Chapter 17 Aria #2
My nerves skyrocket as he grabs me like I belong to him.
His hands find the knot at my back, tugging the rope free in one hard pull.
My arms drop limp at my sides, my wrists prickling from the pressure.
Shoulders stiff as I flinch at his rough hands pawing through my wrinkled clothes that cling to days-old exhaustion and dirt.
He strips me bare of everything. My shoes are chucked off with one hand while the other rips the sweatshirt over my head before peeling away my pants.
My skin prickles as the air hits me and my arms fling up instinctively to cover my bare breasts. I’m now sitting in nothing but my white cotton panties, completely bare to him. My heart stutters, but I don’t kick and scream like I should. “W-What are you doing?”
My cheeks flare as his eyes darken on the damp spot that I know is staining the thin, white fabric between my thighs. I drag my knees together, using them as cover in front of my heaving breasts.
“You’re filthy,” he says, his voice tight, his eyes raking over me like he’s assessing the damage he’s already done, waiting for me to break in front of him.
“It’s time we get you cleaned up.”
We.
My head’s swimming with confusion and something far too close to longing. A spike of adrenaline kicks through me, and I know he can hear it with how close he is to me. He slips an arm around my waist and swoops me off the bed, pressing me into his hard chest.
His arm flexes around me as he carries me to the bathroom, lifting a knee to shove the door wider so we can pass through.
He walks over to the pristine shower at the far end of the wall, and before I can catch my breath, he drops me inside. My feet are unstable, legs wobbling as he clamps a firm hand around one of my arms from behind to keep me from slipping.
The tile is cold against my soles. My shoulders twitch as I shift, arms still sore from being bound. I bring them forward, stretching out the ache despite them only being restrained for a shorter time compared to before.
I flinch as I feel his hands on me again, maneuvering me so I’m facing him again. Hands crossed over my full breasts.
The smoldering heat in his eyes is all I see for a breath before he lunges forward, crowding me back until I hit the shower wall. His mouth crashes into mine, urgent and not at all soft like it was the first time I kissed him.
Nothing about him is soft this time.
I whimper at the feeling of something thick and solid pressing into my pelvis, but the sound is caught somewhere in my throat and into his claiming mouth as he pushes his tongue deeper.
Our mouths tangle, messy and hungry, and for a moment, everything before this fades from memory as I sink deeper into his frantic kiss with my own passion.
A flicker of arousal shoots low, settling into that spot that won’t stop pulsing with need.
Need for him. For this.
I’m so lost in it all that I hardly register what’s happening until it’s too late. An abrupt squawk jolts me back. Before I can react, freezing water crashes over my head, and a sharp yelp escapes me.
My arms tighten around myself in a shivering hug as Ledger watches. He’s left an inch gap after he’s pulled away, avoiding the raining downpour from the showerhead.
His eyes stay locked on me, his expression stern, like he’s angry, but his eyes burn with want. Desire. I’m standing in front of him with nothing but a soaked-through pair of cotton panties that look more transparent than opaque white thanks to the water showering over me.
The freezing stream gradually turns warm, then almost too hot to bear as he works the zipper on his jeans.
I falter as I watch him through wet lashes. The stream of water has turned everything into a blur, but I can see him as he strips down to his black briefs.
I gasp when I spot the thick, rock-hard length straining against the fabric, my lip caught between my teeth as my thighs press together. A sharp jolt of need sparks low and fast.
He steps into the hot stream with me, closing the space between us until I feel the heat of his body mingling with the water washing over us.
“Did I say you can cover yourself?” he rasps, his eyes hard on mine. He doesn’t wait for me to answer as he reaches for my arm, shoving them low so I’m fully bare to him. Naked, and wet, and very aroused.
My arms tremble against my thighs despite the warmth enveloping us from the hot shower, my heart jackhammering against my chest, but the sound is drowned out by the stream plopping onto the hard tiles beneath us.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice a deep rumble. It settles low into my core. More wet heat pools between my thighs, and I’m thankful it’s masked under the water.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re shaking. When you’re scared like this.”
I don’t know how to respond. Am I trembling because I truly think he might hurt me? That he’ll drown me right under the spray the second my guard slips?
It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t give me room to respond, not even a small space to think, as he claims my lips again.
His fingers lower and circle around my pert nipples, slow and steady, but his tongue is frantic, tangling deep with mine. Another jolt hits low, sharpening the need already pulsing between my thighs.
I rock closer, pressing my pelvis into the hard outline behind his briefs.
I focus only on the flick of his tongue and the tingling below, the steady ache where our bodies meet.
We’re soaked. Breathless. Both of us standing in nothing but our wet underwear and my shame bottled up somewhere out of reach.
My head grows heavy in the heat, the air thick with fog filling the tight space.
His fingers clamp down in a hard pinch on my nipple, snapping me out of the haze.
“Turn around.” His voice is strained and thick as it slices through the relentless percussion of droplets hitting the tile.
My eyes glisten with tears, but they’re masked by the stream pouring down from above. I bite down harder on my lip to stifle my cry as I twist around, shrinking toward the tiled wall like it might protect me.
