Fuck. Fuck.
My hands tremble against the stone wall. The shower suddenly feels too hot, the steam choking me. I turn the handle until cold water shocks my skin, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.
Because part of me—some sick, twisted part—felt something when I imagined it. Not horror. Not guilt.
Relief.
Relief that it was him on the ground, and not me.
A prickle suddenly crawls down my neck.
Someone’s watching me.
My eyes snap open, expecting Jason’s ugly sneer. Ready for another confrontation, another threat. Another punch.
But it’s not Jason.
Worse.
It’shim.
Marco stands in the doorway, fully clothed in his tunic, eyes fixed on me. On my naked body under the spray.
“Like what you see?” My words are sarcastic, not seductive.
“You know I do.”
The easy honesty in his voice steals my breath for a moment. I laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just hollow sound echoing off wet tile. I turn to face the wall, try to pretend he’s not there.
But my skin burns under his stare.
I brace both hands against the wall, let the water run down my back. Try not to think about how exposed I am. Try not to flex anything he might be looking at.
“Haven’t you tormented me enough today?” The words scrape out of my throat. “Isn’t it someone else’s turn?”
My peaceful alone time is clearly over, so I slam my hand against the water control, cutting off the flow with a sharp metallic click. The air bites at my skin, but I don’t move. Don’t reach for a towel.
I just stand there, facing away from him, water dripping from my hair, controlling my breathing. Waiting.
Because he’s here for a reason. Marco doesn’t do anything without purpose.
Footsteps splash as he circles me. Slow. Deliberate. Like a predator studying wounded prey. His gaze burns across every bruise, every scrape, cataloging the damage with keen eyes.
“You did well today,” he tells me, and I don’t react. I’m not going to preen at his praise like a pleased pet. “You’re stronger than most of them. But you probably know that, don’t you?”
His hands hover near my shoulder blade. The space between his fingers and my skin crackles with heat, though he never makes contact. I feel the ghost of those strong hands anyway, the hint of his breath against wet skin.
Desire punches through me against my will. I can’t help imagining those massive hands grabbing my ass, fingers digging into the muscle. Squeezing hard enough to paint even more bruises on my skin. His teeth finding my earlobe, biting down until I gasp.
Fire shoots through my veins.
Fuck.Why did the bastard have to be so beautiful?
“What are you doing?” The words scrape out hoarsely as my body betrays me, blood rushing south, cock twitching despite everything this man has done to me. I beg it to stop its nonsense—getting hard under Marco’s gaze will be the end of me—but dicks rarely listen to logic.
“I’m making sure I know each and every mark on this body of yours.”
I scoff, though my heart goesthump, thump, thump.“So you know where to hit me tomorrow? Make it hurt worse?”
