Chapter 13
Sabine
Ellie crouched in front of me, her hand closing around my ankle without preamble. She pulled at the bandage, unwinding it in quick, exact motions. The scrape beneath flared as air touched it, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Hold still, please.” Her voice was flat, clipped, all business.
I bit down on the urge to snap back. Her touch was steady, her movements efficient, but there was nothing gentle in them, like there had been when she first bandaged me. Now she treated me like a task to be managed, not a person. The humiliation sat heavier than the sting in my skin.
The side door clicked open and a voice cut sharp. “Ellie!”
She paused, her grip tightening once before letting go. Irritation flickered across her face as she rose. “Can you take her upstairs, Cam? I’ll be back to finish this.”
Cam nodded. No one asked my opinion. It was obvious I had no say, and I felt indignation flare in my belly at the entire situation.
Ellie left, the door closing behind her. I sat with my swollen ankle propped on a chair, pulse quickening. Whatever had pulled her away had been enough to cut through her rigid control, and that reminder lodged deep in my chest. The threat outside wasn’t abstract. It was close.
Cam stepped forward, quiet and sure, ready to manage me in Ellie's absence.
“I can handle the stairs on crutches,” I said quickly. I gripped the edge of my chair as if I could stand on my own. I wanted her to believe it, wanted myself to believe it too.
Her gaze dropped to my foot, then back to my eyes. “No.” One word, flat and final. Her tone carried no heat, no mockery. Just fact.
I bristled. “I’ve used crutches before. Going up is easier than going down.”
“It’s not happening,” she said. Her voice was even, almost quiet. “If you slip with it unwrapped, you could tear it worse. I won’t risk that.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. She stepped closer, close enough that I caught the faint clean scent of soap on her skin. “Arms around my neck.”
The command left no room for argument. I hesitated anyway, jaw tight, the sting of humiliation sharp in my chest. When I moved, it was stiff, reluctant, but I did as she told me. My arms slid around her neck, the muscles beneath her shirt shifting as she bent to lift me.
Her strength closed around me in one smooth motion, lifting me as though I weighed nothing at all. I pressed my lips together, determined not to show the rush of awareness that shot through me at the feel of her solid body against mine.
Cam said nothing as she carried me out into the hall. Ellie’s hands had been clinical, detached. This woman’s silence was different. The press of her breasts against me, the solid grip at my back and under my knees, felt intimate in a way words could not undo.
She carried me up the stairs without strain. In the hallway upstairs, she set me down just long enough to push open my bedroom door.
“I need a shower,” I said, sharper than I intended. I hated how much like a plea it sounded.
Her gaze met mine, flat and unshakable. “No. Not on that ankle.”
Before I could argue, she carried me into the bathroom. The clawfoot tub gleamed white against the dark tile, its brass fixtures catching the light. She set me on the counter beside the sink, then turned to the faucet. Water thundered into the basin, steam curling up to blur the mirror.
“You’ll soak it,” she said, testing the temperature with her hand. Her tone carried no heat, only quiet certainty.
I pressed my palms against the counter, fighting the urge to slide off and prove her wrong. The logic of it cut through my defiance. She was right, I couldn’t balance on one foot in a shower, but I hated the surrender.
Cam adjusted the handles, her strong body filling the space as though the room itself belonged to her. She didn’t look back to check if I agreed. Her every movement told me she knew the decision was hers.
The reminder was louder than the sound of the water filling the tub. This wasn’t negotiation. She had drawn the line, and I was already standing inside it. She straightened.
“Water’s ready.” She took my hands and I slid off the counter onto one foot. She turned her back to me and braced one hand against the counter as if she intended to wait.
I stood, staring at the length of her back. Her head was slightly bowed, shoulders relaxed. She wasn’t giving me privacy, not really. She was giving me an illusion of it.
My eyes shifted to the mirror above the sink. From where she stood, she could see everything reflected if she looked. A spark lit low in my belly.
I tested it first with something small, tugging my sweatshirt over my head in one smooth pull. The fabric caught in my hair, leaving it mussed. I tossed it aside and kept my gaze on the mirror. Cam hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken.
I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my yoga pants, drawing the motion out, then paused. If she was watching, she gave nothing away. Her face was still and blank, a mask carved of stone. The lack of reaction was worse than anything else.
Heat pooled under my skin. I pushed further, easing the pants down my legs with a slow twist of my hips.
Next came my nightshirt, slowly up and over my head.
It was a performance now, deliberate, my breath hitching with each inch I revealed.
Part of me thrilled at the risk. Another part burned with humiliation.
What are you doing, Sabine? The question echoed in my mind. Testing her, testing yourself. Wanting to prove she wasn’t untouchable, and fearing what it meant if she was.
Cam shifted slightly, enough to catch her reflection fully in the glass. Her eyes were on me now. Not hungry, not wide, just watching.
The sight made my pulse leap and my nipples tighten. Her unreadable gaze only sharpened the tension. I wanted her to break, to react, to show me something. I wanted her to stay silent forever.
The air thickened with it, heavier than the steam curling from the tub. Neither of us spoke, but the current between us wound tighter with every piece of clothing I peeled away, every second she refused to move or look away.
