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All those delirious hours of compelled pleasure….
He had done something to me, twisted my thinking to engage my compliance. Made me drunk on him to the point that I’d forgotten he was the man I hated most, leaving me in such a state I saw only a beautiful male who was stabbing at my slippery insides with a monstrous appendage that felt glorious.
I’d enthusiastically participated, touched him, licked at his skin—and the memory tore me up with shame.
Sitting in that chair, dressed in civilian clothing, clean, vigilant… nothing about him seemed different or shaken. He stared at me with that same unwavering attention, that same fixation—utterly calm.
Collected.
Where I was vibrating with anxiety, naked, feverish, and at every disadvantage.
I remained frozen in the middle of that grand bed, waiting to see if he might move two steps to the right and free up my direct line to the door.
He did not.
From a large crystal pitcher, clean water was poured, the sounds of it hitting the glass reminded me that I was, in fact, desperate for a drink. Raising the full cup, he held it out at arm’s length as he slowly approached.
Yes, I took it. Swiped it right out of his hand, no care if I spilled, so long as I might bring it to my lips and gulp it down. Watching his every breath over the rim as I swallowed.
Panting, my burning throat was somewhat refreshed, I calculated what the odds might be if I first took that pitcher, then ran.
“Give me the glass, and I will refill it.” Sounding so cool, so even, ever the unshakable leader, the general smiled.
Desperate as I was to hide away from his unblinking gaze, I was not unwilling to go without that water. “Give me the pitcher.”
Green eyes sparkling, he said, “One glass at a time.”
Fine.
I tossed the empty glass right at him, only for him to catch it in midair as if it were nothing. Then he refilled it and outstretched his arm once again.
More cautious in my retrieval, I took the glass slowly, stiff and ready to bolt. Once at my lips, every drop was swallowed. Handing it back, and then another full cup until my stomach was churning in warning that I’d better stop.
Head pounding from dehydration, feeling unnaturally weak, I finished the last gulp and sighed.
Taking the empty glass from my limp hand, he set it aside, saying, “Private transport brought us to our home two days ago.”
This home was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Walls of windows high enough above the city that no fog hit the glass. Muted colors without a trace of drab academy gray. His adoration of pretty things was just as much on display in this space as it had been in his office. Even fresh flowers bloomed in a glittering vessel on a low table between two comfortable-looking wingback chairs.
This room did not seem like it had been designed with a male in mind. It was very female. Prettier than anything I’d seen in my old magazines.
I hated to admit how much I loved it.
Sandpaper rough, my voice cracked. “I thought you lived at the academy.”
Giving me room, he settled back in his comfortable chair. “My apartment there will no longer be required.”
The implication wasn’t missed. He had slept on academy grounds, because I resided on academy grounds. Now, he had me in this new place, his stolen mate.
Pulling the sheet tighter around my frame despite a strange fever growing in my skin, I said, “I need to use the bathroom.”
With a nod, he said, “It’s through the door behind you. Take all the time you need.”
As in, he wasn’t going to follow me? I could work with that. Sliding backward, dragging the sheet with me to cover naked flesh, I eased slowly off the bed—my eyes never leaving his form. One slow step at a time, I worked a backward path until my reaching hand found a wall at my back.
“To your right.”
Three steps to the side and I found the lavatory’s threshold, slinking back first into another unknown space. Before he might intrude, I closed the door, snarling to find there was no lock.
