“Am I free to go now? I did what you wanted. Just let me leave now.”
“That was only an audition. You still belong to me.” Smooth, warm lips drag over the pulse point. “Mine,” he husks.
I don’t know how to respond to that and it doesn’t seem Ares needs my help to continue his torture of me.
“Come.”
When I stay planted in front of the sink, he wraps his arms around my middle and cups my breasts from underneath, pressing them high through the satin of my dress.
My nipples instantly harden into tight, tortured, greedy peaks.
I lie to myself and refuse to acknowledge the buzzing I feel deep in my core has anything to do with his touch.
Ares’ nostrils flare and his gaze meets mine in the mirror with the force of a blazing inferno.
“You can do as I say, or I can make you. Your choice. But I will get what I want.”
Strong fingers find the zipper to my dress and it’s in a puddle at my feet in less than three seconds.
“As long as you are in my care you will not wear anything I haven’t provided for you.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
I’m in nothing but this dreadful thong but I can’t bring myself to care. Every inch of my body is suddenly beyond exhausted. Over my shoulder, Ares drinks in my fully nude body and he slowly wraps an arm around me just below my ample breasts. His dark hair hangs over a section of his forehead and gives him a softer look. He’s a good foot taller than me in those biker boots.
Standing like this I fit directly beneath his chin. Remnants of his morning aftershave linger and I draw in the masculine scent.
“Step out,” he gruffly instructs and I do. No questions. When he moves me beneath the hot water of the shower, I feel a wave of life pull me to the surface. I didn’t realize how cold my body was until the jets of warmth seep into my muscles.
I grab for the shampoo bottle but he takes it from my trembling fingers.
“Under my care means just that.”
The last remnants of pride wash away with the soap suds. My true reality is setting in. No matter how hard I want to fight it. My life is his to do with as he pleases. For now. Let me catch a breather. A shower, a change of clothes. Maybe something to eat if I’m lucky. I can kick ass and run better in my boots than I can in that dress anyway.
He loosens the braid Devil put in my hair and works a deep lather, massaging my scalp until I would admittedly agree to do anything this man asks of me at that moment. He applies the conditioner and rinses my hair fully before moving on to the rest of me.
I want to dredge up fits of fight and wrangle my rebellion back from the sidelines, but it’s not happening. Two days of pure adrenaline cranking through my bloodstream has left me washed out.
“You’ve done this before. Come on. You can tell me. How many women have you bought and kept here as pets?”
Surprise surprise the mafia monster man doesn’t answer.
He moves to the soap next and at this point, I just don’t care about modesty. He grabs for a body gel and smooths his rough hands over my arms, shoulders, and down my sore calves. Years of callus build-up feels better than any plush bath sponge I’ve ever purchased.
He takes his time washing my feet and inspecting the few cuts and bruises from my fruitless attempts at escaping last night.
He’s back to standing and moves his hands beneath my breasts, taking the weight expertly. My head falls back against his shoulder. He caresses them, massaging and working me with his long fingers. Under his captivating touch, my nipples turn rock hard. With a far gentler touch than I expect from a man of his nature, he turns me to face him. I look on as he squeezes out more soap and gently takes the weight of my breasts in his hands again and this time he rubs those palms over my nipples.
“Let me wash away the bad memories,malyshka.Just close your eyes and let me do this for you.”
He moves lower and stops halfway to the apex of my thighs. I try to stifle a moan but what’s the use. This feels good. I’m here. He’s got me right where he wants me and there’s not a damn thing I can do. Might as well enjoy it right? What that makes me I have no idea. I don’t exactly know what to do.
“What is this?”
He brushes a soaped-up thumb over black ink placed just above my pelvic bone.