His eyes never leaving mine, he ran two fingers down my exposed shoulder and along the side of my breast. “Touching you,” he admitted, his voice soft, his hands drawing circles on my needy skin.
I liked it. It made me feel alive as I teetered on the cliff of madness. I closed my eyes and bit my lip to stifle any sound that might betray my thoughts. I pictured his touch like a flame and myself like a piece of paper reduced to ashes under the pads of his very capable fingers. Not good. I searched my mind for any remnants of hatred or repulsion, but his touch must have turned those emotions to ash too.
His breath hovered near the tip of my breast and…what the fuck? My nipples pebbled. If he touched me, I’d explode. Air escaped my mouth in uneven, jagged pants, and I didn’t know whether it was from arousal, fear, self-loathing, or just an all-around mind fuck.
Then, he did it. He captured the tip of my nipple with his mouth as he shoved the robe off my other shoulder. I expelled a long, guttural breath and my back arched of its own volition. I was like a stupid zebra offering my heart to the lion for a Sunday afternoon snack by the water hole. I blamed my reaction on temporary insanity brought on by extreme stress.
“Do you like this?” he asked as his mouth shifted to my other nipple and drew the peak into his mouth with a hard suck. And reminiscent of the last time he touched me, both pleasure and pain swirled together creating something bigger…better. “Do you want me to continue?”
My brain scrambled to process his question, but it came up empty. I should’ve been focused on a plan of escape, but Ryker’s attentions didn’t leave room for plotting. Instead, I concentrated on the heat of his mouth, branding my sensitive flesh, speculating what his mouth would feel like pressed on other parts of my body.
He parted my thighs and positioned himself between them. I should’ve pushed him away, but I spread them further, rolling out the welcome mat. Come and get me. I’m so stupid.
His hand slid from my breast all the way down my stomach, hovering, teasing, and waiting for I didn’t know what. Then, I remembered I never answered his question, and I wouldn’t. I’d never give voice to my lust for him. Never.
One of my hands found his shoulder and the other circled his wrist, sliding it lower. He resisted, and I felt like dying. And then his eyes caught mine, holding me hostage. “Answer,” he murmured, his finger dipping less than an inch lower.
I shook my head. “I can’t say it.” My eyes pleaded with him, locking us in a silent tug of war. Eyes flashed. Lips curled. No other words were exchanged. He refused to give me what I wanted, and I refused to give him what he wanted. I would have rather burned up in flames than surrendered the last sliver of my dignity to him.
Just when I convinced myself he’d leave me unfulfilled, he dropped to his knees, and I whimpered realizing exactly what he planned to do. His tongue grazed the length of my slick entrance and a surge of forbidden electricity ripped through my body. “Oh,” I moaned as my head fell forward. At that instant, my body welcomed the diversion he promised in his wicked gaze.
He licked, nibbled, and everything between until I became a boneless, moaning version of myself I didn’t recognize. I pressed my eyes closed, so I didn’t have a visual to go with my body’s betrayal of my soul. I couldn’t explain why I let him—no, begged him to do this—but the words or desire to stop him evaded me, shimmering so far out of reach I had no choice but to surrender.
Lost in the moment, I lifted my hips to encourage him. I started to slip off the counter, but his hands dug into my hips, shoving me back until my back hit the mirror. His finger circled my sex, and I clenched so tight the sugary bliss of pleasure spiraled through me, but it didn’t compare to the second when he closed his mouth over me again, stealing my very essence. My body no longer belonged to me.
Tremors cascaded down my spine, and any last ounce of willpower I possessed splintered into a million pieces. Desperate, I buried my hands in his hair, squirming toward him, making sure he didn’t renege on the promises he made with every indecent stroke of his tongue and flick of his skilled fingers.
Blood pounded through my head, and I forgot everything but the wildfire raging inside of me. Then, out of nowhere, he slid two fingers inside of me, and I came apart. My body shook with spasms of pleasure so deep that I felt it in my bones. Every time I thought it was over, another tremor rocked through me until I was utterly exhausted.
And there it was…another orgasm courtesy of Ryker, my captor. My enemy. My tormentor. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for the guilt and self-loathing to swallow me. Unbidden, tears erupted from my eyes, and emotionally, I was right back where I started after Ignacio cut me; except now, everything was worse. Much worse.
I inhaled, trying to pull giant mouthfuls of air into my lungs, but it felt as though a vise grip was slowly, inexorably tightening around my chest with every passing tick of the clock.
“Nice work,” I snarled, shoving him away from me with wild, shaky hands. I stuffed my arms through the discarded robe, squeezing it closed at the base of my neck as though it were a bulletproof vest, sheltering the last pieces of my dignity from his eyes.
He wiped the tears from my face with the palm of his hand, and at any other time, with any other guy, I might have believed the gesture was thoughtful…romantic even. The little I knew of Ryker told me there was a far simpler answer. Most likely, he didn’t appreciate the inconvenience of my tears.
“Work?” he questioned, his voice deceptively soft, his gray eyes mesmerizing.
“Yeah, like the night at the bar you used sex to distract me.” My body trembled from the overwhelming emotions poisoning my mind and body.
“Did it work?”
With those words, he destroyed me. Silence would have been better than that. My flash of angry rebellion melted into pathetic sobs. I dropped my head to my chest, and my arms circled my body, trying to hold the shattered pieces of my soul together. I’d rather he sliced me with a knife over and over than use sexual warfare as his weapon of choice. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around me, comforting me, and I let him. Slowly, he rocked me back and forth for I didn’t know how many agonizing seconds, then carried me once again to his bed.
The minute my body touched the mattress, I curled into a ball, a limp effigy of my former self. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world around me and welcoming the darkness whispering my name.