Chapter 20 #2
Fear tangled with heat as he dragged me to the table, his intense gaze on me, his chin flicking to the bowl of water, the pile of cloth next to it.
“A thrall washes their master,” he gritted between his teeth, his muscles still tight with aggression.
“What?” I looked between him and the bowl. “Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t give me this false outrage. Wasn’t it you on your knees last night?” He stepped into me, gripping himself. “You can’t stop staring at my cock. You know my eyes are up here.”
Embarrassment colored my cheeks, burning under my skin, the shame as he brought that moment to light.
“I’ve been too kind to you. Too lenient to what is ahead of you.”
“Kind to me?” I sputtered. “You chained me up!”
“And I should’ve kept you that way.” He was so close I could feel the heat from his mouth on mine, his arousal flattening against my skirt. “Now, when I tell you to do something, you do it.”
“Why?” I spat back. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”
His entire body tensed.
“Kill me?” I lifted my chin higher, challenging, knowing he couldn’t.
A low rumble came from him. His hand forcibly grasped mine, making my fingers clutch around the cloth on the table, dipping it into the soapy water. Controlling my hand, he moved mine over his bloody and scarred chest, the excess water trailing down his abdomen.
“You think I’m being unjust, kanin.” Resentment infected his tone.
“How many bent the knee to the White Raven, cleaned you . . . not because they wanted to, but because their livelihood depended on it? Because they were a thrall doing their duty.” His words cut into me, the truth that I never thought about because I had been the one giving orders.
I was the one people bowed to. Washed and cleaned.
I never thought about how they might feel about it.
It was normal and our custom. A privilege to work for the royal family.
He drew my hand lower to the wound still healing from one of our many fights along this journey. “You are the thrall.” He paused. “Wash. Your. Master.”
Brimstone and fire charred my stomach, rising to my mouth with fury, and down between my legs.
It painfully pulsed and throbbed with my heartbeat.
My breath held as he moved my hand over his ripped abs, the water tracking down his skin in the firelight, dipping down the deep V-line cut into his hips, to the trail of hair, thickening against his abdomen.
He let go of my hand, waiting for what I would do next.
There had to be something wrong with me. I wanted to believe there was, because I didn’t pull back. I didn’t punch him in the crotch and run.
My hand ran over his taut muscles, the droplets of water dripping to the wood floor from the rag.
My gaze divided between not looking up or not peering down, staying intent on every square inch of his body in front of me.
I moved over his stomach, the towel dragging over the tip of him.
There was no way to avoid it, the size alone made that impossible, but I felt obsessed with the piercing there, my attention unable to stay away from it for long.
My fingers lowered, dragging the cloth over him again.
A cavernous growl hummed in the back of his throat, his body jerking. I pulled my hands back at his response. We both stood there, our chests rising and lowering in shallow motions. I could feel him waiting for me to decide, staying still, not forcing my touch on him.
It was sick, because I wanted him to force me. Take that choice away. Resolve me of wrongdoing.
Dipping the cloth in the bowl to resoak it, I strolled around him, running the soapy rag over his shoulders and down his spine.
His muscles strained as my hand swiped over his taut ass, his head curving to peer back at me, a nerve in his cheek jumping.
He watched as I traced the scars on his back, some deeper than others, some looking like they had just healed.
“Where did you get these?” Barely breaking a whisper, it still felt like a scream in the room.
“Many places.” His own tone was as low as mine.
The need to hear more nipped on my tongue, but I couldn’t get myself to dig deeper. Or maybe I knew where some had come from and was too afraid to hear it.
Washing one arm, I turned to the other, following the tattoos down it, rune marks in formations I had never seen before: diamond shapes in a warrior’s crest, a winged tribal design with horns, a raven carrying a skull with a sword, an Aegishjalmur symbol, web of Wyrd, tattoo of Vegvisir.
I trailed over them, following the main vein in his forearm, the pull to the symbols healing crudely between his thumb and index finger, pulling me to his large hands.
“Won’t the king be mad you marked me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you get punished for it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you do it?”
He didn’t answer, his eyes tracking my hand, while I washed his body, the tension in the room thick and palpable.
A current crackled around us like a live wire.
The tip of my finger brushed over our matching ink on his hand.
He sucked in sharply, his hand flexing, his nose flaring.
My neck and chest beat with their own heartbeat, the power feeling sensual and beyond what it should. Beyond what should be normal.
My thumb ran over the diamond-shaped runes, kindling energy within my nerves, producing a soft moan from me.
“Fuck.” He snarled. His hand clutched my throat and dragged me in front of him, my ass pressing into his arousal, feeling the metal bar there.
His tattoo stretched across my neck against mine.
For a moment it was as though I went blind, my system overwhelmed, my back bowing in both pain and pleasure before he quickly adjusted his hand higher on my neck, the siege on me letting up.
The intensity still pulsed in my skin, but I could breathe, feel like I was in my own body.
What the fuck was that?
Taking the rag from my grip, he dipped it in the warm water.
My chest heaved when he drew up the soapy cloth, running it along my collarbone and over the tops of my breasts.
A rumble echoed in my ear, his other hand dropping from my neck and yanking at the laces of my corset, slipping it down to my waist. The air in the room nipped at my skin, goose-pimpling my flesh.
Onyx pulled me in, his hand wiping the cloth over my stomach and coming up under my breasts. I clenched down on my teeth, not able to fight the strangled moan choking from my throat. He used the washrag to do the same to the other, before sliding down my sternum.
“How dirty are you?” he rumbled in my ear, squeezing the rag until trails of water dripped under my skirt. My lips parted, my hips opening, my body frozen in desire and fear. I wouldn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was too afraid of my response.
He scoffed, like he heard my thoughts. “What I thought.” His tattooed hand went back to my throat, yanking my head back.
“You are not in my league, little rabbit.” His mouth grazed my ear, his voice hoarse with venom.
“I would eat you alive. You have no idea what I am capable of, how dark I can get. I’d tear you apart, use your blood as a lubricant while I devour your heart without a thought.
” Both arms pulled me painfully tight against him.
“You want to ride my dick, kanin. I’ll gladly oblige, but you are nothing more than a thrall. One pleasing her master.” His thumb pushed down harder on my neck, stirring the fight in me, his words slicing across my gut.
“Get off,” I spat, wiggling against him.
“I can’t wait until I’m free of you.” The scruff of his beard scratched against my temple. “Where I don’t fucking feel you anymore,” he said this so quietly, I almost didn’t hear him.
His thumb scraped over the runes on my neck, sparks jolting through my body. He grunted, shoving me away, his shoulders curled like he was either ready to attack or ready to run.
“You’ll ride with Bj?rn tomorrow.” He grabbed the clothes left for him and slammed back out of the room.
I stood in the middle, my bodice hanging off my hips, skin flushed. I clutched the fresh nightgown to me, covering my chest, swallowing back a sob.
It wasn’t just the shame; it was the twisted part of me that wished he wouldn’t have given me an option. Pushed me until I broke. Took away the last moral fiber I had left in my body and forced me into the seedy darkness with him.