Page 182 of Rage

He stalks over, kneeling next to the bath to begin at the nape of my neck and work his way down my back. “Want to tell me why you left in an Uber but came back in a taxi?” he questions as I turn my head to look at him, his mask illuminated in the dimmed light of the bathroom. I can see slight strokes of grey in the black paint that I missed before.

“I’d rather not be embarrassed twice in one night,” I reply. He pauses before dunking the cloth in the water and raising it to the front of my neck, slowly working it down. Our eyes meet when he stops right above my breasts, and I nod to give him the go-ahead. When he runs the cloth over my right breast, he clears his throat, and I can feel my nipples harden at his touch.

“Tell me what happened. That’s an order, Duchess, not a request.”

After a moment of tense silence, I spill my word vomit about what happened, as if he’s Janna and we’re gossiping about drama at work. I can feel his hands moving as he washes the rest of my body, stopping to glance at me while I speak. But when I finish, I notice his hands resting in the water right above my leg. Our gazes connect again before his fingers slowly move toward my inner thigh.

“And did you end things with him? That family?”

His words cut through me—not because of his language, but because I’m embarrassed to tell him I let them speak to me that way. I let Ross sit there while his mother berated me like I was a worthless piece of trash.

I swallow as his fingers reach the apex of my thighs.

“You haven’t stopped me yet,” he states with a tilt of his head. “If you want me to stop, you need to speak…now.”

Memories of hearing Ross' secretary in the background of our late-night phone calls while he’s at the office briefly play in my head before I realize I don’t give a fuck anymore. Everyone on this earth might think I’m stupid, and it’s partially my faultfor following along in their game. But I know what my fiancé does behind my back, and I’m done being the one fucked over. The one being used like cattle in a field to save the hungry.

I’m hungry.

I want the salvation.

My breathing turns rapid as my hand grips his forearm. “Take the mask off,” I say breathlessly, and he shakes his head no. “At least tell me your name,” I plead, and again he declines before beginning to pull his hand away. I grip his forearm once more and pull his hand to hover over the area I know will definitely be considered cheating. “You signed the card with the flowers. Can I call you Z?” I ask, and he nods his head.

We stare at each other for eternity before his opposite hand grabs the back of my neck and the fingers of the other slide down to plunge into my entrance, leaving me stunned as I inhale a sharp breath.

This is definitely considered cheating.

Regardless of my realization, I never open my mouth to tell him to stop. His massive fingers drive into me repeatedly, stopping every so often for him to rub my most sensitive spot before pulling them achingly close to the edge of my entrance and rubbing my clit in perfect time with his thumb.

“Are you ever going to realize what you’re capable of? What a woman like you deserves?” he asks, anger lacing his words. When I don’t answer, his grip on the back of my neck tightens before he forces me underwater with one violent, quick push. I fight to bring my head back above the surface as he thrusts two fingers back inside me, effortlessly driving me to the edge of my release. Then, just as quickly as he started, he stops and pulls me up for air, still gripping the nape of my neck.

I gasp for air as I fight to speak. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

“I can be,” he retorts. “Leave him, Mavis.”

My eyes blow wide at his statement.

“You think I didn’t notice the heavy makeup only below your left eye? When did he hit you? I’ll fucking kill him. Tell me it was him so I can break his neck,” he lashes out. When I don’t answer, he thrusts me back under the water as I claw at his arms.

This time, I’m under for much longer as his thumb makes tiny circles around my clit, adding just the right amount of pressure for me to climb the ladder of my climax. As I flail every extremity and my lungs beg for any amount of air, my vision begins to blur, my limbs slowly going limp.

Just when I thought he was going to let me drift away into the abyss, he plunges three fingers into me and brings me up for air at the same time. “What do you want, Mavis?” he screams from beside me. I know what I want, but I’m afraid to speak life into it. He yells his question again, startling me from my thoughts. “Have it your way then,” he says before preparing to force me underwater again, but my arms fly out, gripping the sides of the tub.

“I want them to burn,” I scream as we both pause, our heavy breathing filling the silent void. I turn to look at those deep, green eyes again, now filled with fire and desire. “I want themallto burn. I want to take control of my life back.”

He nods in understanding before his fingers work their way into my pussy again, a moan escaping before I can stop it. His other hand releases my neck as he begins working my nipples, pinching and releasing them with the perfect amount of pain. The pairing of pain and pleasure is my undoing as I begin to squirm at his touch and his fingers curl inside of me at the perfect angle. I involuntarily arch my back and the orgasm that ripples through every inch of my body is a feeling I’ve never experienced. My ears ring with my screams as I finally teeter over the top and free-fall at his mercy.

Trying to fill my lungs with air while my heart beats out of my chest from the adrenaline of my orgasm has me seeing starsas he effortlessly lifts me from the bathtub, soaking his clothes in the process. He places me on the vanity chair in the bathroom as he wraps a towel around my body to dry me off. My heavily lidded eyes rise to look at the man who just gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my twenty-eight years of life.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

He stops his work before his hard eyes set on me. Raising the towel to wipe underneath my left eye, he reveals the bruise I had worked so hard to hide from the world and curses behind the mask.

“Because that was never my intention. This right here,” he says, while running his thumb over the tender bruise. “This will lead to a much darker place, one without the release at the end.”

Tears fall from my eyes for the twentieth time in one day. Taking the towel, my masked stalker wipes them away before he helps me stand and leads me to the bed, clasping my hand in his. Not once does he ogle my body as I stand naked before him. Instead, he pulls the covers back to let me crawl in and tugs them over me once I’m settled.

Grabbing the tv remote from my dresser, he skims the menu until he finds Hulu and searches for something specific. My breathing catches when he finishes typing in the search bar. I bite my bottom lip to refrain from saying the wrong thing as he hits play andThe O.C.blares from the tv speakers.

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