Page 10 of Silent Ties

“Um.” My arm is at an awkward angle. I didn’t shove myself into this dress all on my own.

He grabs me by the waist, spinning me lightly, his fingers making easy work of the various zippers and buttons that glue the material to my skin. Skin which flushes each time his fingers meet my back. I should not like the zips jolting through me.

He pushes me toward the bath, which I shakily climb into, while he finishes undressing.

My face is hot from the steam. Definitely hot from the steam and not the giant cock he reveals when he steps out of his briefs. He motions for me to move forward and settles into the tub.

He grabs me by the shoulders, wrenching me back so I lean against his chest. “Relax. It’s been a long day.”

Awkwardly quiet takes on a whole new meaning when you’re sitting naked in the bath with a stranger.

I understand aftercare, being washed off after a satisfying encounter.

But this is wrong. Dare I say too intimate as the water gently ripples when he moves a hand. There’s a delicate splash as he lifts his hand, his finger swirling against the skin of my stomach.

“Let’s wash the day away.”

Get it over with, I want to grumble instead.

He continues the methodical swirls along my skin. His finger drifts from my belly, up along my ribcage. To the swell of my breast.

My back arches when he plucks at a nipple.

“Calm down, Mrs. Zimin,” he whispers in my ear. The cold bastard finally sounds amused.

“I can wash myself off.” I fumble for a bottle on the side of the tub, the item practically flying through the air in my chaos.

He tsks in my ear, pulling me back to his chest.

“Relax.”

Nobody relaxes when they’re ordered to.

But I try, more so because I don’t want to breathe like a crazy person, though my lungs struggle for air.

His fingers smooth down my skin again, dipping under the water and lower and lower.

Watersloshes when my back arches as he strokes me down there.

“Um.” No other words make it out of my mouth when the finger goes up and down my folds. It’s no longer the delicate pattern. And when he presses a finger inside my cunt my back arches even more.

“Sensitive,” he remarks, another finger pressing in. “Tell me did Marissa choose you for that very reason?”

I don’t answer. My fingers wrap around the edge of the bathtub.

“Stop fighting it,” he soothes, another finger pressing inside me.

I knew his mask of calm hid the devil. His fingers hit a spot and my head rolls back. Looking up through dark lashes, I spot those dark eyes staring down at me.

He has no intention of taking it easy on me. He’s proving a point.

“Wait,” I blurt out. “Please.”

“Please what?” His strokes don’t slow.

“I need. . .”to calm the fuck down.Why the fuck am I enjoying three fingers in me when I just met this man. Shit, if there’s barely any warm-up now, what’s my life going to be like?

Hell. It’s going to be hell.

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