“The doctor, got it. But really?” I turn my chin a little, keeping my eyes closed from the shampoo. “Rory is the cook?”
Jude gives a breathy laugh. “He’s actually pretty good. Great venison stews. Fish and chips. Mean Scotch pies. And lots of good bread.”
“Bet I could take him in a beer bread competition.”
Jude slowly turns me around, cups each side of my neck, and softly tilts my head back to rinse out the shampoo. “You like to bake?”
“Mmmhmm,” I hum. “And garden.”
He pauses, but I can’t open my eyes to see his expression. But he starts washing again, his voice low and soothing, “We all try with the hoop house, but the most we can grow are potatoes, carrots, and cabbage. Some spinach. And tomatoes during the summer. You’ll be a perfect addition, Babydoll.”
I stiffen. But for a fleeting moment, I wonder: would they…build me a greenhouse? My very own greenhouse?
Ugh! No! If I don’t find some way out, I’m going to be here forever—and end up in that pit again. They will never let meleave, will they? For all I know, they could take me to their sex dungeon and use me whenever they want, however they want.
Once the shampoo has rinsed from my hair, Jude tilts my head forward. I open my eyes through the water streaming down my face. God, he is so gorgeous. Criminally gorgeous.
Raphael’s beauty is like a blade: sharp, commanding, possessive. He looks at me like he already owns every breath I take. Jude, though? Jude looks at me like I’m something to be guarded, something worth saving.
Raphael’s touch claims, Jude’s touch heals.
Raphael consumes, Jude preserves.
I part my lips just as he dives for the kiss. He levels my insides with his mouth possessing mine, his hand claiming my throat. His fingers don’t need to dig in. Not when his mouth traps me here. Desire burns between us. And I can’t seem to come up with a million different reasons why this is so fucked up.
I was already fucked up before I met them. But they make me feel like therightkind of fucked up. A fucked up where I belong. I don’t believe in redemption, especially not with them. The dark hell of the initiation they put me through will always be a scar, one that binds us all together in a trauma bond as sick as a girl falling for her slasher even as he’s cutting her to pieces.
Five days of worship. The only reason I’m not trying to escape yet. I’ll test them. But it won’t be the beginning of atonement.
Restitution from them. Retribution from me.
But I’ll go easiest on Jude.
Especially when he kisses me like this. A wicked pleasure, sinful in every way, Jude has style and finesse. With every soft bite, every aggressive sucking, tongue tangling with mine, I melt into him more. Hot pleasure has my center clenching. I don’t know how I can be so sore but still want to be filled. Especiallyafter…it was my first time, downthere. I lost my dignity and innocence in all other ways but my pussy since I was sixteen.
And more. So much more.
As I drag the flat of my tongue against his, a deep groan vibrates along my lips. He kisses me harder, feeding on me. I’ve lost track of how many times my stomach has flipped, somersaulted right into a lake of warm water. My trembling hands lift to touch his abs. All his muscles flex.
Mouth still on mine, Jude reaches above me and turns the shower knob until the water is a mere trickle.
He pauses, pulling back to stare down at me, dark eyes heady with hunger, the kind that hypnotizes and paralyzes me in the same breath. Deeply hooded, their intensity is like a slow-moving storm, promising ruin. His lips—God, those lips—sinfully full, made for devouring. Even his nose is perfect.
And how could I forget the unbelievably sharp cut of his cheekbones to his strong jaw? The jaw looks like it was sculpted by obsession.
Water clings to his lustrous dark skin, gliding down all his slabbed ridges. Warmer in this light, rich and deep as dusk. He doesn’t stop me from tracing the deep-cut lines of his Adonis belt. A hot ache fills my whole body. Veins pulse beneath his skin, thick and throbbing along his arms. I was gazing at him so much, I didn’t even notice his arms had trapped me against the shower wall, hands stationed on each side of me. His shadow overthrows me.
“Briella,” he says in such a husky voice, forehead brushing mine, I almost drop to my knees right here and now.
His chest heaves. He shifts his hips closer, reintroducing me to his steely length. It lies hard but still against my belly, unmoving with a master level of control.
God, he’s built for strength, for holding and never letting go. And right now, all that power, all that sheer perfection, isfocused entirely on me. I’m flush against him. Can’t fathom how this beautiful, dark tower of a man is really…mine.
Don’t think like that. Not for a moment. They can throw you away whenever they want.
Then, he reaches for something off to the side. A soft luffa sponge and an unlabeled bottle. “My own blend with lavender,” he explains. “Arms up, Babydoll. Let me see every mark on your skin so I may rewrite them with my healing poetry.”
Shit. I’m convinced my heart just melted, surging bliss and heat everywhere. He pulls in a breath, his chiseled nostrils flaring.
