I tried to stop.
I couldn’t.
Harder. Faster. My hand pumped relentlessly.
My teeth clenched as I gripped my knot with my other hand—so tight I hissed at the sharp spike of pain.
Then I shuddered and grunted as I came. Long. Hard. My come splattered against the shower wall.
All I could do was stare at it in revulsion as it slowly slid down the tiles.
I roared and punched the shower. The tiles erupted from the wall, and shards flew in the air, settling beside my feet as I panted.
I welcomed the blood and pain.
Fenrir remained silent.
???
That day, I sent the guard in to feed her. I watched the feed closely at every meal. At first, everything unfolded as it should.
He entered in his usual professional capacity. He remained neutral and efficient in the afternoon.
She was wary, but compliant.
He checked her saline bag and adjusted the drip as instructed. Routine.
In the evening, he asked if she needed anything.
Fine.
She hesitated, then asked for books. Something to read.
He nodded and left to fetch them.
My fist clenched at the desk.
They were my books.
She smiled at him when he returned. Not much—just a flicker. Gratitude.
That expression tightened something ugly in my chest.
That should have been my gratitude.
When she tried to sit up, the movement was slow and careful. The covers slipped from her shoulder, baring skin that was not for his eyes. My eyes ran down from the jugular to her breast.
The guard stopped moving.
He stared.
Not a glance. Not a mistake.
A stare that lingered a second too long.
Then he smiled.
It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t overt.
