Page 59 of Bound to a Killer
Need for him. For this.
I’m so lost in it all that I hardly register what’s happening until it’s too late. An abrupt squawk jolts me back. Before I can react, freezing water crashes over my head, and a sharp yelp escapes me.
My arms tighten around myself in a shivering hug as Ledger watches. He’s left an inch gap after he’s pulled away, avoiding the raining downpour from the showerhead.
His eyes stay locked on me, his expression stern, like he’s angry, but his eyes burn with want. Desire. I’m standing in front of him with nothing but a soaked-through pair of cotton panties that look more transparent than opaque white thanks to the water showering over me.
The freezing stream gradually turns warm, then almost too hot to bear as he works the zipper on his jeans.
I falter as I watch him through wet lashes. The stream of water has turned everything into a blur, but I can see him as he strips down to his black briefs.
I gasp when I spot the thick, rock-hard length strainingagainst the fabric, my lip caught between my teeth as my thighs press together. A sharp jolt of need sparks low and fast.
He steps into the hot stream with me, closing the space between us until I feel the heat of his body mingling with the water washing over us.
“Did I say you can cover yourself?” he rasps, his eyes hard on mine. He doesn’t wait for me to answer as he reaches for my arm, shoving them low so I’m fully bare to him. Naked, and wet, and very aroused.
My arms tremble against my thighs despite the warmth enveloping us from the hot shower, my heart jackhammering against my chest, but the sound is drowned out by the stream plopping onto the hard tiles beneath us.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice a deep rumble. It settles low into my core. More wet heat pools between my thighs, and I’m thankful it’s masked under the water.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re shaking. When you’re scared like this.”
I don’t know how to respond. Am I trembling because I truly think he might hurt me? That he’ll drown me right under the spray the second my guard slips?
It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t give me room to respond, not even a small space to think, as he claims my lips again.
His fingers lower and circle around my pert nipples, slow and steady, but his tongue is frantic, tangling deep with mine. Another jolt hits low, sharpening the need already pulsing between my thighs.
I rock closer, pressing my pelvis into the hard outline behind his briefs. I focus only on the flick of his tongue and the tingling below, the steady ache where our bodies meet. We’re soaked. Breathless. Both of us standing in nothing but our wet underwear and my shame bottled up somewhere out of reach. My head grows heavy in the heat, the air thick with fog filling the tight space.
His fingers clamp down in a hard pinch on my nipple, snapping me out of the haze.
“Turn around.” His voice is strained and thick as it slices through the relentless percussion of droplets hitting the tile.
My eyes glisten with tears, but they’re masked by the stream pouring down from above. I bite down harder on my lip to stifle my cry as I twist around, shrinking toward the tiled wall like it might protect me.
“Don’t be shy,” he teases, his voice rough. Then a sharp slap hits me from behind, my ass cheek stinging from the assault. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To be treated like a slut?”
My throat tightens. Heart racing.
This isn’t at all what I wanted.
Fear expands in my chest, but it collides with the stubborn bud of curiosity that still clings to me, begging me not to cave into his will. It’s the one thing that keeps me from falling completely into his cruelty.
He presses in closer, his mouth grazing the curve of my ear, nipping just hard enough to make me jolt, exactly the way he wanted, intended.
That’s it.
This is whathewanted. Not what I wanted.
He’s trying to scare me, to shove me back into my quiet little corner where I never dare to lift my eyes. Where I’m too afraid to confront him, to question him, to see through the role he’s hiding behind.
He doesn’t want to face what might be lurking beneath all that control. Doesn’t want to risk the truth staring back at him after everything he’s done.
So he falls back on the only thing he knows. Intimidation. Brute dominance. His need to own me. Control the narrative. Steer away from anything that’s challenged what he’s known all his life.
But I’m not that same girl anymore.
