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Gettingoffthehorseis quite the scene. Impatient, the beast swings me over his shoulders in front of all his men, before lowering me to the ground. He doesn’t let go of my arm as he pulls me through the house. He doesn’t speak; he simply huffs in his gruff manner. My mind and my heart race as I wonder what will happen next. There’s no telling. Today has been strange. Strange is a severe understatement.
Before tonight, I didn’t think the beast could have different sides to him. But when he’d brushed his hand across my cheek, I wondered. I’m still wondering whether it was my imagination. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was; my head has been rattled from the day.
Pressure bangs through my body as he continues to pull me, silently, past all the rooms on the ground floor. My legs follow along. They don’t have it in them to resist. Time simultaneously stretches on and runs away from me with each step forward. The pressure inside me swells. If his earlier tenderness was nothing more than my imagination, then perhaps he’s leading me to my inevitable punishment. Too physically tired to fight, my mind screams,‘This is it. You’re about to experience so much pain, you’ll beg him to kill you. And he will. You’re all out of chances.’
I’m surprised when he marches into the helper’s quarters and calls for Gloria. She gets to work cleaning my superficial cuts and caressing my face, but I can’t even bring myself to look at her. My head is too heavy, and my eyes hurt in the dim room. My mind is active enough, though, to wonder why he’d get my injuries taken care of before killing me. The atmosphere is tense with his heavy breathing. It almost seems as if a literal hole is being burned through the skin of my neck with his eyes. The heartbeat in my throat makes it hard to swallow.
When she offers to clean his wounds as well, he refuses, only accepting the mixture of warm vinegar and brandy, along with some bandages. He also takes an entire bottle of brandy, instructing one of the male servants to carry it to his room, before holding onto my arm again and walking in the direction of my bedroom. Eyes wide and mouth agape, I stare at him as we march up the stairs. He’s gotten my wounds taken care of,andhe’s allowing me the pleasure of sleep? This must all be playing out in my fantasies. Perhaps I’m still in the forest, on the verge of dying, imagining all this.
My heart jumps with glee the closer I get to the bedroom. I’ve never been happier to be alive and to have a place to lay my head. He slaps me with another surprise when he carries me past the room and walks toward the door before it.
“You didn’t think I’d leave you alone tonight, did you?” he asks. He’s been so silent all this time that his voice startles me. My lips tremble as I try to form words. He looks at me, narrowing his brows. “After that stunt you pulled, I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he says before opening the door and locking it behind us.
“Undress,” he demands when we walk into his bathing room.
After witnessing what he did to those men tonight, I’ve learned that he’s not just a man of words; he’s a man of action. Hearing the way he callously instructs his men to discard the bodies chills me. I’m not in any position to fight him. With trembling fingers, I do as I’m told while watching him do the same.
My heart thumps with each article of clothing he removes, beginning at the top. It almost stops beating, entirely, when his bare chest is revealed to me. My breath catches at the sight of him. My cheeks grow heated and when he moves away from me, my heart collapses.
“I’ve instructed the servants to bring the things you’ll need in here,” he says while dipping a clean strip of cloth in some steaming water. His back muscles ripple as he hisses, and a new need to touch him overcomes me.
Something is different between us. I can’t tell what it is, but I’m yearning to get closer to him. Sure, what he did tonight was gruesome and despicable. But with what those men wanted to do to me? I shudder. He saved my life and for some reason, he spared me from his wrath. I’m so confused because despite everything else he’s done, him saving my life fills me with the need to repay him.
Walking over to him, I place my hand on his back, and he jumps. His eyes darken, and he glares at me, before letting out a sigh of what sounds like annoyance and pulling his eyes back to his wound.
“Here, let me help,” I suggest before reaching for a strip of cloth.
He grabs my hand, stopping me. He squeezes my wrist so hard, I squirm and instinctively try to pull away. He doesn’t let go and pulls me toward him so that I’m flush against his hard body. But I don’t think arousal is what I’m feeling when his darkened eyes fix on me, his nostrils flare, his jaw clenches, and he flashes his teeth.
“If you even think about running again, you better hope I don’t find you,” he says. “Because if I catch you the next time you try to do something like that, you will die the most brutal death.”
