He closed his hand around the back of my neck and brought his face to mine.
“I don’t care,” he whispered.
I believed him. He did not care what I thought, what I felt. I wasn’t sure he cared about much at all.
A shudder ran through me. He moved, leading me by my neck into his bathroom. It was similar to mine but bigger, and for all the white in mine, his was black. Droplets of water clung to the glass wall and door of the shower. He reached in and turned on the water.
“In.”
I stepped into the stall, my belly to the spray. That was when I felt him behind me, his naked body touching mine.
I turned, panicked.
“What?”
He casually ran his gaze down to my ass, his hands gripping my hips. He leaned down, his mouth at my ear.
“I liked fucking you.”
I froze when I felt him harden behind me again, and when he rubbed himself against me as he leaned over me to pick up the bottle of body wash, I stopped breathing altogether.
“I think you liked it too.”
He squeezed some out onto his palm and began to rub it over my belly, my breasts, down to my sex then back up as I sucked in air. He turned my face and kissed me, his fingers finding mynipples as he did so, the soap slippery as he kneaded them. His tongue dipped inside my mouth, swallowing my moan whole.
He turned me so my back pressed against the wall, looked down at me, and spread my arms out to either side. His cock lay thick and hard and ready between us. God forgive me, but I wanted to touch it, to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him inside me.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
He dipped his head to kiss my face, my neck, as the water of the shower rained down on us. He released one of my hands, and I brought it to his chest. He slid his hand down between my legs to first rub, then pinch my clit hard. Holding on to it, he leaned back to watch my face.
I grunted, an involuntary sound, and tried to reach up to kiss him, but he moved so his nose touched mine while he twisted and squeezed my clit.
“I should punish you for trying to run off.”
He reached down and bite-kissed my lower lip.
“You won’t,” I said, closing my eyes as he squeezed harder. “Fuck.”
“You like that?”
I curled my hand around the back of his neck and looked up at him, watching him watch me, knowing my vulnerability, knowing he saw it, the fact making me hotter. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”
And beneath his gaze, I did, his fingers working as I panted and moaned, knees giving way so that he had to keep me upright, the orgasm quick after what we’d just done, and when he released my clit, I cried out, my eyes flying open to watch him lift me up only to impale me on his thick shaft.
It seemed the only word I could say was fuck again and again and again. Dominic chuckled, but his face grew serious as he took both of my wrists up over my head and brought his mouthto mine, his eyes wide open, fucking me harder, faster, until we both cried out with the release, my third, his second, the walls of my pussy clenching around the throbbing of his cock before he pulled out, again covering me with his cum.
I don’t remember the rest of the shower. All I know is that by the time he tucked me into his bed and climbed in beside me, I was half gone, exhausted, thoroughly spent and empty. And when he turned to wrap his body around mine, I drifted off to the deepest, most restful sleep I’d ever had.
When I wokethe next morning, Dominic was already gone. I got out of bed, shamefaced at the soreness between my legs, the memory of the previous night at once humiliating and arousing.
I’d wanted him. I’d wanted every inch of him. And I’d had it.
I picked up the clothes I’d worn on my getaway attempt—which had almost succeeded—and crept out the door and down the hallway to my bedroom. Mine at least for the moment. I chose clothes out of Lucia’s closet, thanking my lucky stars she and I were similar in size so most things fit well enough. It felt weird wearing a stranger’s underwear, but I did anyway. After choosing today’s outfit, I went into the bathroom to dress. I wanted to check how the brand was healing, since the scabs had started to peel off.
Standing at the mirror, I turned to my side and looked at my hip, picking at the crusted, raised skin, hating the mark, this permanent brand Victor had burned into me. It would remind me always of that night. Of his power over me. I knew it was stupid to think of it as weakness. Me alone against him and several of his men? I’d had no chance. I’d fought anyway, though, knowing I’d lose. Knowing I’d pay. That’s what hadearned me all the bruises, which were mostly faded by now. Victor was a bully. A thug. But it didn’t mean I didn’t feel shame every time I looked at the damned brand.
It was a circle containing what appeared to be a family crest maybe. I half expected it to be the Scava family crest, actually, and was surprised when it wasn’t. I knew their symbol. It had been on a necklace James had given me after we’d been dating for a month. This wasn’t it.
