He releases my wrists and steps back.
He studies me with that intense gaze that makes me feel like he can see straight through my skin to every thought, every fear, and every secret desire I'm trying to hide.
I'm standing there in just my underwear now.
Soaking wet from the waist down.
Shivering violently. Completely vulnerable.
And he's fully clothed.
Still in the same clothes from when he found me in the woods.
Completely in control.
Utterly calm despite the darkness in his eyes.
The power imbalance is overwhelming.
"I'm going to run you a bath," he says.
The words don't make sense. They don't fit with what I was expecting. "What?"
"You're hypothermic. Your core temperature is too low. You need to warm up slowly and carefully. A lukewarm bath is the safest way to do that without shocking your system."
"I don't—I thought you were going to?—"
"Punish you?" He tilts his head slightly, studying me. "Iampunishing you. But not the way you're thinking. Not the way you're afraid of."
He disappears into the ensuite bathroom.
I hear water running.
The sound of it echoing off tile.
I stand there, frozen in place.
Too cold and scared and confused to move.
Too overwhelmed to process what's happening.
This isn't what I expected at all.
I expected him to hurt me, to finally show me the monster I've always known was underneath the patient facade he's been wearing.
Expected pain as payment for running, for defying him, for trying to escape.
Not this. Not care. Not gentleness. Not a fucking bath.
He returns, standing in the doorway. "Come."
It's not a request. It's a command.
I follow because what choice do I have?
What power do I possess to refuse him?
None.
