Looking out the window, her heart sank to see the direction of the light angling across the sea made it mid to late afternoon.That means I've been out for around, what- sixteen, eighteen hours?she thought, pushing her hair back from her eyes. Looking down, Maura saw she was in a light green silk slip, meaning he'd at least dressed her after their mauling and the roofie that finished it off. Absently rubbing her hip at the injection site, she stretched painfully, feeling all the lumps James got in last night. "Bastard gave as good as he got," she said to herself, "but I hope he's in worse shape this morning."
She sighed, "This afternoon, I mean."
Sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the mattress, Maura was utterly astonished to flop face-first on the carpet instead of standing. She lay still for a moment, refusing to thrash in panic like the lizard brain inside her subconscious screamed to do. Her heart was pounding madly, and she bit her bottom lip. You will not panic, she shakily instructed herself. You will NOT, Morrighan! Have a calm now, na' giv'n thatdiabhal tha' satisfaction.
Feeling the Irish slip back into her speech, she gritted her teeth. She'd not been Morrighan for a long time. Now was the time for Maura: sane, practical, clever Maura who found a way out of trouble without stabbing anyone. But her muscles were trembling with the effort of rising, and she fought back the absolute terror of being so helpless, there on the floor. At least that bastard isn't here to mock me, she thought, trying to comfort herself.
"Darling, what are you doing on the floor? Attempting a quick getaway?"
Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear,she thought hatefully.
"I've seen better work from you, Pet." He walked around the corner of the bed, looking down at her with an infuriatingly smug expression. James was immaculately outfitted in a blue suit, no tie today.
Maura was ecstatic to see that he'd indeed gotten the worst of the encounter last night. Her punch to his cheekbone had graduated to a full-blown black eye, along with a vivid purple bruise reaching up to his hairline, then the cloth burn and bruising around his neck from the chokehold. She spitefully hoped he was limping from the kick to the thigh.
Carefully managing to roll over and prop up against the bedside table, Maura gave him an angelic smile. "I've seen better from you, too, Mr. Pine. Feeling a little battered today?"
To her frustration, he laughed. "It was worth it." Walking over to her, he arched a brow. "Still a bit under the weather, I see. Shall I help you up?"
"I'm not under the weather!" she hissed, "I've been roofied by a big, strong man who's apparently too afraid of me fully conscious." James sighed and hauled her up by the front of her silk slip, tearing it in the process. Carrying her to the bathroom, he seated her on the toilet, pulling her panties down to her ankles. Seating himself on the bench by the shower, he straightened his cuffs and looked at her. Feeling extremely awkward but desperately needing to relieve herself after eighteen hours, Maura shifted uneasily and scowled at him. "Could you please leave?"
He arched a perfect brow. "No, Pet. I'll wait."
"For what?" Maura squeaked.
His smile was profane. "For you to finish, of course. Then I'll bathe you."
"Not this again!" It burst out before Maura could stop it, and she bit her lip as James laughed.
"Oh, but Pet, of course, I'm here to take care of you. You could drown in your delicate condition, slip, and fall. I'd hate to see any more injuries to that beautiful, Black Irish skin of yours."
His eyes were polar blue again, but there was a blaze behind them. Like the fires of Hell, she thought spitefully. "Then- then can you please excuse me while I use the toilet?" she pleaded. "Uh, Sir?" Maura added hastily.
He leaned back comfortably, unbuttoning his suit jacket and placing one foot over the other knee. "No."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, Pet. No." His smile was now positively fiendish. "I own you. All of you. And there's nothing you will hide from me. Now hurry up so I can put you in the tub."
Maura pressed her knees together. "No."
"I have all night, Pet.” James pulled out his phone and began checking messages. “But I doubt you do," he added, without looking up.
The standoff continued for nearly an hour, her thighs trembling with her desperation to hold her bladder. Maura thought of the Sahara Desert. Of the tasteless rock-hard cookies she used to eat in school. Of wood chips. The horrid dry feel of dirt on her fingers when she used to steal potatoes for the girls' dinner from a neighbor's garden. But in the end, her muscles were weakened from the drugs and now nineteen hours of holding her bladder were too much.
"Please, Sir!" she was almost begging, "Please let me have some privacy! Please?"
James put away his phone and smiled.
"No."
As if his answer was some subliminal command, her bladder let go. Horrified and embarrassed, Maura refused to look up. Standing smoothly, James strolled over, taking a roll of toilet paper and wrapping a length around his hand. Head still bent, she reached for it.
"This isn't some fetish, is it?" moaned Maura, "Please tell me it isn't."
His chuckle was beginning to grate on her stretched nerves. "No, Pet. But you are mine and I will own all of you." Maura thought about darting to the bidet to thwart him, but she knew her numbed legs couldn't make the short trip. Even knowing he was watching her, she couldn’t help a flinch when she touched the toilet paper to her raw center.
"Hmmm," frowned James. To her abject misery, she felt his calloused fingers gently slide between her thighs, probing her. His vivid eyes looked at her downcast ones. "Perhaps I was a little rough on you last night, Pet."
