Chapter 11 Summer
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SUMMER
Slap.
My palm connects with Kage’s forearm for the fifteenth time since we started showering.
Why the brute thinks he needs to be right next to me and not spectating at a safe distance is…
well, kind of obvious, but he’s shown me his intent isn’t to murder me.
Not on purpose, at least. The weapon he wields between his thighs would surely do me in, though.
It’s sort of hard not to notice it as it bobs happily around, pointing directly at me the entire time.
“I don’t need your help, thanks,” I growl.
I think I hear him laugh roughly, the sound making a zap of pity electrocute my heart, but I ignore him and press a palm to the wall to stand on one foot and scrub between my toes.
He’s allowing a much longer shower session than usual, and I’m taking full advantage of it.
His touches a few minutes ago felt concerned, which made my hackles raise. After swatting him so many times, now it feels like he’s teasing me.
“Thought I graduated middle school eight years ago,” I grumble to myself.
His shadow falls over me from my left, and I glare at him.
Shoulder leaned against the wall, he crosses his arms and turns into the Greek god, Adonis.
With his mask damp, it slips lower than he’s ever let it, and my mind’s eye tries to fill in the rest of him.
It’s infuriating, his beauty, his strength, and not being able to see the full, devastating depth of it.
For the first time in a long, long time, I feel less-than.
Although my job gave me constant criticism, it also gave me just as much validation.
My confidence was through the roof when it came to men before Kage kidnapped me.
I knew I could have just about anyone I wanted, but the issue was, I didn’t want anyone.
Something about commitment freaks me out. It’s death to your youth. To your independence. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose.
My eyes flick to the bar of soap in my hands before they slowly creep up his intimidating frame.
That stupid adage is true; big feet, big dick.
Everything about Kage is perfectly proportioned, his muscled calves supporting thick thighs that would look amazing tattooed.
My cheeks heat, and a flash of desire flares through my core, remembering our encounter months ago.
His dick is long, thick, the veins pulsing hotly with brutal desire, a small bead of clear pre-cum leaking from the slit on the large, purplish head.
It had felt like silk against me. Silk, and then a battering ram when he tried to force it in.
Curiosity often gets the better of me, and I wonder if I’d like taking someone so big.
How would it feel? Would I be able to adjust to that girth and the depth he’d give, or would it hurt the entire time? Would he care?
By the time my brain registers that I’ve been staring at his cock for far too long, I feel faint with embarrassment.
But I can’t stop my exploration of him right now.
He’s not going to hurt me. Maybe he’s just lonely.
A hot, lonely guy who can’t speak. Is that why he took me?
Does he get turned down because of that?
If so, that level of shallowness makes my heart ache for him.
If I knew Kage under different circumstances, something like that wouldn’t matter to me.
When he’s like this…I almost feel like we could be friends.
Biting my lip, my eyes travel the line of hair up to his navel.
Each ab is perfectly sculpted, dripping with beaded droplets of water.
Then his pecs, partially covered by those forearms and biceps he uses to subdue me.
What if he subdued me and made me feel that way again?
The devil on my shoulder whispers into my ear.
When my eyes meet his, I realize how heavy my breaths are, how alight with fire my body is at these intrusive, sick fantasies I’m beginning to have for the man keeping me chained in his basement.
He quirks a brow, and I just know he’s wearing a cocky smirk under that stupid mask.
“What?” I bark.
He shakes his head and pushes off the wall, walking a few feet away to the notebook and his pen. The floor is littered with prescription bottles, grocery store bags, torn off pages, and writing implements. If I wasn’t free-bleeding into a grate in the floor, I may find it comical.
He jots something down and flips it for me to read.
See something you like?
I scoff, but my stomach tumbles unpleasantly at being caught red-handed. “Keep dreaming, weirdo. Haven’t you heard not to fuck with a woman on her period?”
He writes something else, his prose messy in his haste.
I hear orgasms help with the pain.
Fury has my teeth gritting at his sheer audacity.
“If you touch me, I’ll find a way to strangle you with those chains.”
He casts the notebook aside with a resounding thump and saunters over to me.
With nowhere to go, I back under the stream until I hit the wall, trapped as he prowls near.
He steps boldly under the shower head, allowing the water to douse his hair and run in dozens of rivers down his soft curls.
