Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

23. Ava

AVA

I ’d made the mistake of underestimating Ty’s viciousness.

He held me in his brutal grasp and I was left breathless and shaking like a leaf against the iron of his body.

I closed my eyes and bit my trembling lower lip as Ty ran his free palm across my breast, down along my stomach, and over my hip to my pinned wrist.

His fingers forced mine into a fist.

I yelped with fear when he twisted my body, forcing my hips open.

His leg wrapped around mine and pushed it backward. He pulled my hair till my chin was lifted, oblivious to my whimpers of pain.

His breath was hot and pressing against my ear. “ This is how you stand.”

With his fingers wrapped around my hand, he guided my fist forward .

“Power comes from here,” he said, urging his groin against my buttocks and upper thigh.

Our bodies twisted together as he repeated the movement with my fist, his hips and body guiding mine.

“You must be balanced yet light,” he growled into my ear. “Nimble. In control.”

Ty’s heat had melted into me. His closeness had made my limbs pliant to his command.

When I’d felt the hardness of his against my back, unwanted need surged through me.

“Like you were in control when you punished me in the dining room?” I hissed.

Ty shoved me roughly away from him.

I caught myself against the ropes, gripping them till my knuckles shone white.

“Attack me,” he said.

This time I didn’t laugh. I didn’t hesitate. I wanted to hurt him.

I lashed out, my punch connecting with Ty’s jaw with enough force to make me cry out and clutch my hand to my chest.

“Good rotation through the hips,” Ty said, rolling his jaw. “But you need to keep your weight more centered. Try again.”

I stared at him, on the verge of tears.

“Push through the pain,” he said.

“Fuck you.”

“There’s no other way to the other side.”

Snarling at him, I said, “ Ciaran had a way.”

Ty advanced on me and I slipped out of his reach, circling along the ropes to keep distance between us .

Ty grinned darkly. “Good.”

He swung at me, but I could tell he was doing it deliberately slow.

I ducked before glancing a blow off his arm.

“Better.”

My heart rate accelerated as he forced me toward a corner. He had me trapped.

I reacted out of instinct and I punched at his ribs to create an opening to escape.

It wasn’t until I was gasping for breath that I noticed—I’d used the hand I thought I’d injured.

I stretched out my fingers, the ache sharp but not unbearable. My knuckles throbbed, but nothing was broken. I flexed them again, slower this time, testing their strength.

When I looked up, Ty was watching me, his lips curved into the hint of a wicked grin. His eyes gleamed with something dark, something knowing.

“Pain isn’t to be feared,” he said. “ Use it.”

I curled my fingers into a fist. The ache was still there, but it was different. It was physical, something I could grasp, something I could control. It cut through the chaos inside, grounding me, giving me a way to cope.

This pain was tangible. Manageable. And it drowned out the pain on the inside.

I circled Ty again and my heart raced, an unfamiliar sense of power creeping into my veins, a smile creeping over my face.

I could fight. I could fight him.

Maybe I could fight the demons inside me, too.

Ty kneeled beside the claw-foot tub in my bathroom, testing the water with his hand until it was perfect, steam curling up into the air, lit candles casting flickering shadows along the walls. Black rose petals drifted among the bath oils, their velvety scent mixing with the faint perfume of jasmine.

I stood near him wearing my sweat-drenched workout clothes.

Ty wore just his gray sweatpants.

I felt almost shy as my eyes trailed over Ty’s back—the rippling muscles, several long scars almost silver against the vivid black ink.

Across his upper back, a Grim Reaper lay asleep, shrouded in tattered robes, resembling a cursed prince from a twisted fairy tale. A dark-haired girl stood above him, with trees growing out of her eye sockets, leaning in as though about to kiss him awake.

Like a twisted Sleeping Beauty.

I ached to trace my fingers across the black lines, the puckered scars, but I didn’t dare.

His manliness, his raw masculinity, made me feel… young, almost virginal. Even though I was far from one.

I pressed one foot over the other and shivered as I waited, my body temperature having dropped too quickly after the rigorous hours of training Ty had led me through and the drafty passageway had chilled my dampened skin.

Seemingly satisfied, Ty stood and faced me. His towering height and wide shoulders made me feel even smaller than I was. I repressed a shiver .