His warning registers. I don’t take his threats lightly anymore, and my mind screams at me to run. My body tries to get away but why on earth am I staring at his lips, wanting to kiss them? I think the events of tonight have killed my remaining brain cells. He releases me, and I stagger backwards, rubbing my wrists.
He groans when pouring the vinegar and brandy mixture over his bruised knuckles. “Cocksucker!” he yells before whirling around to look at me. “Well, what the hell are you staring at?” he barks. “Get in the bath!”
My body shakes. My mind screams at him to go to hell. I glare at him, stifling a moan as I fist my hands against the bandaged cuts. But I spin and get into the damn bath water. He removes the last of his clothing, and I stop breathing. My resistance wavers. Is my tongue hanging out of my mouth? He’s like one of those statues of men, except he’s far better endowed. I’m so frozen, I don’t realize how much I must be staring until he catches my eyes. My head swivels away so fast, I almost crick my neck. My entire body grows warm. My skin tingles. Swallowing and keeping my eyes on the second bathtub in the room, I jump when I feel the one I’m in, rock.
Whirling around, I come face to, um,face? With his rising member. Gasping, I fix my eyes on the water instead. “What are you doing?” I ask. He settles in the tub, and his feet brush up against my hips. Hugging myself around the knees, I tremble.
“Whatever I want,” he says as if questioning my audacity. “Besides, we can save water like this. Hold still.”
Hold still? What’s he about to do? Am I ready for this? I look up slightly to see his hand moving toward me, and I gulp. When he picks leaves out of my hair, I almost laugh aloud in relief. But I don’t. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Except, when he brings his hand to my cheek again, just as he did earlier, I find myself hoping he’ll end up givingmesatisfaction.
His moments of tenderness don’t exist only in my imagination. My eyes widen as I lift my head to look at him. He’s not looking into my eyes. Instead, he looks at his hand as he moves it toward my chin, stroking it. The grit of his thumb rubs across my chapped lips, and I tremble. This is wrong. It shouldn’t feel so good. But I can’t control my body’s reaction. My nipples tighten. They’re so sore. I’ve never felt this much desire before, but I don’t want it to stop. My cunt grows heavier as if burdened. I’m not sure what will relieve its ache.
Holding my breath, I try not to make any sounds, but I must have because his eyes flicker up to mine. There’s darkness in them still, but this time, they glisten with heat. The kind of heat I saw when he was in my mouth. In memory of his flavour, I lick my lips. He doesn’t suppress his groan, and I shiver.
He pulls his hand away, and I’m not only disappointed. An unreasonable flood of irritability consumes me. He reaches for one of the jugs of water and hands it to me, before taking the other jug for himself. I hesitate, transfixed by the picture of him pouring water over his head. Oh, sweet heaven. When he swipes the water away from his eyes before opening them, I pretend to be unaffected by him, pouring water over my own head.
With my eyes closed, I hear him hiss, and I gulp. My breathing increases as my lungs try to bring enough oxygen to my pounding heart. I’m afraid to open my eyes, but they widen at the gentle brush of his fingers against my neck. He runs his thumb over my larynx, pressing slightly, but it’s enough to cause me to gasp and try to catch my breath. This spot is sensitive. He could easily kill me by pressing into it too hard. Yet, in this moment, a thrill runs up my spine at the sense of danger.
With my hands hanging off on either side of the tub, my upper body surrenders to him, leaning into his touch. I should be fighting this, but I want more.
“Look at me,” he grunts, and I jump.
It’s almost like my body is finding it too hard to do so many things at once. Nipples aching, centre throbbing, heart racing, trying to breathe, needing more,andopening my eyes? But I do as he says, lifting my lids, because I don’t want to face the risk of him stopping. My skin buzzes from the eye contact. Now, I can’t look away. His gaze magnetizes me to him.
Wings flutter beneath my skin, deep in my stomach, my lower belly, and my heaving chest. His hand continues its journey past my neck, to the sweet lumps on my chest. They rejoice from the slightest bit of attention as his hand grazes over one. His other hand comes up to join, caressing its twin, and it’s heaven. This is absolute madness. But it’s so good.
