Gently, she let go of him and stepped back. Cool air washed over his sweat-dampened spine, replacing her sultry heat, and brushed his sensitive cock, making him shiver.
She crossed the floor and reached into the bag she’d set by the door. Nick couldn’t see what she was doing, but in the silence, his brain slowly started to click back into gear.
He was suddenly more vulnerable than he’d ever been. If she wanted to hurt him, to torture him, right now he wouldn’t be able to mentally or physically prepare himself. He tensed, tried to straighten in his chains, tried to pull himself together, but his body wasn’t listening yet. The orgasm had completely wrecked him and was still pulsing through every cell and muscle.
She moved back to him, reached for the bottle she’d set on the floor, then lifted the water back to his lips. “Drink.”
He opened his mouth and swallowed the cool, refreshing liquid, keeping his eyes locked on hers, unsure what she had planned next. In her hand, she held something, something he couldn’t quite see.
“Good. That’s enough.”
She lowered the bottle, then poured the water over the object in her hand. And then, with her dark eyes locked on his, she stepped close. Seconds later, cool, wet cotton brushed over his sensitive cock, and he jerked.
Her gaze flicked down, to where she was cleaning the last remnants of his release from his body. Even though he was spent, blood still pooled in his groin with every brush of her fingers. If she noticed, she didn’t show it, just went about what she was doing in a methodical, almost clinical way. Without a word, she tucked him back into his pants, and tied them at his waist.
His brain was having trouble catching up. He kept waiting for her to lash out, to do something aggressive, to punish him in some way, but she didn’t. After tying his pants, she tossed the rag in her bag, then pushed the button near the wall. The motor in the ceiling hummed, and slack reformed in his chains, dropping his arms to his sides. He groaned at the ache in his muscles, tried to hold himself up, but his legs were weak, and he listened to his body and sank to the floor against the wall. Reaching for her bag from the floor, she slung it over her shoulder, then slid a small key into the lock on the door.
“Rest while you can,” she said without turning. “And drink.”
His gaze flicked to the water bottle she’d left within his reach, then back to her. Torchlight fell over her, highlighting blonde hair he knew wasn’t her real color, making her skin seem even darker. “I’ve no idea what time they’ll come for you tomorrow.”
She pulled the cell door open. Metal groaned. And his chest pinched when he realized she was leaving. After not punishing him like he’d expected, but pleasuring him.
“Why?”
It was the only word he could get out. His throat was thick, his brain still foggy, but none of this—none of what she’d done last night when she’d tended his wound or tonight when she’d brought him to a blistering climax—made sense.
She hesitated, one hand on the door handle, then turned her head back into the room, just enough so he could see the supple line of her jaw and the plump perfection of her lips. But she didn’t meet his eyes. And as it had before, that feeling that she was as much a prisoner as he slammed into him.
Which would be worse? To be tortured? Or to be forced to torture others and live with the knowledge of what you’ve done day after day after miserable day?
“Because I’m not the monster Zagreus is,” she whispered. “Not yet, anyway.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cynna was shaking by the time she made it back to her room.
She dropped the bag on the floor, closed the door with a snap, and leaned back against the cool wood, gasping for air.
What she’d just done… It went against everything Zagreus had commanded her to do. She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead and stopped. Nick’s scent was all over her. Her body hummed with sexual excitement and her own need for release. Watching Nick’s body shake, feeling the power of his orgasm rocket through her hand… She could only imagine what that would taste like in her mouth. What it would feel like spreading through her own body.
She lowered her hand and drew in a deep breath. She had to get his scent off her. She couldn’t keep smelling it, couldn’t keep wanting. Because wanting in this place was as dangerous as hope.
She rushed into her bathroom, didn’t bother with the light. When she reached the sink, she flipped on the water and scrubbed her hands with soap beneath the stream. It didn’t help. She could still smell him on her clothes, on her skin where she’d pressed up against his back. The only way to get rid of him was to shower. To get naked. To—
“That was… How should I put this?” a male voice said at her back. “Interesting, agapi.”
A cold gust whooshed through Cynna, bringing every thought and need and want to a bone-chilling halt.