Why was that? Wouldn’t a quick fuck by a random guard have been better than the hours she endured with Tiago?
The voice in her head screamed no.
“Do you still want to kill me?” she asked quietly.
“No.” Grasping her hips, he spun her to face away. “Put your hands on the wall.”
Exhaustion sluiced away her resistance. She flattened her palms on the tiles and let her head drop between her arms. “But you’ll kill me if you need to.”
“I should’ve killed you weeks ago.” He set the soap aside and ran lathered hands up and down her back and shoulders. Then his fingers curled around her throat. “There are other forms of punishment if you try to escape.”
“Torture.”
“I have endless energy when it comes to you.” He lowered his other hand to her abdomen and sank his fingers between her legs, pushing one inside. “I can torture your pussy for days. If you lose consciousness, I’ll dunk you in cold water and start again, sucking, licking, biting, fucking, and never letting you come.” He thrust that long digit in and out, racing her pulse. “If that doesn’t convince you, you should know I won’t hesitate to hunt down your friends.”
The implication he would kill them slammed into her gut, but he didn’t voice it. He didn’t need to.
I hate you leapt to her tongue, and she bit it back. She’d said it so much it’d become trite and predictable.
“What are the rules?” she asked. “How do I guarantee their safety?”
“Don’t try to escape and no murder attempts against me or those in my employ.”
“But I can defend myself? I can fight and disobey you if I don’t like what you’re doing to me?”
He leaned his chest against her back and put his mouth at her ear. “Be my guest.”
Strength revisited her muscles and joints. Determination wound around her spine. As he kicked her feet apart and sped up the finger inside her, his intent was clear.
She pulled in a breath, knowing he expected her to start struggling. Instead, she held still, anticipating the right moment.
He seized her from behind, banding both arms around her. His teeth went to her neck, and she dropped like a rock to the floor, breaking the hold. He lurched after her, but she was already swinging.
Her fist collided with his erection and the meaty sac of his nuts. She put all her strength into it, certain the hit was hard enough to drop him.
Except he remained on his feet. He didn’t even let out a grunt or reach down to cup himself. Pain drew his lips into a flat line, but that was it.
She gave him a point for barely reacting, knowing full well that behind that stoic expression, he was battling the need to double-over and roar.
Water rained down upon her, and she blinked through the deluge, watching him, terrified.
After several heartbeats, he glared down at her and blew out a swift expulsion of air. His body seemed to widen before her eyes, flexing with testosterone and aggression, his nostrils flaring with a surge of heavy breaths. Like a bull preparing to charge. To fight, fuck, and maul.
Instead of attacking, he tilted his head and considered her. “I didn’t give you that hit.”
“Yeah, well, I took it.” Point for her.
Begging for forgiveness was her best option at this point, but she wasn’t feeling apologetic. So she swung again.
This time, he caught her fist and wrenched her to her feet. The shower stall spun around her, and her cheek smacked against the tile wall. His body pinned there, his hand at her throat, cutting her air.
He was teaching her a lesson, proving he had the upper hand. He could crush her throat—her trachea, esophagus, and whatever else she needed to stay alive—with nothing but a squeeze of his fingers.
Pain pulsed beneath his grip, and she pawed at it, eyes watering and lungs burning for oxygen. Her fear was deep and cold, stinging without mercy. He said he wouldn’t kill her, and she hung onto that promise as dots blackened her vision.
“I’m going to take you right to the edge, Kate. Over and over again.” He let go of her.
She gasped, clutching at her throat and savoring the weightlessness of unbridled breath.
Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he pressed his mouth to her jaw. “You hate me for it now, but someday, if I earn your trust, that razored edge will set you free.”
He was completely unhinged if he thought she could ever trust him.
Grabbing her hands, he placed them on the wall before her. Then his fingers slid between her legs.
He worked her the way she knew he would—passionately and persuasively. Every touch rubbed salt in the wound of desire. His lips at her neck wobbled her knees. His hard, long cock against her backside coaxed cravings she didn’t want.