“When do you even sleep?” I ask him. “You’re always awake when I go to sleep, and awake when I wake up.”
“I don’t like to sleep,” he answers me. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”
His even tone and lack of humor make my heart tense. Like it doesn’t want to beat when he talks like that.
Readjusting, I watch the film of bath oils move on the surface of the water and nestle my foot under Carter’s calf.
“You know we could have started this way,” I say weakly, not sure if I should broach the subject, but what do I have to lose?
“What way?”
“With you giving me a room and being less of a monster.” The words slip out easily and Carter’s ministrations pause at the last word. But then he keeps going, continuing to wash me.
“And what would you have done? Destroyed the room and used the shards of glass to kill me?”
He’s not wrong. I could easily see that happening and the reality makes the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
What happened to that fight? To that edge I’m fully aware would have come out had the situation been different.
Nothing has changed. Carter stole me, keeps me prisoner and he’s going to kill my family.
None of that has changed. Yet here I lie against him, loving his touch and finding my heart being ripped into two.
“We should talk about something else,” Carter suggests.
The sound of the water falling from my shoulder to the tub is calming. Which is anything but what I should be feeling. The sponge is still hot, and it soothes my tired muscles.
“I could fall asleep in here,” I murmur absently. All I want to do anymore is sleep. I don’t know if I’m depressed, worn out, or if that’s what happens when you lose your fight.
“Can I wash you?” I ask him, wondering if he’d let me.
A moment passes and then he dips the sponge back under; I expect him to give it to me, but that’s not what happens.
“I like washing you,” he whispers against my ear, his warm breath creating a wave of want that flows through me. But my eyes stay open.
Of course, he wouldn’t want me to wash him. He couldn’t even let me suck his dick. A small huff of feigned humor leaves me, and I readjust in the water so that the sound of it splashing will drown out the huff, but he hears it anyway.
“What?” he asks and leans forward to look at my expression, pulling my shoulder against his to keep me from avoiding him.
I meet his dark gaze, the grays and silvers seeming to take over in the bathroom light. “Nothing, it just feels good. It’s nice to feel cared for.”
Without speaking he leans back, kisses the crook of my neck, and moves the sponge to my neck and chest.
“Did you think it would be this way from the beginning?” I ask him. Truly wanting to know what he thought back then, only weeks ago. The reminder of the cell, of me starving and dying of both boredom and fear should make me angry, but all it does is make me pity Carter.
“I didn’t know what to expect from you. I only knew I wanted to have you.”
“To have me,” I echo and settle my head in the crook of his neck. The movement makes my breasts rise above the surface of the water for a moment and the chill is unwelcome until I settle back into the water.
“Your choice of words always seems to amaze me.” My voice is flat, and I wish I could take it back. Silence stretches, and I wonder how long I’ve been in the water.
You can’t wash everything away, but I wish I could.
“How did you think this would end?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions tonight,” he says instead of giving me an answer and places the sponge back on its shelf rather than answering me.
“Oh, and I see I’ve found the question that crosses the line,” I tell him with a smile although a deep pain courses through my heart as I shut my eyes. Each beat feeling harder and taking more of me just to keep going. I can only imagine what Carter wanted to do with me.
“It all changed when I saw how much you wanted me. When I saw how much you craved my touch… how much you needed me.” I open my eyes as Carter’s fingers reach for my chin, the water dripping into the tub as he forces me to look into his eyes.
“I need you to want me still when this is over.” Carter’s words hold an edge of sincerity that’s too much to handle.
I almost ask why, but I’m afraid of the answer I’ll get. I’m afraid what I feel for him isn’t reciprocated. I’ve been foolish before, and I’m almost certain I am now.