Thirteen Gemma #2
I barely had any food in my system. I had no water. It was dark, which meant I couldn’t see where I had to go. I could end up breaking a leg or falling off the cliff as I attempted to escape.
And besides, I’d made a promise.
I’d said I’d stay if he left me alone. If I failed and he brought me back, I would never get another chance to cultivate his trust. To plot a better escape. One where I would succeed.
Tomorrow.
Survive tonight.
Run tomorrow.
With a racing heart, I tore at my dirty clothing.
I kicked off my hiking boots along with my leggings and underwear. Unzipping my windbreaker, I ripped off my hoodie, t-shirt, and exercise bra and threw them all into the corner.
Naked and highly aware I still had streaks of his dried cum on my chest—even after washing the best I could in the dungeon—I darted into the shower and turned on the tap.
Icy water hit me.
It felt sublime.
I didn’t mind it was cold or that my shaking increased until my teeth chattered and kneecaps bounced. I’d never enjoyed a shower as much as this. Never felt so baptized from dirt or refreshed by liquid.
Water sluiced over my face as I tipped my head under and gasped at the chill. My hair plastered down my back. With eyes blinking back droplets, I grabbed the gold-wrapped soap and tore it open, running the flowery scented suds from the top of my head right to my toes.
Heaven.
Hell.
Everything in between.
Only once bubbles covered me did I step back under the cold spray and rinse. My skin burned from the cold, and the contrast between the muggy air and the snowy water was almost an aphrodisiac. My senses were on high alert and strung out. My jumpiness at an all time high.
Thanks to hypersensitivity, I knew he’d returned. I knew before the door even opened. Instincts did their best to protect me, sending my heart hiccupping before catapulting into an all-out sprint.
The bathroom door opened.
He strode in.
Our eyes locked from across the room. Droplets continued to rain over my face, and his naked chest glittered with the numerous scars that painted a story of his pain.
His gaze dragged from my eyes to my bare breasts, exposed stomach, naked core, and every inch in-between.
He didn’t slouch against the doorframe this time.
He stood stiff and solemn.
He didn’t reach for his straining erection or attempt to provide any relief to the stark arousal on his features.
His hands balled into fists by his thighs as he continued to drink me in.
His tongue wetted his bottom lip as he became transfixed by my ass as I turned my back on him and shot him a glower over my shoulder.
He acted as if he’d never seen a naked woman before, but beneath that eager innocence, something far too dark to understand existed.
Flashes of it appeared and disappeared in his eyes.
Something cruel and sadistic. Something that hinted he wasn’t innocent at all and had done things I could never imagine.
More time passed between us as he watched me finish my shower.
He didn’t rush me or bark orders for me to come to him.
It was almost civil in the way he stood like a gentleman, granting me his every thought and desire through the heat in his blackened gaze.
Beneath the chilly water, my core clenched despite myself. It reacted to his severity, his strength, his savagery. He was a man who would never survive in society because of whatever had happened to him out here.
What did happen to him?
Was I once again making things up? Was I romanticizing a situation that had nothing romantic about it?
Whatever tales I came up with about his background, they were all wrong.
The most logical explanation was, he was a wanted convict who’d been hiding from the law for whatever crime he’d committed.
Judging by how easily he’d strangled me and continually threatened to take my life, he was probably wanted for murder.
Whatever heat had threaded through my core dissipated, leaving me shivering even harder beneath the spray.
Almost as if he knew I’d reached my limit, he stalked in bare feet to the rack and plucked off a fluffy cream towel. Silently, he came closer to the shower and spread it wide, ready to wrap around me.
A white flag perhaps?
A sign of truce between us?
Never looking away from him, I turned off the shower and gingerly stepped across the wet tiles. I paused before him. More naked than I’d ever been before someone. His eyes once again fell to my breasts and lingered on my pebbled nipples.
I was confident in my body. I’d trained it to keep me safe while climbing and to stay healthy in all my risky endeavors. I was toned. I was strong. Past lovers had appreciated my hard work and commented on muscles they didn’t even have.
But no man had ever watched me as he did.
No man had ever given me his utmost attention.
No man stopped breathing or began to tremble the longer he studied me.
The way he watched me was borderline worship.
He made me feel both like I was his for the rest of my life and that I was the ruler for the rest of his.
He made no attempt to hide such fervency.