He turned me around and undid my braid, working his fingers through my hair carefully so as not to tug. Every time his fingers brushed against my scalp, shivers spread down my arms.

When Ty helped peel my sports bra off me, I tried to ignore the weight of his nearness, trying to convince myself that this was like a nurse tending to a patient. Professional. Meaningless.

But it wasn’t.

The brush of his fingers against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, and I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting.

When he grabbed the waistband of my pants, I tried to push his hands way, but he was unmovable. He seemed determined to do it all for me, like I was a breakable little doll.

“I’m not useless, you know,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my bare chest as he tugged my leggings down and kneeled at my feet.

The only sign that he’d heard me was the slight press of his eyebrows. “I’m not doing this because you need my help. I’m doing it because I want to.”

As he lifted my legs one by one, tugging my leggings off my feet, his hands slid so tenderly across my calf that it sent shivers up my leg.

He stood and before I could say a word, he pushed down his sweatpants, his thick cock springing free.

Shit. This was the first time I was seeing him naked.

I tried not to look, I really did. But I couldn’t help myself, drinking in his beauty, thick cords of muscle painted in ink, the scars only adding to his brutal beauty .

Then my gaze landed on his cock, thick and long and, fuck, it was swelling under my stare.

I gasped and tore my gaze away, landing on his face where he was already staring at me.

The tension was thick, palpable in the small bathroom, making the air feel heavier than it should.

I thought he might try something. Especially when he stepped into me, his cock grazing my thigh.

But he just picked me up by my waist and lowered me into the bath, getting in behind me. The hot water was pure bliss as Ty lowered us down into it, soothing my aching muscles after the brutal workout Ty had just put me through.

He arranged me in front of him, his back against the tub, my back against his chest, my thighs within his.

I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and calm, like this was the most natural thing in the world. But it wasn’t natural. None of this was.

He took his time washing my hair with my favorite jasmine shampoo, his fingers combing through my strands with deliberate care. His touch sent tingles across my scalp, down my neck, and I found myself relaxing against him, despite everything.

When he was done, he draped my hair over one shoulder and started massaging the tension out of my neck and shoulders, his strong hands working out knots I didn’t even realize were there.

It felt too good. Too intimate.

A groan slipped past my lips before I could stop it, my body betraying me as I melted further into him .

Guilt twisted in my chest. This felt wrong. More wrong than the ‘therapy’ sessions. More wrong than sex.

This felt deeper, like we were crossing a line we hadn’t even acknowledged yet.

I let out an awkward laugh, trying to shake off the confusion. “Who are you and what have you done with Ty?”

His fingers found a particularly thick knot in the base of my neck. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” I said as I repressed another moan. His fingers really were magic. “You’re usually cold and mean. Why are you being so… nice?”

He stilled behind me, his hands halting their soothing rhythm. I felt the tension ripple through him, a tightness I couldn’t decipher.

The warmth of the bath, the softness of the moment disappeared as I waited for an answer, but he didn’t give one.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy, like the weight of something unsaid pressing between us.

The thick tension was still there like weighted air when he wrapped me in a soft white robe, his fingers lingering just a moment too long as he brushed the damp strands of hair from my face.

And when he made me sit in front of him so he could massage cream into my raw knuckles, unused to hitting a bag for so long.

Then he placed a massive steak in front of me, cooked to perfection, the smell alone enough to make my stomach rumble in anticipation.

I stared at the steak surrounded by buttery mash and perfectly steamed broccoli, then at him, and lifted a single brow.

He frowned, glancing from the plate to my face. “Did I not cook it the way you like?”

“I’m waiting for you to cut it up and feed me,” I snarked. “You’ve done everything else for me.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Eat your damn steak.”

But I glimpsed it. A tiny smile.

The victory sent a surge of satisfaction through me, a dangerous pleasure in chipping away at his icy exterior, revealing something— someone —beneath it.

I grabbed my knife and fork, hiding the smirk pulling at my own lips as I cut into the steak.

But as I took the first bite, something unsettling hit me so hard I almost dropped my cutlery.

There it was, lingering like a guilty secret.

Oh God, I liked my warden.