It’s the least he could do, but at the same time, it feels like a gift. It also feels like a test, and I have no clue what the right answer is. I’m terrified of the consequences if I fail.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I reach for them, my eyes locked on his.
“I’ll take the damp towel,” he says when I try to pull the soft t-shirt over my head with it still wrapped around my chest.
I hand it over quickly before going back to getting dressed.
I feel his eyes on me as I lift the shirt over my head. They don’t leave me as I slip my legs into the sweats he offers me.
He chuckles, a sinister sound, when I pull the drawstring so tight the effort hurts my hands.
We’re both well aware that a simple pair of sweats wouldn’t impede his ability to take anything from me.
While he’s distracted, hanging the towel back up, I dart my eyes all over the room. I need to find something I can use to defend myself. I’ll go insane if this continues much longer, but I come up empty.
I’d call his décor style minimal because there isn’t a single thing in here that would help me.
My eyes land on the cabinet beside the sink. It’s possible he has a razor in there, but I get the feeling a couple of slashes will only piss him off.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask against the argument in my head to just keep my mouth shut.
He turns, his face emotionless. “Do you want me to hurt you?”
“What?” I scrunch my nose up in distaste. “Of course not.”
“You say that like there aren’t people who like a little pain.”
I’m not completely ignorant to the things that go on in the world. I own a computer and a television for Christ’s sake, but him even hinting that I’d be okay with him touching me much less hurting me is absurd.
I realize as he steps around me to unhook the chain from the shower floor that even if I had a weapon, I’d still be trapped. I could kill the man, and the outcome would still be my death because I don’t know the combination to the lock at my throat.
I follow him back into the bedroom, feeling utterly hopeless and defeated.
Chapter 9
Liam
Her compliance doesn’t help at all. If anything, it’s making the situation worse.
I still hear the echo of her begging in my head as she follows close behind me to the middle of the room.
I don’t say a word as I crouch and reconnect the chain to the eyebolt in the floor. I don’t spend an extra second before leaving the room.
I can’t stay in there with her, seeing her naked. Knowing what she looks like completely bared to the skin was almost too much for me to handle.
I’m hard as stone in my sweats as I walk down the hallway, taking the first right into my home gym.
I don’t prep my hands the way I normally would. I don’t wrap them in tape before the first punch lands on the punching bag. I want to rage and scream but doing so would only alert her to the emotions that I can’t seem to control.
I do my best to ignore my cock. I know it was sick to watch her shower, to insist that she strip naked in front of me. I know it was demented. I know how fucked up I am for what I wanted from her.
I’ve never crossed that line with a woman before…ever. I’m not saying I’m not capable, because I’m not accustomed to lying to myself.
What pisses me off the most is that Iwantto fuck her. I don’t know if I want compliance and whimpers of pleasure, or if I want screams of pain.
I don’t know if I want her to fight back or if I want her to give in. All I know is I want her, and that pisses me off beyond measure. I shouldn’t want those things from her.
Wanting her that way makes me no better than the men I don’t hesitate to kill while working. I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in a man’s head if I walked into his house for a job and saw him doing exactly what I had just done. I didn’t touch her, and maybe that’s a win.