Page 23 of Brutal Savior

Say what? He sits next to me, and the mattress dips under his weight. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to. Only I decide when you get to come. It could be ten times a day or not for a month. My choice.”

Not for a month? There’s no way I’m going to follow that stupid rule. I smile sweetly. “Of course. I understand.”

His snort tells me he’s not fooled, but who cares? That’s one thing he’ll never stop me doing.

“Right. Towel off.” He holds out his hand.

“Do you have pajamas for me?”

“Of course not.” He waits, and after a moment, I unwrap the towel and hand it over. He’s already seen me naked, so what’s the point of getting shitty about it? He uses the towel to rub the worst of the water off my hair.

“That’ll have to do for tonight. You need to sleep. Lie down.” He taps the pillow, and I realize all over again how exhausted I am. I lay my head on it, the silk cool beneath my cheek, andwatch as he carefully hangs the wet towel up in the adjoining bathroom.

Jesus fucking Christ, his body. I didn’t realize actual humans could look like that. He’s like some old Greek statue of a god, muscles chiseled out of stone. Everything is in perfect proportion, from his massive shoulders down to his tree-trunk thighs. No wonder it hurt like hell when he spanked me. He could probably punch through a metal door.

I can’t help but stare at his cock. That thing shouldn’t be legal—a weapon of mass destruction. It’s never going to fit.

And I have no choice in where it goes. A shudder runs through me as that knowledge clangs into place. He catches me looking again and smirks. I need to learn to keep my eyes on his goddamn face.

“Just lift your head up a bit, love. Need to get you fastened in.”

“What?”

He reaches behind me and pulls out a slim, circular restraint. Metal lined with soft red cushioning on the inside. “This is what you wear to sleep.”

“What? No!” I sit up, sleepiness banished.

“Quinn.” There’s a heavy note of warning in his voice. “Don’t be difficult. I’m not letting you wander around at night.”

“I won’t go anywhere. I promise. I can’t sleep in that thing.”

“You’ll get used to it. Come on. Last warning.”

I stare at the thing. Nope. Absolutely not. I launch off the bed, but Jacob is quicker. I swear he’s fucking psychic. His arm wraps around me and forces me back down to the pillow. I thrash, but he leans his weight on me, pinning me flat to the bed. I try to move, but I might as well be trapped under a car. Not an inch of movement.

I can’t stop him lifting my hair and wrapping the thing around my neck. I can’t stop it clicking shut. When it does, he sits up and watches as I claw at it, blood pounding in my ears.

If I’d felt trapped before, it’s a million times worse now. I fumble for a catch, but there isn’t one, as if he’s welded the fucking thing shut.

“How does it come off?” It's a panicked shriek.

“It’s keyed to my thumbprint. Only I can open it. Don’t worry, though. I added a fail-safe. If something goes wrong and I die in my sleep, it opens itself after twelve hours.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? Though, if he did die in his sleep, maybe I could just use his thumb and get the hell out of here.

He lies down next to me in silence. I count the seconds, and little by little, my panic eases. I’m okay. It’s just another thing to deal with. “What if I need to pee?”

“Wake me up. I’m a very light sleeper.”

There’s a good idea. Wake him up every hour until he decides the stupid collar is too much hassle and takes it off. We lie in silence for another few minutes, and incredibly, my eyes grow heavy again.

Jacob tucks the covers over me and uses a remote to dim the lights. “Sleep well, love.”

Fat chance of that.

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