15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Martina
I can’t believe Vincent is giving me some privacy, or as much as can be had with the door open. From where I sit in the bathtub, I can still see him.
Being in a bath never felt so incredible before. The water, perfectly hot without being scalding, feels good to every part of my body.
I’ve seen all there is to see of you. Touched it too.
It sickens me to know that that statement is true.
But it sounds like I may not have to deal with him for much longer. Yes, another evil awaits me, but it can’t be worse than being with Vincent. And it’s hard to imagine whatever creep Vincent sold me to has better security. I might have a better chance to escape.
But what do I have to live for? I’ve made killing Vincent my sole purpose in life. What’s the probability I’ll get another chance to avenge my family?
“You can’t give up so easily.”
Those were Isabella’s words. She was ten.
“You might get it right on the next try,” she said next, rubbing my back as we sit on the piano bench together.
“I’m never going to get it right!” my six-year-old self cries as I look at the piano keys like they’re my foe.
“Give your fingers a chance. They’ll get it eventually.”
Wanting to impress my sister, I try again to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” This time, as Isabella predicted, I play the notes correctly.
She’s right. I can’t give up so easily. I can’t fail Bella and the rest of my family.
It’s not like seeking death is going to be any easier. With my situation improved, I might get another shot at Vincent.
Encouraged, I help myself to the shampoo and start to wash my hair. I’ve never had short hair like this before and I imagine Isabella would mourn the auburn locks that she loved to braid for me. I dunk my head in the water, then apply the conditioner.
Idly, I wonder if Vincent treats his girlfriends or the women he sleeps with to baths like this. Is he actually nice to them, or does he just fuck them, then toss them aside as if they were used tissue?
I don’t know why I’m wondering about this. What matters is how he treated me. Torturing me, assaulting me, degrading me. And nothing will make up for that. Not a hundred luxury suites, floral-scented baths, or breakfast spreads.
He’s being nicer to me, probably because he hopes to get a better price for me. Looking sickly and beaten up, I won’t fetch him top dollar, that’s for sure.
The sponge grazes my mons as I wash my inner thighs. I recall how it felt to have Vincent fingering me. His digits are so long and deft. The way I imagine those of a pianist to be.
They felt so good against me, inside me. Given how torturous the waterboarding was, I would never have imagined that I could come like that. I wonder if I’ll ever again get to experience such a mind-blowing, body-blowing orgasm.
After what I’ve been through—I nearly died—I shouldn’t even be thinking such thoughts. But my body has a will of its own. It must be in heat. And maybe it’s worse because I’ve suppressed it with omega blockers for so long. Closing my eyes, I move the sponge along my folds, tickling my clit. I will forever hate Vincent for the orgasms he forced on me, but damn, they were incredible. It’s wrong to want to experience them again. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am a slut.
I rub the sponge harder against myself despite the shame filling my body.
It’s ironic. The world needs Vincent’s omega blockers. It’s a product that grants omegas freedom, the ability to resist Alphas, not to have to be subjugated to them or one’s own desires. That such a good, valuable product should be produced and sold by a man such as Vincent Xu is like the opposite of poetic justice.
But if my body wasn’t as responsive, my orgasms wouldn’t have been so intense. I don’t think. I wonder how many orgasms I could endure at Vincent’s hands in a day? Six? A dozen if they were spaced apart well enough?
Feeling eyes on me, I open mine. Vincent stands at the doorway. Did he see what I was doing? I pretend to go on washing myself.
He walks over to the control panel. “You can turn on the jets from here.”
He demonstrates with a low setting. Is it crazy that my first thought is to spread my legs in front of one of those jets?
When I meet his gaze, I can see it. He knows. And he wants to do something about it.