16. Hyacinth #2
He turns me so he can look at my back. “You should be caring for yourself better.” He lets out a low laugh.
“Not that I should care, should I?” He trails his fingers along one of the scabs then pulls away so he can get the water in the shower started.
After he tests the water with his hand, he gestures to the tub. “Come.”
I step into the shower stall.
There’s a metal wire hidden under one of the shampoo bottle holders, and another one twined around the back of the showerhead. The bar of soap has a razor hidden underneath it. I could fight back now. Zane would never see it coming.
But I stand, my gaze down at his feet, and wait as the water pelts down on me.
Zane has enough sense not to follow me into the shower stall, but he does remove his shirt and toss it to the side.
The slice I’d given to his stomach is still there, but it’s healing nicely. He probably takes care of it three times a day and makes sure to do everything he can to prevent scarring.
In this light, though, I can see that it isn’t the only one.
I can identify some of them as cuts that have long since healed, along with circular marks that look like cigarette burns.
I wonder what his back looks like.
He grabs a washcloth and lathers it up. “You’ve at least been keeping it clean, haven’t you, Sin?” he murmurs. “I’d be very disappointed if you were neglecting these lovely wounds I gave you.”
I nod. “Clean the wounds. Apply creams. Change the bandages.” I pause, and say, “It’s hard to reach. But I managed.”
I have a reacher tool to help with all of it. Mom had made me bandage countless wounds, on her, on Chrys, on me. You don’t want to catch an infection and become useless.
Zane hums, starting to carefully wipe my back down. Some of the fibers in the cloth catch in the wounds, but he’s surprisingly gentle. It’s so different from how we’d started this impromptu visit.
My heart rises to my throat.
This isn’t how this is supposed to work.
I get off on pain. I enjoy being bossed around and tied up and whipped.
I don’t need anyone to take care of me.
“I can do it later,” I say roughly. “Go ahead and fuck me.”
“You want me to step in there, where you can easily knock me off balance in water?” Zane asks, his voice laced with amusement. “No, thank you. I think I’d rather torture you for a little while.”
He continues to wipe down my back, lower and lower until he reaches my ass.
“But I might think about fucking you before I leave,” he muses. “So we should get you nice and clean just in case.”
I nod and spread my legs for him, grabbing onto the accessibility bar on the shower wall. “Yes. Please.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The razor is within reach. If I take it, I could slit Zane’s wrists.
But clean up would suck, I tell myself. I’d have to call Forest, and there’d be the whole issue of hotel cameras.
Zane did break into my room, though. I could say I was defending myself.
I’m not naive enough to believe my own lies.
I rest my forehead against the tiled wall and groan when Zane gets his fingers between my ass cheeks, rubbing insistently against my hole.
He dips soapy fingers inside of me, and from how he’s touching me, I’m not sure if he’s trying to clean me or arouse me.
Either way, it’s turning out to have the latter effect, and my cock gets harder still as he touches me.
Then he’s pulling back, and the cloth starts to swipe over my ass cheeks.
“There we go,” he says, the smugness in his voice making it clear that he knows exactly how crazy he’s driving me.
What’s he getting out of this? I peer over my shoulder, but I can’t see if he’s hard from this angle.
“Are you… Are you…” I moan when he gets the tip of one finger inside me again. I let my head fall forward again.
“Am I…?” Zane prompts, working that finger deeper. “Enjoying teasing you? Yes.”
In theory, I know that there are people who get off on teasing others. I’ve watched scenes, in clubs like Neon here in New Valence or Club Alpha in New Bristol. But the real kinksters, the ones who go to events like at Genevieve Boudreaux’s, don’t bother with this.
This stuff is boring.
Except it’s not boring with Zane.
“I can go back to simply bathing you if you’d like,” Zane tells me. He curls his finger, grazing my prostate.
The soap burns slightly, but it doesn’t feel bad.
If anything, it only makes it feel better.
I shake my head. “More,” I say, the sound pathetic and needy.
Zane pulls his finger out, and I suppress my disappointment. Of course he’d stop right when I wanted more.
But his finger is back seconds later, accompanied by a second one. Both of them slide in a lot smoother, so he must have added more soap. I groan and raise my ass to give him better access.
“Do you like that?” he murmurs. He abandons the pretense of bathing me in favor of finger-fucking me, and he steps closer despite the fact that it puts him in range of getting wet beneath the spray as well.
“You wish it was my cock right now, that you were bleeding from something fresh, don’t you, Sin? ”
“Yes,” I agree, thrusting back in time with his fingers. “I need… I want…”
More.
I want to feel him.
I want to feel only him.
I don’t want to care about the rest of the world, about my wounds or my duties or how fucked I’m going to be when it’s all over.
He chuckles, leaning in to where he’s definitely getting wet, then murmurs into my ear, “Too bad.”
He withdraws his fingers completely and pats my ass.
“Turn around so I can get the rest of you,” he directs me.
I do as he commands, my body moving easily despite how desperate I am. My cock strains hard against my stomach.
I brace myself against the bar and spread my legs again. The water pelts down on my chest and thighs, and the water feels cold in comparison to how fucking heated my entire body is.
“Anything,” I say, like I’m allowed to promise that.
“Yeah?” he asks, starting to work his way down my chest with the cloth. He avoids my cock at first, which I know is on purpose, until he’s finally wrapping the washcloth around it and jerking me hard.
I gasp and thrust up into the movement. The washcloth is rough against my sensitive skin, but that’s good too, adding the extra pain I need to get closer and closer to the edge.
Zane’s chest is soaked, and his wet hair clings to his forehead.
It doesn’t bother him as he keeps steadily working me. I struggle to keep my eyes on him, to take in every crease of his brow and how his lips curl in a satisfied smile.
I part my lips, and I don’t know what I can say to make him want this, want me, as desperately as I want him in this moment.
He keeps working my cock that way, watching my face intently. It’s only when I’m on the edge, about to tip over the precipice, that he abruptly stops.
I whine and shake my head. “Please. Please, keep going.” I know better than to beg. Begging means I definitely won’t get what I want. “I need it.” I press my back against the tiles, hoping that the added pain will keep me teetering on the edge.
“No, you want it,” Zane corrects me, but he goes back to slowly stroking me with that cloth tightly pressing around my cock. “Give me one good reason to let you come, Hyacinth.”
My eyelids are heavy, and mist from the shower clings to my lashes.
There’s no good reason to do any of this. If he’s smart, he’ll finish what he came here to do: kill me and be done with this threat.
I don’t want to die, but if I’m going to be killed, I don’t mind if he’s the one who does it.
“Because you want to,” I say. “That’s the only reason to ever do anything.”
“Good answer,” Zane replies, his voice rich with amusement — and desire. He wants this.
He wants me.
“Then come for me.” He strokes me harder, faster, his body getting wetter as he leans into the shower with me.
He’s not paying attention to the danger, but then, neither am I.
I only care about the fact that the next deft stroke shoves me over the edge, and I cry out as the cloth absorbs some of my cum before he’s pulling it away so that his smooth hand takes over the motions.
The difference in textures is stark, and I groan at the contrast as he squeezes and strokes me through the orgasm.