Palm resting on either side of my skull, his broad shoulders eclipse the spray, the water bouncing off his skin and creating a sort of mist behind him.
Blinking up at him, I hold his gaze and try to steady the way my heart is galloping away like a stallion races toward the horizon. His hand reaches toward my face, and when I flinch, he pauses, a darkness entering his whiskey eyes. Lips parting, I wait for him to continue.
Gently, reverently, he cups my face, thumb hovering just above my mouth.
The desire to fully see him overcomes me, and I reach for his mask, jumping as his other hand snaps up and traps my wrist. I glance from his grip on me to his face, frightened at what I see there.
It’s something so sinister and murderous that it makes my gut roil with nausea again.
“I’m…I might puke…” I squeak, needing to flee this situation, because letting my guard down around Kage is going to end up getting me killed, in the end.
That’s always how these stories go. Doesn’t matter how nice he is to me; at the end of the day, he ripped me from my life, assaulted me, and locked me away.
My excuse works, and he releases me quickly, stepping out of the way for me to back up toward the toilet. His brows dip in annoyance when I don’t lurch, and I twist my hands together sheepishly, shivering in the cold, damp atmosphere. “I just need to dry off and get dressed.”
He continues to stare at me but eventually motions to the new clothes and fresh towel on the mattress.
Not wanting to create a bigger mess than I already have, I snatch the towel and clothes up, then rifle through the bags, praying he bought the right tampons.
I was pretty fucking detailed with my notes, and just as my hope is dwindling, a bluish box gripped by his veiny hand enters my view.
Clutching the fluffy towel tighter to my chest, I glance up at him and immediately regret it, that one-eyed monster weeping at me.
Hastily yanking the box from him, I shuffle to the toilet and plop myself down, ripping into the cardboard like a starving raccoon.
As soon as the innocuous little ball of packed cotton hidden in a blue plastic sheath is out of the wrapper, I pause to glare at him again.
“Can you like…not watch me for once? I’m not gonna somehow run away in my current state.”
He doesn’t move for a moment, then decides to draw closer, sinking to his knees in front of me.
I put my foot up, pressing my cold, wet toes to his chest to keep him at a distance that’s still not far enough for my liking.
He ignores me, instead pointing at the tampon gripped tightly in my fist. Brow furrowing, I hold it out for him to see. “It’s nothing special.”
His eyes bounce from mine to my open palm, an innocent curiosity to his gaze. Gently, he prods at it, further inspecting it. Meanwhile, I can feel my flow leaking into the toilet, and all I want is to be warm, dry, and pain free. Food filling my belly would be nice, too.
I’m realizing he isn’t about to look away, and this is a battle I really don’t care about losing right now. Pushing against his chest using my foot and all my might, he relents and falls to his ass, giving me a disgruntled huff. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” I hiss to myself, reaching down to part my lips as I position the tampon with my other fingers.
All the while, his gaze remains stoic yet intrigued, eyes focused with rapture on my bleeding pussy.
Why it pulls on the cords of my heart, I don’t want to examine at the moment, but I can at least acknowledge to myself that I’ve never been around a man who wasn’t afraid of a period.
My boyfriend in high school would crack jokes to his buddies whenever it was my time of the month, and the guy I used to hook up with always refused to come near me when I bled.
It’s not like women choose this.
The second I push the applicator and tampon into myself, his eyes widen comically, and he leans forward, rough hands resting on my thighs, fingers digging possessively into my weakened muscles.
It’s intrusive and intense but…when his eyes find mine again, there’s a type of gentleness and concern there I’ve never been lucky enough to behold before.
Even my dad, amazing and kind as he is, gets all twitchy and weirded out about things like this.
“See?” I say softly, holding up the applicator, then tugging gently on the string to insure it’s snugly in place—at least for the next hour. The first few days are always a blood bath. “No big deal, no more blood. Now give me—hey, no!”
I smack his fingers away as he reaches for the dangling string. Shocked, he glares up at me. “It…it stays in, until I need a new one.”
He makes that annoyed huffing sound again, a sharp exhalation through his nose, and reaches for the box.
His long fingers dive into the abyss, and he brings a new one out, ripping the wrapper off and tossing it over his shoulder.
He reaches for the string dangling out of me again, and what he’s attempting finally clicks.
He wants to be the one to put it in.