No masks or quips to keep the upper hand.
No games that so often existed in the bedroom between new partners.
Silently, I turned and gave him my back.
His sharp inhale sent my skin prickling, followed by the almost unfightable reaction to crumple at his feet as he draped the soft towel around my body and wrapped me tight.
I froze as he rubbed my arms, drying me off. Such a simple kindness. An unthought moment of sweetness.
But then his fingers dug into my biceps as if remembering our dynamic, and he stepped away from me. He backed up so quickly, I swayed as if he’d removed a wall from behind me.
Grabbing the towel, I turned to track him.
His jaw was clenched beneath his thick shadow of scruff, his long hair kissed his shoulders, and the tattered condition of his trousers hinted I wasn’t the only one in need of a shower.
He needed a shave. A haircut. He needed someone to groom him and teach him and perhaps, someday, remind him that whatever life he’d been living out here wasn’t a life at all.
It seemed whenever we were close, our eyes refused to unlock.
I couldn’t look away from him—partly out of wariness in order to react quickly if he tried to hurt me, and partly because...
despite everything—despite the two nights in a cellar drinking tap water and peeing in a bucket.
Despite him shattering my cell phone and PLB.
Despite the two strangulations and the forced blowjob, there was something inside him.
Something I’d been seeking ever since I was stupid enough to type up a dating profile. Something that no longer existed in men bred in today’s world.
That intoxicating blend of danger and doting. The ability to hurt but also to heal.
He kept watching as I dried off. I ought to have been embarrassed to rub the towel over my breasts and between my legs. Ought to have turned away and hidden all the pieces of me that I could.
But...if his lust could be harnessed—if I could do the unthinkable and make him free me, then I wasn’t embarrassed to use my body as a weapon.
The cold water and bathroom break had rejuvenated me.
I’m ready to fight again.
The longer I wiped off every droplet, the harder he trembled. Pain etched his eyes as his cock tented his trousers until the zipper strained and the button popped free. He looked in agony, yet he didn’t touch himself.
Licking my lips, I said in a voice that shook against my will.
“I don’t have any other clothes. Do you...
” I glanced past him to the bedroom. In my uninvited traipse of his home, I’d noticed wardrobes full of clothing.
Some for men. Some for women. All rich and decadent and unused.
“Would you allow me to borrow something while I clean mine?”
He lowered his head, his eyebrows shadowing the darkness of his stare. “A favor for a favor. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” His tone bordered a growl, thick with lust and frustration. Looking down at his cock, he snapped, “Deal with that, and you can have whatever clothes you want.”
Deal with that.
What does that mean?
He spoke of his body as if it was a traitor. As if the pleasure he was feeling and the anticipation of a release was torment instead of bliss.
“How...?” I swallowed, activating the fresh bruises around my neck. “Do you want to, eh—” I thought I’d come to terms with this. I had come to terms with this. I’d been prepared to offer my body in exchange for hope. Yet for some reason, verbalizing it took a strength I almost didn’t have.
Arching my chin and tapping into new courage, I asked clinically, “Do you wish to fuck me?”
He jolted.
His eyes snapped shut.
A guttural groan escaped his parted lips.
My belly coiled, and I was suddenly no longer cold from my shower. I was hot. I was steamy. But I didn’t want it. I couldn’t understand why my body reacted to his.
“Your hand,” he grunted. “I’ll fuck your hand.” His eyes opened, blazing coal and smoke. “Drop your towel and come here.”
Survival, Gem.
The only thing that matters.
Locking down my emotions for what was about to happen, I did as he requested.
I dropped the towel. I strode toward him bare. I stopped before him, suffering a full-body shiver at the heady heat rolling off him.
He didn’t touch me.
He looked as if he’d locked himself in place with shackles of invisible iron. “Free me.”
My heart somersaulted.
My inner battle for survival tangled with the ugly submission of giving in. Offering myself up verbally had been hard enough...willingly initiating sexual contact threatened to shove me back into the empty void from before.
“Do it,” he breathed, harsh and haggard. “Don’t and you’ll wish you obeyed.”
I looked up, fighting the urge to hide my body. “Do you...do you intend to touch me in return?”
I have to know.
Mentally, I had to prepare.
His jaw worked as his dark stare stroked my nakedness. “Make me come and you’re safe tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”