Page 75 of Oathbreaker

I was so scared I’d be shit at it. Plus, it’s a trigger for me.

But when he lost control, pumping in and out of my mouth, I prided myself on how I could swallow him. I felt powerful. I felt electric.

I felt seen. Cherished.

The rough plastic whispers over the tips of my breasts, and I allow myself to linger.

This feeling is safe.

I run it up my neck and over my arms, leaning into the sensations of the material on my skin.

This feeling is safe.

I put my right foot on the ledge and trace the loofah up my flesh to wash my leg. I take a moment to stop at the crude apple Adam carved into my skin. The marks fade more and more each day—I’m religious about applying the prescribed cream—but the scars remain visible to anyone who looks close enough.

He’s not here. You are safe.

I trace the path down my leg and up my inner thighs. I switch to the other leg, repeating the pattern.

Then I bring the loofah to my womanhood. I rub it in circles over my mound, whispering it over my lower lips. When my walls clench, I screw my eyes shut.

The only person I see is Hunter.

Flashes of us before race through my mind.

Hunter looking up from me as he ate me on my kitchen island. Hunter holding me in his arms while we slept. Hunter smiling at me with that happy grin he always gives me after we made love at the country club.

I step back into the stream, rinsing myself off. I take a few breaths, trying to calm my body, but then I remember the first time he and I made love. I remember how powerful I felt as I claimed him, and he claimed me. I remember the power of choosing when and how it would happen. I remember how he held me as I ushered in a new phase of my femininity.

It was so beautiful. It was everything.

Hunter.

I use my finger to glide over my clit. It zings in response, and my other hand squeezes my breast, focusing on my nipple.

This feeling is safe. You are so safe.

I moan. Loudly. Rubbing my clit and squeezing my nipple, I stumble back until I’m sitting on the bench at the far side of the shower, away from the stream.

Opening my legs wider, I let myself dive into these sensations.

I moan again, and then I allow a word to fall from my lips. A name. “Hunter.”

“Winter.”

My eyes snap open, and I jerk my head to the left to look outside the glass doors. Hunter stands at the entry to the bathroom, one hand gripping the door.

“What are you doing here?” I say on a gasp. A small part of me realizes I still have my hands on my breast and pussy. Through the steam, I track the movement of his Adam’s apple.

“It’s six-thirty. I brought you breakfast.” Just as he always does.

“Th-thank you, H,” I pant out, unsure where to go from here. My clit hums beneath my finger, beckoning me to continue rubbing it until I explode.

He looks at me, silent, but his knuckles flex against the wood door. I don’t dare look to see if he’s hard.

“You moaned my name,” he says, his voice so low it grates against my skin.

I start to shake.

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