Oliver is beautiful in a raw, untamed way. The sparse hair on his chest, the line of muscles down his abdomen, the thick cock half hard despite his anger…or perhaps because of it.
His eyes meet mine. "Enjoying the view?"
"Yes," I answer honestly.
That seems to catch him off guard. His bravado falters for just a moment before reasserting itself. "Well, get your fill. Because I'm not performing for you."
"You will." I move closer to the edge of the pool, close enough he could grab me if he wanted. Close enough to be reckless. "Eventually, you'll do everything I ask. You'll kneel when I tell you to kneel. You'll spread your legs when I want to feed. You'll beg me for release."
"Fuck you."
"Perhaps. If you earn it."
His cock twitches at that, hardening further despite the fury on his face. He sees me looking and turns away again, presenting his back.
"I'm not doing this," he says, his voice rough. "I don't care what you paid for me. I don't care what you think you own. I will not be your...your toy."
"You're right." I remove my tunic, the fabric whispering as it falls to the floor. "You're not a toy. You're food. Sustenance. Essential for my survival."
I hear his sharp intake of breath as I step into the pool wearing only my breast binding and undergarments. The water is hot against my skin, almost too hot, but I welcome the burn.
"What are you doing?" Oliver demands, still not looking at me.
"Bathing you properly. Healer Madris will tend your wounds after." I pick up a soft cloth and soap, working it into a lather. "Turn around."
"No."
My patience, already stretched thin from the auction and the journey home, frays. "Oliver. Turn around."
"Make me."
The words hang in the steam between us. A challenge. One I should ignore, one I should handle with the cool authority befitting my station.
Instead, I move through the water until I'm directly behind him. Close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides.
"You're testing me," I say quietly. "Why?"
"Because fuck you, that's why." But there's less heat in it now, more exhaustion.
I reach up and place the soapy cloth on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn't pull away. Slowly, I begin washing him,my movements methodical and firm. Down his shoulder blades, along his spine, across the breadth of his back.
He shivers despite the hot water.
"You're afraid," I observe.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"No. You're afraid of yourself. Of what you might feel." My hand slides lower, to the small of his back. "Of what your body already knows it wants."
"You know nothing about me." His voice is hoarse.
"I know you're aroused. I know your cock is hard right now, aching, desperate despite your protests." I lean closer, my lips nearly touching his ear. "I know when I finally wrap my hand around you and milk you for the first time, you're going to come so hard you'll forget your own name."
A shudder runs through him, violent and unmistakable. His breathing has gone ragged.
"I hate you," he whispers.
"I know." I move back, putting distance between us again. "Turn around. Let me see your face."
