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“I’m telling you, Winter. All your troubles are over. Whatever you want—a car, clothes, travel, hobbies. They’re all yours for the taking.” He leans in conspiratorially. “No more having to put up with assholes like Josh Crawley. You can tell them all to get fucked.”
Alright, that sounds tempting. But at the expense of my freedom? “I’m used to being able to make my own choices.”
“I’d think you’d be happy to hand all that over to someone else—and don’t get me wrong, it isn’t as if I’ll decide what you wear and who you get to spend time with. So long as they aren’t men,” he adds, his voice going a little darker with deeper meaning.
I need to do something so I don’t have to look at him and show how horrible this makes me feel. Washing up is the only option, so I do that as quickly as possible.
“You seem unhappy.”
The guy’s a genius, isn’t he? “I didn’t get a say in any of this. Sorry if I need time to adjust.” That’s by far the nicest thing that comes to mind. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of what I’m thinking.
“You’ll see.” He stands and unfolds a huge, fluffy bath sheet. “Once you get used to being taken care of, it’ll be clear this was for the best. Soon, you won’t be able to remember how bad things were when we met.”
Somehow, I doubt it.
I also doubt he’ll let me sit here forever, so I stand and use the handheld tub attachment to rinse my skin before stepping out, where he wraps me in the enormous towel. The man has no connection to reality. How am I supposed to get through to somebody so deep in denial?
What is the rest of my life going to look like?
“What’s the matter?” he murmurs when I sniffle. I can’t help it—no matter how I fight it, the tightness in my chest has to loosen somehow, and this is how my body’s chosen to do it.
“I didn’t ask for this.” I can barely whisper from shaking so hard, and it’s probably a mistake to tell the truth, but it hurts even worse to pretend.
“You didn’t have to.” His hands move over me with the towel between them and my skin. “I knew the moment I set eyes on you that this is where you belong.”
He turns me in place, scowling down at what must be my red face and swollen eyes. “Why is it so impossible to get through to you? You’re young, but you didn’t strike me as stupid.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not, dammit.” When his eyes widen, I wish I could take it back. This is not a man to push too far.
And I think I have.
His already dark eyes go black, the hands that were so gentle a moment ago now tightening around my shoulders. “I'm not so sure about that.” He pushes me hard, backing me out of the room with my feet slipping on the marble, into the bedroom. I land on the bed with a thud, my heart pounding, a scream threatening to burst out of me.
Only instead of tying me down like he did before, he drops to his knees and spreads my legs. The more I try to keep them closed, the more determined he is about parting them. “Don't you know better by now?”
He's right. I do. I know there's no point in fighting. He's going to take what he wants.
The scruff on his cheeks is rough against my inner thighs, in a good way. I might even enjoy it if the circumstances were different. “Is this what I have to do to show you what you mean to me?”
I can barely hold back a whimper of... what? Anger? Dismay?
Arousal? Because here's the thing—stroking my legs, pressing his lips to my inner thighs, lapping at them— what he's doing to me feels good. All I can do is lie here, staring at the ceiling, questioning everything I thought I knew about myself when telltale heat spreads through my core, moistening my pussy.
His throaty chuckle tells me he notices the change. “At least some part of you knows what's best for it.”
My body freezes up when he parts my lips with his fingers, but dammit, I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop. Not when his breath feels so exquisite against my sensitive flesh.
His ragged breathing betrays his excitement. “So pretty. Pink and fresh and sweet.” His thumb circles my clit, and, God help me, there's no silencing the moan that stirs deep in my chest. I'm too weak. I don't stand a chance when he's determined to break me down with his skillful touch.
“Don't be stubborn,” he mutters, and even the tiny vibrations from his lips make my toes curl. “Admit what you want. Take it. It's yours. I'm yours.” I barely register what he's saying when the way he plays with me leaves me panting, my traitorous body straining against his tongue as he swirls it through my slickness.
He's right. My body knows what it wants; what it wants more than anything right now is pleasure. Release.
The flat of his tongue travels the length of my slit, delving in deep, parting my inner folds, and invading my entrance, pushing in deep. When I seize up, my back arching against this new burst of sensation, he rewards me by slowly, rhythmically fucking me, going as deep as his tongue can reach.
