9. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Jacob
I leave Quinn alone to pee in peace. Not a privilege she’ll always get, but I’ve punished her enough for one day. For day fucking one, more to the point. She just had to keep bloody testing me.
If I was a better human being, I’d let her shower alone, give her a pair of pajamas, and make sure she gets a good night’s sleep. But I’m not going to. I can’t resist seeing what’s underneath that hoodie.
Spanking her, then watching her struggle on the hard wooden chair has left me as hard as stone. It doesn’t matter, though, because I’ve no intention of banging her tonight. As deep as she managed to sleep in the interrogation room, I’ve no doubt she’ll crash hard tonight once I get her into bed. I can take care of myself later if I have to.
I wait outside the door. The toilet flushes, and the buzz of the electric toothbrush I gave her starts up. I take that as my cue to enter. She jumps when I push the door open, gapes at me, then deliberately turns away and continues brushing, trying to play it tough.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to knock?” she mutters after she spits.
“You’re lucky I let you close the door at all.”
She pulls a face. “Oh Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you’re one of those freaks who like women to pee on them. If you are, I’m asking for a redo and choosing the old guy.”
God, she’s brave. Held captive by a bloke four times her size, and she’s still cracking jokes. There’s something so impressive about it that it takes me a while to think of a retort. “Not my thing, love. Sorry to disappoint. You about done with your teeth? Better to leave some enamel intact.”
She’s stalling, dragging out the last step because she knows what comes next. She makes a show of brushing for a while longer, then switches the brush off and rinses it carefully. Brave as she is, I don’t miss the tremor in her hands as she sets the brush down. She clutches the bottom of her hoodie protectively.
“I’m exhausted. Can we just go to bed? Please?”
The “please” is a nice ploy, and if it wasn’t such an obvious one, it might have worked. The fake sweet note in her voice almost makes me laugh, but I hold it back. “So desperate to keep your clothes on I get a please out of you? Incredible. But it’s not going to work. Take them off. I won’t do anything to you tonight. We’re just going to shower.”
I hold my hand up with three fingers raised in a boy scout salute. “Scout’s honor.”
She snorts. “You weren’t a boy scout.”
“I bloody was. Five years. Now, if you want to earn your ‘I do what I’m fucking told and don’t earn another punishment’ badge, get your clothes off. Now.”
I cross my arms across my chest.
She fidgets, looks down, glances up at me, then looks down again. “What if I don’t?”
Always an argument. “I’ll rip them off you, and you can shower on your knees with your hands and feet tied. Sound good?” I take a step forward.
It does sound good—too fucking good—and I’m almost disappointed when she holds up her hand. “No! No. I’ll take them off. Just give me a moment.”
“Take your time.” I lean against the door frame to watch the show, and my heart picks up as she grips the bottom of her hoodie in white-knuckled fingers. It’s cruel to make her do this, but I’m captivated by her nervous, jerky movements as she forces herself to comply. Christ, I’m so hard it’s painful, and she hasn’t even taken anything off yet.
She yanks the hoodie over her head and throws it down in a rush, as if trying to do it in the least sexy way possible. Beneath, she’s wearing only a skimpy white crop top. A line of pale, toned midriff shows, and she wraps her arms around herself for a moment before she bites her lip and pushes herself onward.
Off comes the top. Underneath, she wears a pale pink bralette. It pushes her small breasts up, giving her a little bit of cleavage. Next, she shimmies out of the white miniskirt. The knickers don’t match; they’re pale green. She wasn’t out on the pull, then. I don’t know why, but I’m happy she wasn’t.
She looks at me, and there’s a pleading note to her voice as she asks, “Can I just keep these on?”
There’s a soft part of me, buried deep, that wants to say yes. But I’ve made my position clear, and she needs to do as she’s told. “No. Off with the rest, too.”
Her jaw clenches. “You’re sick.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
Her chest rises and falls fast as she looks down at herself. She chews on her lip before reaching behind herself to unclip the bra. She lets it fall, then pulls the knickers down in an angry rush, kicking them to the side and standing before me stark naked.
I expect her to cover herself with her hands, but she doesn’t. She balls them into fists and keeps them at her side as she glares at me. “Happy?”
Fuck yes, I’m happy.
She’s slim, to the point I want to cook her my trademark Steak and Guinness pie every night for a month, but it doesn’t diminish her beauty. She’s perfectly formed, everything in proportion. Her breasts are small, and I can’t wait to see how they look in my hands. I want to roll those tiny nipples between my fingers and see what noises she makes when I pinch them.
Next to her, I feel like a bloody ogre.
“You’re gorgeous.”
I didn’t mean to say it, but I don’t regret it when I see her reaction. Her skin is so pale the blush stands out like a beacon. My composure comes back little by little, and I make a show of studying her closely, up and down, as she fidgets.
“Turn around, love.”
She winces but does as she’s told. Being naked seems to have made her more compliant. She must feel incredibly vulnerable. I draw in a breath when I see the mess I made of her tight little arse. It’s too early for real bruises to appear, but she’s red all over, colors ranging from pale pink to a deep, painful shade.
In a day or two, she’ll be blue and purple. Sitting is going to be painful for days. My cock hardens even more, which I didn’t think was possible, but I take it as a warning, too. She’s a delicate little thing. I have to be careful not to break her. Sitting on that chair must have really hurt her, and she took it like a champ. She’s tougher than she looks.
“You can turn around now.”
“Gee, thanks.” Some of her fire is coming back as she adjusts to being naked. I’m happy to see it. Her eyes widen as I unbutton my shirt and lay out the rules of the shower as I strip.
