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After it was rinsed off, he said, “Wash it again.”
So, I did. I washed my hair again. And then, once my hair was approved by him, I went on to lather up other parts of my body, though I pretended not to notice the way my nipples had hardened, how they refused to relax, even in the warm water. It was like the damned things were perked and ready for attention.
Stupid nipples.
I washed every part of me—well, not every part. I didn’t touch the space between my legs, didn’t wash around my clit or near my pussy. I couldn’t. I feared if I drew attention to that part of me, Alistair would know what I did to myself in the darkness—and I might’ve lost my mind a little bit, but I was still sane enough to be ashamed.
I was reaching for the handle to turn the water off when Alistair’s voice stopped me dead in my tracks: “Not yet. I told you to wash yourself off, Brianna. I meant it all, and you know it.”
My hand hovered over the handle, my heart skipping a beat. There was no way he could know. No way. I was frozen, unable to move, wrestling with my inner demons… inner demons which, apparently, had turned out to be bigger and darker than I’d ever known.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alistair rolling up his sleeves. Fold after fold, he rolled up his right side, first, all the way past his elbow, and then he did the same thing to his left.
“I’m clean,” I managed to say, finding my voice for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’m clean—” I couldn’t get out anything else. His right hand shot into the shower, curling around my neck, and he jerked me toward him, hauling me to the edge of the shower.
“Don’t lie to me,” he whispered, the coldness in his stare melting away, replaced by something dark, something dangerous. His other hand slipped between my thighs, uncaring that they were squeezed together. They didn’t hinder him at all.
The air in my lungs caught the moment his fingers slid along the side of my clit, a chill sweeping up my spine in spite of the hot water coursing down my back and the steam filling the air.
I didn’t stop him. I didn’t fight him. I couldn’t. The only thing I could do was stand there and let him do whatever it was he planned on doing to me. He was a spider, and I was an insect trapped on his web, unable to disentangle myself and get free.
Alistair’s expression did not change as he went on, “I know everything that goes on in that room.Everything. I know what you did to yourself after Gareth locked you in there. You were a bad girl, Brianna. You touched yourself. Do you deny it?”
Was there a camera in there? My mind raced with the memory of Gareth dragging me into that room, showing me the chef’s body. I’d been too focused on the hanging corpse and the trough of blood to remember much else, to recall if there was a camera hanging in one of the corners or not.
“No,” I whispered, my voice nearly swallowed up by the sounds of the water. His fingers had surrounded my clit, pinching together with my clit caught between in a way that was both painful and pleasurable.
“That’s right, you were a naughty girl. Gareth thought he was breaking you, but really, you enjoyed yourself all too well in there.” Alistair paused, a faint glimmer of a smirk tugging at his mouth for only a moment before disappearing. “After you stopped yelling about how you were going to kill him, that is.”
Okay, so there had to be a camera in there, because how would he know that? My thoughts struggled to stay sane, my mind fighting off the haze that was slowly creeping in while Alistair’s hand was between my legs, his fingers still pinching my clit.
“How do you think it would look to your mother, to your new friends at Eastcreek High, hmm? How do you think they would react to seeing you fucking yourself with your fingers while covered in blood? How do you think the police would react? What defense would you possibly have?”
I gulped, breathing hard. “I’d say it was Gareth who—”
“Gareth who killed her? That might be true, but I could have America’s best lawyers here tomorrow, whereas you would get an overworked public defender. Even if, by some miracle, you got off, your name would be forever tainted. No one would trust you ever again.” He pinched my clit a bit harder, and I let out a moan, unable to help myself. His other hand remained firmly snug around my neck, holding me in place, in case I tried to pull myself away.
I… I didn’t think I would, though.
Alistair was threatening me, threatening to ruin my life. What was worse was the fact that he was right. My mother wouldn’t believe in me. She wouldn’t be on my side; she’d be at his side, believing Gareth was innocent.
“So, you see,” Alistair paused long enough to dip his fingers lower, abandoning my clit in favor of something else. One of them slipped inside of me, curling enough to rub something inside that made me weak at the knees. “Unless you want to make your life a living hell, you won’t ever go to the police again. Do you understand me?”
My lips parted, but I couldn’t say a word. I was too focused on that finger inside of me, how it felt… how it started to move, pumping in and out of me easily, which told me I was the opposite of a dry desert down there.
“I said,” Alistair growled out, suddenly stopping his finger from fucking me, his hand suddenly a rock between my inner thighs, “do you understand me?”
All I could do was whine, whine and start to move my body in search of a good rhythm, but he drew his hand up, keeping his finger inside of me, pressing his palm against my clit and drawing me to my tiptoes… which made grinding myself against that hand impossible.
“Only good girls get rewarded,” he told me, leaning his top half down to mine as the hand around my neck curled upward to cup the bottom of my jaw. His cold, cruel blue stare bore into me. “Bad girls get punished. Are you a good girl or a bad girl, Brianna?”
Realistically, I was bad. Very, very bad for wanting the things I wanted. I didn’t know what got over me. It had to be something in this house, something contagious, something in the air that made me lose my mind.
But I told him what he wanted to hear, barely able to get the words out, “A good girl. I’m a good girl.”
He cocked a single brow. “Are you? Because I’m not so sure.”
I was still on my tiptoes, his finger still hooked inside of me. My inner core ached with need, and my calves had started to hurt from the straining, but I managed to nod and say, “I am. I will be.”
