Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FRANCESCA
Water fills my ears until I’m half-deaf. The sting of soap forces my eyes closed, leaving me blind.
I struggle. Arms flailing. Heels kicking backwards. Even when I make contact, they’re glancing blows with no force behind them.
Time slows as my lungs strain for air. I grip the porcelain edge and shove back with all my might, unable to move an inch.
Kincaid is too big. Too strong.
The ache in my chest increases until it’s a burn of need. The muscles pull, harder and harder, desperate to extract another sip of oxygen from my lungs. My body sags, brain too scrambled to figure out how to fight.
Then he wrenches me from the water.
I haul in a breath and choke as I inhale droplets along with the air. I cough it out, spluttering as I draw in another. And another. All while his fingers clamp me in their steely grip.
The joy of breathing fades as he growls, “Now, do you consent to a good fuck, or do you still want to call the police?”
“Get off me, you psycho!”
I slap him away and he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “That’s not very encouraging, is it?”
He plunges me underwater again. My palms beat uselessly against the side of the tub.
The plug.
I need to pull the plug.
I thrust my hands towards the head of the tub and Kincaid sweeps my knees out from under me, dunking me further. Shoving me deep enough, my forehead brushes the porcelain base.
He yanks me out again.
“What about now?”
I can’t support my weight. Nothing but a loose-limbed toy for this monster to play with.
“Stop.”
My throat burns. My lungs burn. Cotton wool stuffs my head.
Adrenaline floods my bloodstream until the room throbs in and out of focus, and I beg, “Please, stop.”
He answers with a low chuckle. “Still doesn’t sound like an enthusiastic yes. Let’s try once more. Really see if you’re feeling it.”
Water swallows me for the third time.
My limbs are heavy, muscles weak. A ringing noise pierces my right ear, the only sound not muffled by water. Kincaid is going to kill me in my own bathroom because I’m too stupid to escape and too stubborn to give in.
The need to inhale grows more insistent, smacking aside my common sense until I’m nothing more than a gasping amoeba. Darkness presses in from all sides until he drags me from the water and lets go.
I sprawl on the floor, unable to control my limbs. It takes all my remaining energy just to inhale.
Arms close around me and Kincaid clutches me to his chest, sitting with his back against the wall, lightly slapping my cheeks until my feet push against the floor in a feeble attempt to get away.
“Come on, breathe.” His large palm cradles my head against his chest. “You have to breathe, or you can’t give me the right answer.”
The teasing note in his voice is louder than his concern.
I can’t stop shaking. My muscles won’t obey my commands, leaving me floppy as a wet shirt. I open my mouth, but no sound emerges.
“What was that?” He gently shakes me from side to side. “You’ll need to speak louder.”
I nod, but he responds with an impatient click of his tongue.
“If you need me to put you under again to learn the lesson, I’ll do it.”
I believe him.
“Yes,” I croak, the effort exhausting me until I shut my eyes, tears leaking from the closed lids. “An enthusiastic yes.”
“See how easy that was?”
Kincaid gives me another minute to recover, supporting me until I’m standing.
“Now, I need to film a quick video retracting your accusations against Ezra. Once that’s done, we can discuss how things will work around here from now on, and that’s best handled over a meal. So, do you want me to fuck you first, then feed you, or feed then fuck?”
And unbelievably, my stomach chooses this moment to growl with hunger.
His lips grace my ear, vibrating with laughter. “I think we have an answer.”
* * *
KINCAID
When I finish the recording for Ezra, I stand over Francesca, watching as the water drips from her lashes like tears. Utterly beautiful.
Her shirt is wet enough to be see-through, nipples pebbled from the chill air in the house. Any makeup she wore earlier is gone now, her skin marked only with the delightful constellation of freckles. Drenched with water, her red hair is straighter, longer, and darker.
I stoop to grab the towel, then carry her listless form through to the lounge, resting her on the sofa.
None of that was my intention when I ran the bath, and I’m glad the lesson is over, though it had to be done.
There’s no way my uncle would tolerate her calling the police, even if her complaint is guaranteed to go nowhere.
“Lift your arms,” I say, my voice gentle.
She barely responds and I do it for her, peeling away the damp fabric of her blouse and removing her bra, leaving her chest bare. My eyes absorb every detail, tongue snaking out to lick my lips as I stare at her pale pink nipples, remembering how small and perfect her breasts were in my hands. How they reacted under my tongue.
Goosebumps dance along every exquisite inch. I want to touch her but won’t let myself. Not yet. Not until she’s more responsive.
Instead, I grab the large sweater from her bedroom to cover her, also bringing the comb from her bedside cabinet.
When I lift her elbow to dress her, she jerks away—“I can do it!”—snatching the woollen top and pulling it over her head, her fighting spirit returning.
“Where’s your hair dryer?”
She might be adorable with the tangled wet strands falling around her face, but I want her to match the girl in my imagination. The one with silky red hair I can spread across the pillow or twist in my hand.
“We don’t have one.”
We.
Francesca had sounded so happy when she called out, expecting her mum to respond. I’d discounted it before but if her return is a possibility, I need to factor it into my planning.
I towel her hair dry, and she bats my hands away before it’s done, impatiently tugging the comb through the wet strands.
The kitchen has a cutout through to the lounge, so I’m able to keep tabs on her while I turn on the stove. I scour the cupboards for enough plates and cutlery, noting everything she owns is mismatched. As I serve out two portions, I compile another, longer shopping list in my head.
Francesca sits at the table, hands in her lap, eyes vacant.
“You don’t like chicken? I can get you something else.” She shakes her head but still doesn’t pick up her knife and fork. “Does your mother live nearby?”
“When are you leaving?”
“Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours.”
The only response is a wrinkled nose. She returns to staring into space, obviously waiting for this to be over.
Once I’ve finished my meal, I drag my chair next to hers. The meat is so tender, it falls apart with a fork and I lift a mouthful, bumping it against her lips. “Open wide.” She winces and I grow impatient. “It’s food. You’ll like it. Just eat a few bites and I’ll leave you alone.”
Her jaw clenches but her stomach growls and, after a few moments, she lets me feed her a bite.
“That’s better.” My knees bump against her thighs and it’s still too much distance. After laying down the fork, I lift her onto my lap, holding her flush against my torso with one arm while I resume feeding her with the other.
Stiff at first, she gradually relaxes to lean back against my bare chest, her hair tickling as it dries.
The weight of her on my thighs feels good. The way her small behind wriggles against my crotch as she leans forward to eat the next bite is divine. I love the way her head tucks neatly under my chin when she rests back against me. My arm is across her ribs, the undercurve of her breast pressing on my wrist.
“You’re full?” I ask when she shakes her head at the next forkful. “What about a glass of wine?”
“No, I—” She bites on her bottom lip, twisting until she meets my eyes. “Why are you still here? What more do you want?” She briefly struggles to get free but gives up as my arm traps her in place, huffing out an exasperated breath instead. “When are you leaving?”
“How about dessert? I put some ice cream in the freezer.”
Francesca jolts at the suggestion, turning so her startled eyes stare straight into mine. Then she follows my hand, pointing to the fridge freezer, and relaxes. “It’s too cold for ice cream.”
With her on my lap, I hadn’t noticed, but the moment she mentions it, I shiver. The place is cold enough to see my breath.
“Where’s your heater?”
“I don’t have one. It’s not worth the expense with just me here.”
I give a surprised laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Try putting your shirt back on if you’re cold,” she says, fighting to stand. “Better still, leave.”
I release her, watching as she clears away our plates and stares at the leftover food with ravenous eyes. “Are you taking this back with you?”
Nothing has gone like I thought it would, but my skin still buzzes. I’m still more alive than I can remember feeling for years. “I live in a mansion with a full-time housekeeper to cook for me. Of course, I’m not taking it home.”
She covers it, storing it in the fridge with quick, jerky movements, and I ignore her earlier answer, walking up behind and easing her aside to get the champagne. Unscrewing the wire cage and gently twisting the bottle away from the cork.
Francesca jumps, gasping at the noise. She pulls a glass tumbler from the cupboard and sets it in front of me. “We don’t have any wine glasses.”
“That’s fine. I don’t think it cares what we drink it from.”
I slowly pour until the bubbles are a few millimetres from the edge, handing her the glass.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” I move past her, taking out another cup—this one orange plastic—and filling it for me. “You can’t expect me to drink the entire bottle by myself.”
The angle of her jaw makes me think she’s about to argue, but a soft sigh escapes, and she lifts the glass to her lips, taking a small sip.
“Cheers,” I say, knocking the base of my cup against hers. I mimic her tiny sip, crossing my eyes to ease her tension. A small burst of joy twists in my chest as she gives a soft laugh.
“Where did you put my mail?”
“In my car.” When she raises an eyebrow, I add, “It’s parked a few streets behind here.” I set down my glass and take her hand, engulfing it in mine, rubbing the cold from it. “Don’t worry. I’ve paid them.”
“Why?”
I’m entranced by the curve of her throat as she tips her head back to meet my eyes. “Because you obviously need someone to take care of you.”
Her throat works for a second, then she blurts, “But why ?”
Another swallow drains my cup, and I refill it, topping hers to the brim at the same time.
Because I can’t stop thinking about you.
“You already know why, Francesca. I’ve sorted your scholarship, too, since it didn’t look like you had a spare thirty-six grand lying around.”
The frown that’s seared itself into my frontal cortex like a branding iron makes a reappearance. “How do you expect to be repaid?”
I wish this conversation were taking place back in my suite of rooms, giving me an even larger advantage. But placing her in the vicinity of my uncle before she’s fully on board is a dangerous idea.
“All I ask is that you make yourself available to me, Freckles. I’ll pay your bills. I’ll make sure you have everything you want. And in return, you’ll meet my needs.”
She winces, asking, “Which are?”
“To be first to fuck your sweet virgin pussy for a start. Pumping my cum into you every chance I get until you’re screaming with pleasure.” I run my knuckle down the side of her face until she twists away. “How does that sound?”
“Like a delusional fantasy.” She finishes her drink, stifling a burp against the back of her hand. “Thanks for the offer but I’d rather freeze to death with a stack of bills beside me than cater to your weird demands.”
The choice of phrase makes me chuckle. “Fucking isn’t weird—it’s a primal urge.” I drop my voice lower. “Like the need to see your toes curls with pleasure while I’m deep inside you is primal. Making you orgasm until your brain feels like it’s dripping from your pussy.”
Her nipples harden at the words, and she clutches her elbows to hide the reaction, hunching her shoulders. “You need to leave.”
I let the delicious thrill of anticipation pulse through my body, briefly closing my eyes.
When I open them, her wide, innocent gaze stares straight into mine. Apprehension is written in every stiff line of her body.
“And you need to start paying attention,” I whisper. “Because there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me taking what I’ve already paid for.”
Before she can protest again, I scoop her up, growing hard at her indignant squeak. In the few strides it takes to get to her bedroom, she hammers on my chest with her fists but all it does is crank up my excitement.
I toss her onto the bed, on her stomach, my mouth watering as her legs splay apart. She moves quickly to snap them together, scrambling away from me.
A faint hope.
There’s nowhere for her to go.