He shakes his head, sobering. “Of course not. I’ve taken it easy on you, but I’ve got plenty in mind.” He mulls it over. “I’ve seen how easily you light up, lass. And I mean to set you on fire. In fact, come over here, please.”
He beckons to me, his stern eyes focused on me the entire time. I swallow hard.
“Go in that room,” he says on a low command, his voice gone husky and affected with whatever plans he has in mind. “I want you stripped. Out of these clothes. Into the shower with you. I’ll join you momentarily.”
I bite my lip and give him a curious look. He spins me around and gives me a smack to the arse. “Off with you, now.”
I trot to the jacks and strip my clothes as he’s said. Good God, it feels delightful to take these things off me. I remember just days ago how he used the shower to ease me from my withdrawal, how good and cleansing it felt. This is no haphazard command now, then. He knows I need cleansing.
I still have some residual withdrawal symptoms, and it’s frustrating. When Vivian handed me the syringe, a part of me wanted to give into temptation. Wanted to jab the needle in my vein and send myself into oblivion. But I didn’t. I’ve come too far with Tiernan’s help to go back now.
The room is freshly cleaned and smells delightful. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I’m reminded of white roses and clean linen.
I turn the shower on, and instantly the room is filled with steam as well as the soothing rhythm of the steady stream of water. I look into the shower and see a fresh bottle of shampoo, a clean razor, and a bottles of body wash and lotion. With a deep sigh of contentment, I enter the shower.
I turn the water to scalding and let it soothe me. Cleanse me. I lather my hair and inhale the invigorating scent. I breathe it out, turn around, and let the hot water wash over me.
He was right. I needed this.
I lather my body and rinse off, when I hear the door to the bathroom open and close. I still, waiting for him to come to me, and when he doesn’t, I peek out. He’s sitting on the toilet, watching me.
“That’s creepy.”
His lips twitch. “What?”
“Sitting there like that, watching me touch myself.”
His lips thin, and he immediately goes sober. “Were you touching yourself?”
The latent threat in his tone makes my heartbeat quicken. I swallow hard and shrug.
“Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn’t.”
My taunting has the desired effect. He stands, and I suddenly remember how tall he is, dwarfing even the large bathroom with his massive frame. He reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and drags it over his head.
“Were you?” he asks, whipping the t-shirt into the laundry hamper. His eyes are molten, his voice sharp. He reaches for the buckle on his belt. “Or weren’t you?”
The belt doesn’t join his t-shirt like I expect. Instead, he slowly draws it from his waist, and folds it into a loop. I swallow hard.
“I… don’t know what you mean…?”
“That pussy belongs to me, Aisling,” he says warningly.
“Oh, right,” I say with a forced laugh. “I was just cleaning myself.”
His eyes narrow.
I hold his gaze and drag my fingers to my pussy, already hot and swollen and wet for him. I drag a finger across my clit and gasp.
“Oh God.” I close my eyes and finger myself again, my hips jerking from the sudden sensation and his nearness.
“Turn around.”
His voice bites like the cut of a cane.
My eyes fly open, my hand frozen.
Slowly, I obey.
“Step out, and bend over, placing your hands on the tub.”
It’s hot and steamy and slippery in here. I move slowly, so I don’t slip, obeying him.
The cut of leather through the air comes without warning, and I’m on my toes with the first lash. I gasp but don’t speak, the words frozen on my lips. A second lash follows, then a third. Oh, Christ does it hurt, but my body trembles and quakes underneath the onslaught of lashes.
“I want this fucking clear,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, raspy with intensity. “Your body belongs to me.”
Thwap. Another strike of his belt.
“I touch you.”
Thwap.
“I’m the one who makes you come. I’m the one your body obeys. I’m the one who commands your climaxes.”
I close my eyes, heady with arousal and pain and need all jumbled together, an intoxicating concoction that’s making me sex-drunk before he’s even touched me.
“Do you understand me?”
I nod mutely, my body rising to meet the lashes of his belt. I hear the clink of metal on tile, then he’s there, his hands spanning my hips and his mouth at my neck. He drags his tongue down the back of my neck, and I shiver as he goes further, down the length of my spine with a groan. I’m trembling and needy, the scent of my arousal mingling with the clean, hot steam.