Page 17 of Unhinged

“Please, Taren. I don’t want to have sex with you.”

He tilts his head, amusement flashing into his dark eyes. “Who said anything about sex, little bird?”

My eyes instinctively dart to his thick cock. “It didn’t need to be said.”

He chuckles. His laugh is deep and manic. “Don’t worry. I may be attracted to you very much, but I won’t fuck you right now.”

Relief fills me as I feel my muscles relax an inch. However, my body craves this man’s touch.

“Now, be a good little bird and get in.”

I walk into the shower and under the warm, soothing spray. A moan escapes my lips as after God knows how long in that dank, disgusting cell, a shower feels like heaven.

And then I stiffen when I feel his warmth behind me, turning to face him. “I thought you said?—”

“I’m going to wash you.” He grabs a loofah off the rack on the wall and a bottle of soap, lathering it up. And then, slowly, he rubs it across my shoulders, taking time to massage the soap into my skin. He moves it over my breasts next. His touch is firm yet gentle, making goosebumps erupt all over my body. I close my eyes against the sensation, trying to control the tremors of fear and excitement coursing through me.

“What’s a bird not in the sky that can swim in the ocean and stay dry?” Taren speaks, making my heart hammer. And then he uses the loofah between my thighs, making me jolt in shock as it brushes against my clit.

My breathing becomes labored as I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t know it. Whenever I’m around this man, my mind turns blank. And especially with him touching me. It feels so apart from our roles of me being the captive and him being the captor.

Why the fuck would he wash me?

“Do you know it?” He chuckles softly. “You should, since you’re a bird.”

“No,” I breathe as he puts down the loofah and grabs a bottle of shampoo off the rack.

“Turn around.”

I do as he says, and he lathers the shampoo into my hair. His fingers massage my scalp, and an unexpected moan escapes my lips.

He groans. “The answer is a shadow.”

Why does he like to speak in riddles so much?

This man is the most intriguing and terrifying man I’ve ever met, and I hate I want to know more about him. I shouldn’t because he’s keeping me captive and holds my life in his hands.

He grabs the additional shower head and washes the shampoo from my hair. “Turn and face me,” he orders once he’s done.

I turn around to look at him, and the desire in his eyes threatens to burn me where I stand. “What now?” I murmur so quietly it’s barely audible above the water.

“Time to go.”

“Go where?” I ask.

His smirk widens. “You’ll see.”

I watch as he turns and walks out of the shower, surprised that he didn’t touch me beyond washing me. A part of me is disappointed, which is utterly fucked up. But then, I’ve been fucked up for a while now. My mind receding into the darkest depths ever since...

I draw in a deep breath, trying to forget my memories. Taren coaxes them to the surface, which scares me more than anything else. Once I leave the shower, he wraps me in a thick, luxurious white towel. He already has his own wrapped around his waist, the fabric tenting from his erection.

I nod toward him. “Aren’t you going to do something about that?” I don’t know why I ask him that, perhaps because I’m fucking crazy.

He smirks and tilts his head. “Are you offering, little bird?”

I take a step back. “No.”

His smirk drops. “Then no. I’m not a teenager. I don’t masturbate.”

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