I stood still, heat prickling across my bare skin, willing myself not to cover myself or shrink from her gaze.
She finally turned, her eyes never leaving me.
She closed the distance in two steps. Her arms came around me, sure and unyielding, one hand braced at my back, the other scooping under my thighs.
Her grip was firm yet careful, absolute control in the set of her hands.
I was small in her hold, contained entirely by strength I could neither fight nor match.
She lowered me slowly into the water, every motion deliberate. Heat wrapped around me, but it was her silence that branded deeper. Kara and Ellie barked commands, clipped and sharp. Cam didn’t need to speak.
The truth was clear: I was being mastered without a word.
Hot water lapped against my skin as I settled back into the tub.
Heat soaked into me slowly, loosening the knot in my muscles, but there was no easing the awareness prickling under my skin.
She stood a few steps away, leaning on the counter like a silent sentry.
Her presence filled the room as surely as the steam.
I let my head tip against the rim of the tub, pretending I could ignore her. But I felt her eyes, heavy as a hand on my body. Every shift of the water seemed louder under that gaze.
My fingers drifted across my stomach, sliding lower before I could think better of it. The touch sparked a jolt of release, part defiance, part need. Was I daring her to stop me, or trying to prove I wasn’t under her control?
I felt the rush in my chest as one hand slipped between my thighs, the other on one breast. The rhythm of my body blurred with the sound of the water. My pulse hammered. I didn’t know if I was taunting her or begging her to watch.
Cam moved. A slow shift of weight as she folded her arms. Her gaze sharpened, no longer blank stone but focused, intent.
“Pinch your nipple for me.” The words were low, but they cracked through me like a strike. “Hard.”
My breath caught. I stared at her for a long minute before I obeyed, my fingers tightening. The sting crested into a rush of heat.
“Yes, just like that.”
The commands fell soft and precise, each one winding me tighter. She didn’t step in. She didn’t reach for me. She let me touch myself under her eyes, and the fact that she allowed it twisted the control deeper. The power in her silence had already bound me. Her voice only cinched it tighter.
“Stroke your pussy, Sabine. Rub your little clit.”
The words landed like a spark against dry tinder. My fingers found the slick heat already gathering there. The first touch stole the air from my lungs. I drew in a sharp breath, louder than I meant, the sound shattering the hush of the room.
Cam’s gaze pinned me where I lay. She didn’t move, didn’t close the space between us. Her stillness made every motion of my hand feel magnified. I circled my clit, slow at first, then faster when my hips rose in the water.
The ache deepened. My chest heaved as I stroked.
When I dared glance at her, my eyes caught on her breasts.
Her breathing had changed as her nipples became sharp peaks.
She was holding herself in check with the same relentless discipline she aimed at me.
The sight tore another shiver from me, a twisted rush of triumph and surrender all at once.
“Keep going. Come for me.” Her voice was steady, calm, a guide more than a lash. Dominant, yes, but not cruel. She spoke as though she already knew I would obey, and the certainty in her tone pulled me tighter than her hands ever could.
The water rippled violently as I lost the rhythm, my body trembling. Desire surged through me, blinding, stealing the edges of thought. My head tipped back against the porcelain, a cry breaking loose before I could catch it.
“That's a good girl.”
The praise was quiet, but it struck deep, threading through the pulse still wracking me.
It was reward, yes, but also possession.
The words settled heavier than the aftershocks in my muscles, branding me in a way no touch could.
I had wanted to test her. Instead, I had given myself over, undone under her watch.
My body trembled in the aftermath, every muscle loose, every breath shaky.
I blinked up at the ceiling, trying to steady myself.
She moved at last, reaching for a folded washcloth on the counter.
She crouched beside the tub and held it out.
Our fingers brushed as I took it, and the contact lit a spark through my hand.
I reached for the bottle of body wash and poured a thin line across the cloth.
The clean scent rose as I rubbed it over my skin, down my arms, across my chest, careful over the sore ankle resting against the side of the tub.
Her eyes followed me, steady and unreadable, but I could feel the weight of them everywhere the cloth passed.
When I slid down into the water to soak my hair, the warmth closed over my ears and muted the world.
I came up again, slick red strands clinging to my shoulders.
Lather foamed between my fingers as I worked the shampoo in, and I was just about to dip back to rinse when Cam’s hand closed around the faucet.
She filled a cup, tipped it over my head, and water cascaded through my hair.
She did it again, slow and thorough. Her long fingers combed through the strands, guiding the suds away. I let her, too stunned to resist, caught in the strange intimacy of it. The touch was practical, efficient, yet my scalp tingled under her care.
When the water ran clear, she set the cup aside.
A towel waited in her hands, ready before I thought to ask.
She lifted me from the bath as easily as she had set me down, the cotton wrapping close around me.
Every motion was precise, each step without hesitation, but all I could think of was the echo of her voice commanding me, the sound of my breath breaking under her control.
I had meant to provoke her, to shake her stillness. Instead she had claimed the moment without a word of resistance. Triumph prickled under my skin, but it tangled with unease. I was too aware of how quickly I had yielded, how easily her silence had pulled me under.
That weight stayed with me as I balanced on one foot against the counter, awkwardly drying my hair.