“When we get in the shower, you put your hands behind your head, under your hair, and spread your legs. You wait like that whilst I wash you.”
She huffs. “I can manage that myself, thanks.”
“You’re not listening. This body—” I move my hand, tracing the length of her in the air. “—belongs to me. Sometimes I’ll give you permission to touch it, but it’s mine. You don’t touch without my say so.”
I wait for the explosion, but all I get is a dumbstruck stare. For someone completely alien to the master/slave dynamic, this must sound absolutely ridiculous. Soon, I’ll have to pull out some tricks to make sure she realizes I’m serious.
My buttons are all done, and I shrug out of my shirt. If she’d been planning to say anything, whatever it was is lost as she stares, mouth dropping open. I can’t help but smirk as I unbutton my jeans and slide them down, along with my boxers. My hard cock springs free, and her eyes widen even more.
“Fuck.”
“Well, if that’s not the reaction every man wants, I don’t know what is.”
She shoots her eyes back to my face in a hurry, beetroot red. She’s practically glowing. Feeling like the smuggest bastard that ever walked the earth, I push past her into the huge shower cubicle and turn on the tap.
There are a lot of things that are better in England than America, but showers aren’t one of them. I’d die if I had to go back to the half-arsed lukewarm trickles they call showers over there. Hot water streams over me in a waterfall, and I rub my hands through my hair before beckoning to Quinn. Her gaze has slipped south again.
“In you come.”
She jumps and steps into the water, sighing as it hits her and turning so it’s against her back. It hits her hair, deepening the color. “Into position.”
She twists to look at me, frowning through the spray. “Really? It’s stupid.”
“Do you need another few minutes on your favorite chair?”
She shakes her head in disgust but raises her arms so they link at the back of her neck. It pushes her perky little tits toward me, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands off them. She opens her legs the tiniest fraction.
I tap her sore arse lightly, and she flinches. “Open your legs up properly. I need to get my hand in there to wash that beautiful cunt.”
She lets out a little whimper at the word. Very slowly, inch by inch, she shuffles her feet out until they’re a couple of feet apart.
She stays very still as I reach for the shower gel. It’s a floral-scented one. I picked up something girly with Suzy in mind, thinking she wouldn’t appreciate smelling like a bloke. I squeeze some onto my palms, set the bottle down, and get to work on Quinn.
I start at her belly, a relatively harmless area, soaping over the taut skin and around her back. My hands almost circle her waist. Then I move higher, getting to the zone I’m most interested in. I can’t linger—this is supposed to be just a shower—but fuck, how I want to.
Her breasts disappear into my hands, just as I’d imagined they would, and I let myself roll her nipples between my soapy fingers. Her breathing turns shaky, and she mutters, “I think I’m clean enough there.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I play with her for a little longer, but she’s right. Just a shower. Plenty of time for more later. I force myself away from her breasts, up to her hair. What in the name of fuck am I supposed to do with this hair? Suzy has sensible brown hair, or did, until two days ago, so I bought normal shampoo. It might not work for Quinn.
“Your hair. Does it need something special?” I run my fingers through it, or try to. They stick. It’s all tangled.
Quinn frowns up at me. “You’re asking if you ought to buy special color-save shampoo? You do realize I’m your captive?”
I give up, extracting my fingers from the tangly mass. Maybe I didn’t think this part through properly. “And I want you looking your best.”
She shakes her head, then turns to study the bottles on the wire shelf with a critical eye. “These will do for now, but I need a much richer conditioner. My hair’s dry as fuck.”
Her eyes flick back to mine as she realizes what she said. Looking forward. Planning for the future. I make no effort to hide my grin. “Of course. Nothing but the best. We’ll order some tomorrow.”
She huffs and looks down.
With the help of her muttered directions, I manage to get her hair washed and conditioned. It takes bloody ages. I don’t know if I’ll be arsed doing this over and over again. She watches my efforts with a certain amused satisfaction and never once moves from the assigned position. Little brat almost seems to be enjoying herself.
Time to get things back on track. Without any warning, I crouch and slide my hand between her legs.
She yelps, snapping her legs together and lurching away. “Seriously?”
“My body. That means your pussy belongs to me, too. Wasn’t I clear?”
She doesn’t back down, straightening her spine. “I thought this was just a shower. You gave me the stupid scout salute, remember?”
“And it is. I’m just going to wash you. Back in position.”
She glares at me, and the moment stretches out before she relents. “Fine. Whatever.”
She steps back into position. I reach between her legs, just exploring. She’s smooth all over, and my fingers slide along her lips and graze over her entrance as she takes deep, shaky breaths. I don’t push inside—not yet—but make sure to graze her clit just to see her twitch. Tomorrow, I’ll have fun getting to know this area like the back of my fucking hand.
But not yet.
I pull my hand back and shut off the water. She blinks at me, droplets settling on her skin. Her body shivers, pent-up tension rippling out of her. She hadn’t really believed I’d stop. She’ll learn I always keep my word, no matter what.
I wrap her hand in mine and lead her out of the shower. A glance tells me her energy is fading. She’s swaying on her feet as I wrap her in a towel.
She clutches it, relaxing as soon as she’s covered. Poor thing doesn’t realize how short-lived that will be. She’ll always sleep naked in my bed.
She wobbles on her feet, so I pick her up. She doesn’t fight me this time. Her head rests on my chest, and I stare into the bright pink mass of her wet hair as I carry her toward my bedroom.