sad about getting only one night with her lord. This masked Lord has me wrapped around his finger and his cock.

My forehead rests on the edge of the tub, my backside still in the air, as I catch my breath.

A big hand smacks my ass, jolting me to the present. My Lord rubs away the sting with a tender hand, then kisses the warm skin. “I need a shower now.”

“Shower?”

“This water is no longer clean.”

It takes my just fucked brain a minute to catch up. “Because he just came in it—or on me—or both. And yeah, gross. But also, he’s a clean freak, like me. As if I need another reason to like him.

I hear him climb out and turn on the faucet in the big shower behind us. Slowly, I lift my head and squint at the mirror above the sink as fog creeps in from the corners. Why is it so bright all of a sudden? I tense with realization. I can see. My blindfold fell from one eye. I’m about to yank it up when I glimpse a very tall, very naked, muscular man walking into the shower. Tattoos cover some of his back—a death moth with a skull face, a coat of arms wrapped in thorns with droplets of blood, and a vine coiled around an opened book that has angel wings.

I gasp.

No. No. It can’t be. My heart pounds and my head turns, my eyes straining for a better look. Facing the wall, he ducks his head under the spray of water. It’s the same man I saw in the shower at Mr. Ashford’s. The same sexy body. The same tattoos. My stomach twists, and bile climbs up my throat. What kind of sick joke is this?

I shove my blindfold back in place and get out of the tub. My body quivers as I feel around for the towel on the nearby chair. I stub my toe on the wooden leg. “Ow!”

“What are you doing, Fable?” Wes asks. Wes! The asshole I hate. “Wait. I’ll get you.”

I thrust my palm up. “No. I’m okay.” Don’t come near me, you sick freak.

His big hands land on my shoulders. “Come join me.” He turns me toward the shower.

I try to hold my ground and clutch my stomach. “I don’t feel good.” True! “I’m sorry. Can I go back to my bedroom?”

“What’s wrong?”

A large soft towel is wrapped around my body. I hide inside it, wishing it were a magic portal back to my room. A second later, I’m hoisted off my shaky legs and into my Lord—Wes’s—arms. Oh god.

My stomach rolls. I know wealthy people can be narcissistic assholes, but this is a level of fuckery I never imagined. And bravo for his acting skills. A real-life British Lord and a Golden Globe winner.

Wes lowers me onto a bed. His bed. I resist and sit up, desperate to get away from him. “Please. I need my room.”

“I’ll send for someone. Just give me a minute.”

“No. Please. I don’t want to get sick in here. Just call Noah,” I cry, losing it more, my lungs racing as I teeter on the verge of hyperventilation. “Just call her. Please.”

Curling onto my side, I bury my head in the pillow that smells sexy, delicious, and like the evilest man I know.

His voice rumbles behind me as he talks to someone.

I don’t lift my spinning head from the pillow. I can’t.

“Fable? It’s me, honey,” Noah’s voice sounds in my ear. “Can you stand?”

I sit up and turn her way so quickly that dizziness has my stomach churning again. She helps me to my feet and wraps me in something silk and long. The cloak?