“Don’t be shy,” he teases, his voice rough. Then a sharp slap hits me from behind, my ass cheek stinging from the assault. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To be treated like a slut?”
My throat tightens. Heart racing.
This isn’t at all what I wanted.
Fear expands in my chest, but it collides with the stubborn bud of curiosity that still clings to me, begging me not to cave into his will. It’s the one thing that keeps me from falling completely into his cruelty.
He presses in closer, his mouth grazing the curve of my ear, nipping just hard enough to make me jolt, exactly the way he wanted, intended.
That’s it.
This is what he wanted. Not what I wanted.
He’s trying to scare me, to shove me back into my quiet little corner where I never dare to lift my eyes. Where I’m too afraid to confront him, to question him, to see through the role he’s hiding behind.
He doesn’t want to face what might be lurking beneath all that control. Doesn’t want to risk the truth staring back at him after everything he’s done.
So he falls back on the only thing he knows. Intimidation. Brute dominance. His need to own me. Control the narrative. Steer away from anything that’s challenged what he’s known all his life.
But I’m not that same girl anymore.
If he’s hoping to see me beg like I did in the woods, he’ll be sorely disappointed. That girl’s gone.
She’s had nothing but time to sit with her fears, to peel back the scabs over every wound left behind by men who got off on hurting and intimidating.
Like Steve, my mother’s ex.
Like Hunter and his idiot friends.
Like the stranger from the cabin.
He’s nothing like those men. They took from me to gain for themselves, but Ledger’s…different. My life has only cost him.
It cost him his safety. Not only for himself, but for the people closest to him.
It cost him his position in The Ringer. His relationship with his boss.
Even his own identity.
Isn’t that why we’re here? In this hotel?
Why he was so desperate for me to sign off my name back at that warehouse?
He smooths his hand over the spot he struck seconds ago, then slides his hand lower, shifting to the front until it makes contact with the throbbing bundle of nerves between my thighs.
I suck in a sharp breath, then whimper as he moves his rough fingers around the sensitive spot that pulses beneath the thin fabric.
He groans from behind as I buck deeper into his hand, desperately chasing the delicious build rising with the friction of his calloused fingers over the grit of the wet fabric.
Flashes of light spark behind my eyes. Everything turns to black and white as his fingers work into a steady rhythm, and I grit my teeth, eyes screwing shut. I’m so close. Oh, God.
My head grows lighter than a feather as I drift closer toward my release, my breath caught in a strained hold as I teeter at the edge, until something firm wraps around my neck, and the shaky breath I’ve been holding slips out just before the pressure tightens.
My eyes flash open in a panic, but all I see is static dotting the porcelain square tiles in front of me.
My arms flutter like a baby bird learning to use its wings for the first time. They land on the smooth ceramic grid, slick with steam, the heat just as suffocating as the arm around my throat.
Leaving one hand on the wall, I fling the other up toward the hand clamped around my throat, digging my nails into him, but he doesn’t budge.
The spots in my vision widen. Pulse hammering.
He isn’t going to let go, and my fingers, although still desperately clinging, grow limp as the seconds drag. I want to beg him to stop, to call out to him, but nothing escapes my burning throat.
Then his other hand shifts between my legs again, reminding me that it’s still there.
His palm is so large that it practically blankets my entire mound as he jerks against the swollen region.
The friction slides against my clit over and over, and I begin to twitch from the sharp bursts of pleasure it brings.
With the rest of my vision spotting, I lean into the first wave of contraction that hits me, my mouth rounding wide enough to make my jaw ache. A burst of bright gold flashes between the black specks in my vision like a shooting star as my orgasm slams into me, the strongest I’ve ever felt.
The pressure around my neck loosens enough for me to drag in ragged, greedy little breaths as the next wave of pleasure rolls over me, one after another, and another, until I jerk in his hand with the last of the aftershock.
The lack of oxygen to my brain makes my next move sluggish as I pant against the heavy steam, slowly waiting for the strain inside my thighs to soften, and the rest of my body goes lax in his arms.
He nestles into the crook of my neck, letting out a low groan as he gently kisses the tender skin there. “The way you cum on my hand is so fucking hot.”
He peppers more kisses along my neck as my heartbeat begins to slow, and I become acutely aware of the hard erection pressing into me. I still. My mind still fogged from the aftershocks of my release and the shower steam.
“Don’t move,” he says, his voice low and strained as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo from the shelf above us to the right.
He squeezes a couple dollops out before shelving the tiny, hotel-complimentary bottle and working it into a lather through my wet strands, massaging deep into my scalp. My eyes flutter. The sensation is heavenly.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper shower.
His long fingers continue working the product into each strand with thoughtful care, his gentle strokes almost lulling my eyes shut, until an unwelcomed thought slips its way in.
It persists inside my head as he guides his surprisingly tender touch down my neck and over the rest of my body, like I’ve become too fragile for him to handle. Like even the lightest pressure might cause me to crack.
The roar of the shower stream suddenly feels too loud as he finishes rinsing me off. We both avoid each other’s eyes as I stay facing the wall, the water cooling around us.
My chest tightens as I wonder where we’ll go from here. What all of this will mean tomorrow.