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Soon, he lifts a leg and gets up to go to the bathroom, returning with a hot, wet towel minutes later. He spreads it across my belly and breasts, carefully cleaning me up.
“Please, Evan. Finish me…”
He wipes me dry with another towel and then goes back to the bathroom to deposit them. When he returns, he doesn’t come anywhere near the bed. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“I need you to finish what you started!” I hiss.
He holds a finger up and wags it at me. “It’s too late, Madeline. Consider that for next time.”
“Fuck you!” I kick my leg at him, nowhere near close enough to connect. “There isn’t going to be a next time!”
That goddamned grin again. “We’ll see about that. Sleep well.”
And then he’s gone. And I lay back, aching, exhausted from pulling against my restraints. Like I’m going to sleep like this?
My body is still thrumming, so flushed with such intense desire that I’m not sure it can ever be satisfied. I’m in real danger of flipping the fuck out. I want to punch him in the balls. He’s goddamn lucky that my hands are chained up. Perhaps that’s why he did it.
It’s hours later when I finally drift off, probably around three in the morning or so and very dark. I manage to make myself comfortable, rolling on my right side to let up on the pressure of my arms. Then, I sleep.
Chapter 26
Hot Desire
The next morning, I’m lying in bed, barely conscious when he quietly enters the room and stands at the foot of my bed without a word. He watches me from beyond the footboard as I’m stretched out in quite possibly the same position he left me hours before.
I turn my head to look at him and—in contrast to last night—neither his mouth nor his eyes smile.
“Good morning,” he says.
“What’s good about it?” I reply, stretching my legs out as far as I can as I shift position. His eyes travel down my form, taking in my legs, my hips, my nakedness. The desire there is clearly evident, but I’m not about to let that sidetrack me.
“You hungry?” he asks.
I don’t answer, trying to sit up. Both of my hands are still cuffed to the headboard where he’d left me last night.
He comes around the side of the bed to stand about a foot from my knees, his eyes more closely inspecting my naked body. There are marks from his confident possession the night before, across my belly, my thighs. I wonder silently when he’ll replace those with bruises. I swallow, trying to ignore how much that thought arouses me.
Actually everything is arousing me, him standing so near that I can smell him. The memory of his head between my legs early this morning as I was sleeping. The feel of his mouth and tongue pressing against my center, licking, sucking.
Hot desire streaks through me even in my tired, achy state, and he watches hungrily as my erect nipples betray my arousal, giving him a full report. I curse my traitorous body for giving him the intel.
And I’m aching again—like I never stopped. The unreleased tension is so strong it’s almost painful. He quickly bends over me and unlocks the handcuffs around my wrists, and I rub the marks they’ve pressed into my skin.
“Time for the bathroom, I think. And a shower,” he says quietly.
I swallow, my throat dry. I throw a glance at the glass of water he’d left at the side of my bed, and he dutifully takes it up and hands it to me. I drink greedily until there are only a few swallows left, and then, I can’t help it, I feel the need to express my rage.
I flick my wrist, dumping the last bits of water into his face. He blinks and straightens, but his expression changes in no other way, and I’m wiggling off the bed, free of him.
I really have to pee, but I have to get out of this goddamn bedroom even more. I’m looking around for something to cover me—a sheet or a towel—but there’s nothing. So I head straight for the door when he strides up behind me and grabs that fucking leash and yanks it back.
Not so hard as to break my neck, but definitely hard enough to express his own anger. He wraps the chain around his fist and buries his other fist in my hair, pulling it tight and pulling me back against his heaving chest.
“What was that?”
When I speak, my voice is raspy, tinged with fear. “What did it look like? An expression of my displeasure.”
A dry laugh sounds in my ear. He presses his mouth to the side of my head, his hand tightening in my hair so that tears form in my eyes. He pulls me up to my tiptoes, tugging my head backward, and I gasp.
