21. Chapter Twenty-One #2
Or because he was tempted?The idea made me feel ill.
It was obviously a conversation we were going to need to have, and soon.
But, first things first, I ought to follow Ursa’s suggestion and clean myself off.
I did not want to have mashed potatoes clumped in my hair when I asked him if he was tempted to shag another woman.
That felt like more than my poor wounded pride could withstand at the moment.
I kicked off my boots and socks and began to remove my jumpsuit, but before I could fully do so, the spray of water turned on behind me.
I let out a yelp of surprise, turning to see Ursa with his hand on the nozzle. “I’m not undressed!” I shouted at him.
Undeterred, Ursa gripped the showerhead and sprayed it directly at my face.
All right, that’s probably too dramatic. He was trying to spray down my hair, I think, but at that angle, some water necessarily spattered right into my face. I squealed and twisted away, but Ursa gripped me by the back of the neck, holding me in place.
His hold was so forceful, and he was so much stronger than me, I had no choice but to eventually submit to him. I allowed him to angle my head into the spray, turning it this way and that. Clumps of food dropped down at my feet, dissolving into the drain.
When he’d finished with my hair, Ursa did the same with my body, turning me this way and that as he angled the nozzle to clean off my soiled jumpsuit. I followed his lead without protest, even though I wasn’t entirely sure why I needed to be sprayed down like a dog, fully clothed.
It felt like a punishment, but I didn’t know what I was being punished for. He still hadn’t said anything to me, and the events of the evening hung unspoken in the air between us.
Then all at once, Ursa affixed the showerhead back on the wall. Assuming we were finished, I tried to pull away from his grip on the back of my neck, but he held on tighter, his grasp and accompanying grunt a warning. Don’t.
Irritatingly strong, monosyllabic man. Hadn’t I already borne enough humiliation for the night? I couldn’t overpower him, though, so I had no choice but to yield.
That didn’t mean I had to do it silently, though.
“Let me go, Ursa, you’ve made your point.” That wasn’t, strictly speaking, true since I had no idea why he was doing what he was doing, but as I was being forcibly bathed like a naughty pet, perhaps some allowances can be made for not entirely making sense.
Ignoring me, he used his free hand to remove the tie holding together my plait, then to none-too-gently tug my hair loose so that it fell in wet, tangled5 waves around my shoulders.
“What are you—Ursa!”
My gasp of alarm came as he wrapped his hand through my loose hair, then abruptly twisted it around his fist. Painful awareness tugged through me as he pulled back on the makeshift knot, using it as a grip.
With his other hand, he tugged down on the zipper of my jumpsuit, taking it as far as he could reach.
Then a silent yank on my hair indicated to me that I should finish the job.
I wriggled out of the jumpsuit, careful not to move my head too much as I let the wet garment drop to the floor, then stepped out of it.
I was in only my thin undershirt, bra, and panties now. As the water from the shower overhead began seeping through them, Ursa pulled down the back of my underwear, uncovering my bare bottom.
The shower door wasn’t even slid shut behind us. Anyone could come into the washroom at any moment. “Ursa,” I protested, trying to squirm away.
In response, I got another tug at my hair, along with a sharp smack on my bottom. I gasped in surprise at being so roughly manhandled—but also, if I’m being very honest, in surprise at the alarming thrill that shot through me, straight down to my core.
He held me in place as I pulled my underpants down my legs, then wriggled out of them so they dropped to the floor, too.
I could easily see where this was going, and even though I didn’t entirely understand what was happening, I slipped off my undershirt and bra before he had to instruct me to do so.
6 It was humiliating to be manhandled in this way, so I didn’t understand why my body was thrumming with anticipation, my core positively throbbing with need.
At any moment, I expected Ursa’s hand to touch me at that spot that so urgently required his attention. So it surprised me when he instead placed a hand on my chest, over my heart, which was racing underneath the heel of his palm. “Mine?” he asked.
A warm burst of emotion flooded through me. I had to blink back tears. “Yours,” I confirmed.
He tugged on my hair again—not as a reprimand this time, but to pull me so my back was flush against his chest. Even through his jumpsuit, I could feel the steady pounding of his heart against my skin. “Mina’s,” he said.
A sob caught in my throat. I understood what he was telling me. My heart was his, and his was mine. There was no need to complicate that, no reason to doubt it. We belonged to each other.
What a sweet, and very strange, way to remind me of that. I wasn’t entirely sure why I needed to be naked and in the shower, but I took his meaning to heart all the same. “Ursa,” I murmured, trying to twist around so I could face him.
But it seemed he wasn’t done with me yet.
Another tight tug at my hair held me in place. I gasped, then gasped again as his free hand cupped possessively over my pussy. “Mine,” he growled. Then he thrust his hardened cock, straining against the fabric of his wet jumpsuit, against the swell of my ass. “Mina’s.”
The groan I made was positively indecent.
There were many, many lies I had told myself over the past few months about how I didn’t need to give into my baser impulses—how I was stronger, more civilized, than all of that.
Then, after I’d succumbed to Ursa, those lies had shifted into me believing our physical relationship was a temporary one, that I’d somehow convince Ursa to switch to Pleasure Machines once we started our new life.
But I could not lie to myself, not anymore. Not about this. Not after the rage I’d felt, thinking someone else might try to claim him, or the desire surging through me now at this crude, possessive touch. In any place, at any time, in every way possible—I was his. And he was mine.