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But…even if he does have a wife, I don’t want anyone else.
“I want you to teach me.” I don’t want to talk to anyone else. I don’t know when I stoppednotwanting to talk to him, but I guess I’d rather it be him if I have to talk to anyone. “You don’t have to have sex with me. I know you love your wife…”
“Omega, quiet. That’s an order.”
A chill floods my bones and I open my mouth but I find that I can’t get any words out. My tears dry up, morphing quickly into anger. I shove a wave of water at him, which he snarls at. He surges towards me, then slams back into the wall of the tub. The marble is this gorgeous white and pink and brown swirling pattern, layered over the entire outside of the tub, floor and half the walls. I liked it before. I liked him before. Seconds before.
But this is a good reminder of why I’m an idiot and he’s a bastard.
I look away from the sight of him with his eyes closed, chest heaving, hand rubbing roughly down his face. I snatch a fresh bottle of bodywash off of the edge of the bath and move over to the opposite edge, as far from him as I can get. I try to use my tongue to flick the cap open, but the taste of coconut bodywash isn’t as good as it sounds and I gag.
The bottle is ripped out of my hand and I’m in motion, fighting even as I continue to choke on the taste. I’m easily overpowered. He grabs my good wrist, spins me around and plops me down onto his lap while he sits on the bathtub’s inner bench. His cock is hard and huge against my back, which arches. I make a fluttery sound that I hate and I don’t like at all how I feel strapped to his chest. It reminds me too much of the first time when he bit me.
He lowers his mouth to the curve of my neck and I whimper. Fear slips into the bathtub opposite me. She preens, satisfied, as she watches the two of us.
“Took the stitches out.”
“Mmmm!” I grunt, wiggling my shoulders. He holds me tighter.
“Told you once I’d never bite you again. Not gonna repeat myself. Gonna have to trust me.”
I shake my head.
He grabs my neck from the front and roughly exhales against the side of my face. His forehead tips to touch my temple. All of his muscles tense up, like he wants to squeeze the life out of me, or burst into tears, or both. And then he shoves me under the water.
I come up a second later, shocked, which makes me slow to process what he’s doing now. He’s dunking under the water with me and is setting the bodywash back on the side of the tub. In his hand, he’s holding the shampoo instead and is he…is he washing my hair?
“Can talk, Echo,” he says as the shampoo bottle farts somewhere above me. He thumps it down onto the edge of the bath before diving into the thicket that is my hair. All my red, frizzy strands are trying to loc themselves together. His blunt fingers massage my scalp in a way that sends feeling sizzling down my back, electricity shooting through my muscles, and fire through all of my thoughts.
“Ung,” I grunt, making this and other stupid sounds.
He’s shaking a little behind me, but I don’t ask him if he’s laughing. I don’t have to. I can feel his breath on my cheek. Smells minty. I’ve had only a root to use as a toothbrush for weeks up until I got into the bath. A real one was the first thing I asked for. I’m shocked I’ve got teeth at all, let alone sort of straight, kind of white ones. Must be those good flossing techniques November instilled in me.
When he keeps shaking, I jam my elbow into his abdomen and try to pull my hair out of his hands, even though his touch feels heavenly. He jerks me back against him by the hair, sending pain shooting through my scalp, and he keeps me there. His chuckling stops. His minty breath mixes with mine. We’re both breathing harder than we ought to be for two filthy people in a bath. Well, one filthy person.
“You can talk, Echo. Hope you never stop talkin’ to me.”
I slam my elbow back into him again and this time, he releases a light grunt. Pain steps through the doorway, only she isn’t here for me this time. She’s here for him.You can’t have him.I close my eyes.
I’m breathing harder and I jolt when his lips brush the top of my cheek. “I’m sorry, Echo. Shuddna done that.” He squeezes my hip, pulling me against his stiff cock in a way that makes my belly muscles contract. He’s hard for me…but he doesn’t want to be. “Forgive me?”
I shake my head vigorously, splashing hot water over him. He might have had a chance at forgiveness in the small window of time between depositing me in the tub and responding to the earlier knock on the door — the pounding — but I was too freaked out sitting by myself, wondering if he’d come back, to process whether or not I’d forgiven him for Paradise Hole and the shit that went down there.
But now that we’re no longer in Paradise Hole, I don’t like the imbalance between us. And for him to shove it in my face like that? It makes my tears dry up and my jaw clench. I don’t like his orders. I don’t like that he has…people here, a wife, allies —friends— and I don’t. I don’t like that he’s clean now and I’m not. Makes me feel…less. Even less than I know I am already.I’m just an Omega.
“Alright, Echo. Gonna make me work for it.” He starts washing my hair again, fingers firm and careful and dangerously addictive as they press into my scalp and tug carefully at the biggest knots. “I can work for it.”
He holds the front of my neck, under my chin and jaw, while he works his fingers through my hair with his other hand. He massages my scalp for a while. A long while. A silent while. But it’s…not unpleasant. Fear starts to fade, resurfacing only when he gets out of the bath, drains it and then leaves while it refills. Fear taunts me while I shiver waiting for him to come back.
“Comb,” he says as he shuts the bathroom door quietly. He holds up a flat, wide-toothed torture device in front of me, even though I didn’t ask.
Moving back into position behind me, he starts to try to pull it through my hair from root to tip, the fucking psychopath. I elbow him hardenough for him to yelp. It makes him sound like a little kid and a burst of laughter shoots out of me — a sound I’ve heard only once before, when I saw him in those awful stolen pants out in Paradise Hole.
I cover my mouth with my bad hand, but he pushes it aside, back to the edge of the tub. I’m deeply embarrassed by my laugh — both that I let it out, and by the sound itself. It’s so ugly. Out of use, out of practice. I swallow it down, but Adam spares me by chuckling himself instead of laying into me about it.
He takes the wide-toothed bone comb to my hair again in the same bad way he tried before and I scowl. “It’s tip to root!” I turn and try to take it from him, but he’s smiling and my insides turn to rubber. It’s not fair. It’s really not fair. I miss his beard. Underneath it, I could pretend he really was a hideous monster.
“Tip to root? What, too much of a pussy to handle root to tip?” His voice twists salaciously and I scowl again.
