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I spread my knees.

But I couldn’t keep eye contact with him as he thrust his hand between my legs and I felt the toilet paper rub against my lips. The heat in my cheeks burned even hotter as he swiped through my center and then let the paper drop into the toilet. His hand brushed against my curls as he straightened back up.

He, on the other hand, had no trouble watching me. I could feel his gaze on me as he moved over to the clawfoot tub, leaving me sitting on the toilet set with my legs spread open. I slowly closed them as he began to run the water, using his fingers to test the temperature of the stream.

There was a small hose attached to the tub and he picked it up, flicking the device to turn it on and the stream from the tub’s faucet moved to the hose. The sound of the water pattering into the tub was softer now.

“Come here, Ivy.”

I huffed, but I got up from the toilet and obeyed.

I wasn’t going to turn down a bath, even if this strange man was messing with my head in new and unexpected ways. Part of me wondered if he was going to break his promise now and drown me, but it really did make no sense that he would let me go to the bathroom and then kill me. On the other hand, a tub would be an ideal place to slit someone’s throat. Easier cleanup, and all that.

But it wasn’t like I had a choice. Even with him closer to the tub than to the door, I knew he’d be on me if I made a break for it. It was better to cooperate now. On the off chance that he wasn’t about to kill me, my cooperation would hopefully ease him into a false sense of security.

Just like it did with Don Bianco before I poisoned him.

Chapter Three

Tomas

She needed to be bathed.

I’d never taken care of a woman like this before, but I knew she needed to be cleaned up. There was no modesty left for her now, if there had ever been, so I wasn’t too worried about protecting her dignity. My main concern was making sure she didn’t escape. That and I didn’t want her wetting the bed if I didn’t let her go to the bathroom. She needed to be washed.

Therefore, I had to be by her side for all of it.

“Into the tub, Ivy.” I held out my hand for her to take, to make stepping into the tub easier. She hesitated only a moment before taking it, her slim fingers gripping mine as she stepped into the tub. I did my best to ignore how fragile her hand felt in mine.

She sighed as the warm water hit her feet, a sigh of pure pleasure, and to my surprise my dick twitched.

It didn’t matter that she was filthy and smelled, that noise…

I ignored my reaction and focused on running the water over her body. Dirt and other things immediately began to streak across her skin as the water sprayed her down. Ivy sat down in the tub, obediently letting me run the spray over her. I’d decided to use the handheld showerhead rather than filling the tub for now because I didn’t want her sitting in a bunch of dirty water.

Considering the color of the water as it ran down the drain, I’d made the right decision.

After a first rinse, I put the nozzle to the side, still spraying water into the tub though it was mostly hitting her feet at the moment, and grabbed the soap and washcloth.

“I can do that.” She reached for it, but I shook my head.

Could she do anything with a bar of soap? Probably not, but better safe than sorry. I didn’t know anything about her other than her name and that Don Bianco had caged her. And that she’d begged me to kill her rather than leave her there. I didn’t even know if she’d told me the truth about her name.

The more control I kept over the situation, the better.

Ivy huffed, but didn’t protest as I worked up a lather of soap on the washcloth. I paused. She had very long hair. I wasn’t used to washing long hair, but the cloth didn’t seem the right way to go.

“Pile your hair on top of your head.”

It wasn’t just a test, but I did want to see if she’d continue to obey me. She did, gathering her dirty locks of hair and putting them up on top of her head, holding them in place with her arms. The position thrust her breasts out a little, which was nice to look at, even with the dirt.

I ran the washcloth over her back and shoulders, scrubbing gently where I saw dirt, trying not to hurt her where she was bruised. There were a lot of bruises. Some looked like fingerprints, others were larger.

I frowned at them.

I was not known for being gentle, but this seemed like an excessive amount of bruising for one man. Especially one old man.

Finishing up with her back and shoulders, I rinsed the washcloth. The soap suds on it had turned brown. It needed a new lather.