Enslaved

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Warmth unfurled in her stomach as he moved closer. And oh, gods, she had to put a stop to this. But before she could find the words, he dropped to his knees and reached for the button at her waistband.

  Chapter Ten

  Beside Gryphon, Maelea tensed. Her hands landed against his bare shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. And when he unzipped her boots and slid her pants down her legs, tugging both off in one fluid motion, she didn’t try to stop him.

  His gaze traveled up her bare legs as he tossed her clothes on the ground at his side, hovered on the nude-colored panties she wore, which weren’t sexy in the least but made his blood pulse hot in his veins. Then traveled over her flat stomach to the swell of her breasts hidden behind the plain nude fabric of her bra.

  He cringed at the bruises he saw on her skin, but in the light couldn’t help but notice curves he’d felt in the tunnels. Her stomach quivered and memories of that kiss, of how warm and alive she’d been against him, rushed through his mind, reigniting an arousal he hadn’t felt in months.

  Except with her.

  He pushed to his feet, looked down at her face, and saw the unease in her eyes. Then ground his teeth against the desire burning in his veins. He hadn’t lied to her. Even though he was keeping her with him against her will, he wouldn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do. He’d never give her the nightmares he lived with on a daily basis.

  Grasping her hand, he tugged her toward the tub. He pushed the curtain aside, flipped on the water, waited for it to warm, then turned on the shower.

  Steam filled the room. Maelea grew tense all over again as he stepped beneath the spray and pulled her in after him, drawing the curtain closed behind her. Water soaked the boxer briefs he still wore, plastered them to his body. As he moved aside to make room for her under the spray, he forced himself not to look at her bra. Instead he let go of her hand and reached for the soap.

  He rubbed the bar between his hands until it created a lather, then brushed his fingers over her shoulders.

  She jumped, tried to move back, but the shower wall stopped her momentum. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “Washing you.” He trailed soap down her biceps, back up again. Bubbles formed a frothy path along her skin that shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

  “I can wash myself.”

  “Relax.”

  Her mouth snapped shut. She didn’t fight him, only stood rigid with her arms wrapped around her middle as he moved the bar down her chest and over to her side. Though he knew he shouldn’t be touching her, knew she was throwing off every I don’t like this or you sign in the book, he didn’t stop himself because any kind of distraction was better than waiting for the bloody voice to come back. And taking charge also guaranteed they’d be in and out of this shower as fast as possible, which was all he wanted right now.

  He soaped her neck, her collarbone, moved his hands in quick, clinical sweeps. And managed to remain somewhat detached until his gaze hovered on a path of bubbles sliding down her pale skin. The soapy mass disappeared beneath the edge of her bra, and before he could stop them, his eyes dropped to her dark pink areolas, easily discernible behind the now-translucent fabric, then finally lingered on the hard nubs of her nipples.

  Blood rushed to his groin. That arousal roared in his veins. Without thinking, he trailed his hands down the outsides of her breasts, pushed her arms aside and rubbed the soapy lather all over her soft, silky abdomen and down to her perfectly flared hips.

  She drew in a startled breath but he didn’t look at her face, was suddenly too entranced by her body. His gaze slid farther south, to her wet panties, to the dark vee of hair now easily seen behind the thin satin fabric. To that place he desperately wanted to see more of.

  His cock grew thick and hard as he studied each gorgeous inch of her body. As he remembered what she’d felt like in that cave, how she’d tasted against his tongue. And in the silent steam circling his head, he knew without a doubt that he wanted her. More than he had before. More than he’d fathomed possible when he’d decided to pull her into this shower in the first place.

  Common sense told him to get the hell out right now, but he ignored it, wanting only to prolong this moment. He dropped to his knees, dragged the bar of soap across one hip and down her thigh. She sucked in another breath and held it, then gently rested her hands against his shoulders as if trying to balance. And this close, with the only sound the rush of water from above, he caught her scent. Jasmine and…the sharp tang of her own arousal.

  His gaze darted up in surprise. Her eyes were closed. Her lips tightly compressed. Against his shoulders, her hands tensed as he continued to rub soap all over her legs, but she didn’t push him away. And when his fingers brushed her inner thighs, she moaned.

  Holy hell. She was as turned on as he was. The realization made his balls tingle; shot an image of him sliding off her panties, brushing his fingers against her most sensitive flesh ricocheting through his mind until it was all he could focus on.

  No. No. He couldn’t do that. He’d promised her he wouldn’t.

  Swallowing against the urge, he pushed to his feet. Knew he needed to finish this and refocus. “Turn around.”

  She let go of his shoulders, did as he said without a word. And then it was his turn to groan. It had been too dim to see well in the caves but in the fluorescent glow of the bathroom he got his first good look at what he’d only barely had his hands on earlier. Strong toned shoulders, a slim waist, and a firm, tight ass he definitely shouldn’t be staring at now.

  Shower…shower…think about showering. Not sex. Definitely not sex. This is about getting clean. Not getting off.

  Heat seared his skin, sent sweat slicking his forehead. He swept the soap over her spine harsher than he intended, and only barely brushed her backside before turning her around again. And though he tried not to notice the pink tinge to her cheeks that said she knew exactly what he’d been thinking, he couldn’t ignore the way her eyes remained tightly shut as if she couldn’t stand to face him. As if she were repulsed by him. As if he were every bit the monster she believed him to be.

  The arousal he’d felt before swept out on a wave. A mixture of disappointment and anger rushed in to fill the void. What did he expect? That she’d like his touch? That she’d want him after everything he’d done? He really was psychotic if he thought she’d ever see him as a man. Clenching his jaw, he ran the soap down her arms to her fingers, all the while calling himself a fucking idiot, then faltered when he caught sight of the fine white lines all over the soft skin of her inner arms.

  Scars? He couldn’t tell. But a glance at her face told him now—when she clearly only wanted to get as far away from him as possible—was not the time to ask.

  He slapped the bar in her hands. “Hold this.”

  Large, onyx eyes peered up at him as he poured shampoo from the travel bottle on the side of the shower into his palm and lathered her hair. Eyes he tried like hell to ignore. Eyes that dragged at his attention because they were so damn mesmerizing.

  He ground his teeth together, focused on his task. But when her hands landed against his forearms, heat ricocheted through his body all over again. And the groan that slipped from her lips nearly made him come out of his skin.

  Gods, the sounds she made. His hands stilled in her soapy hair. He chanced a look at her face, saw her eyes were closed once more. But this time pleasure, not pain, coated her features. And his cock grew hard once more with the prospect of hearing her moan like that when he was touching her elsewhere. When he was kissing her. When he was inside her.

  No sex. No sex. Nooooooo sex.

  “Tip your head back,” he said between clenched teeth.

  He quickly rinsed the lather from her hair. Took the soap from her hand and turned away so she couldn’t see the erection pushing against his soaked boxer briefs. As
rapidly as he could, he lathered his chest and stomach. Told himself to remember why the hell he was keeping her with him. Not for his own perverse pleasure, but so he could think.

  He leaned forward, cringed at the pain in his dick and scrubbed the grime from his legs. After lathering his face, he set the bar in the dish, then stepped sideways around her to reach the spray. Water sluiced over his cheeks, did shit to cool him down. He rubbed his eyes, then froze when small hands landed softly against his back.

  She was touching him. Holy gods she was touching him and he hadn’t asked. Or ordered. Or even begged. Soap slid over his skin, ran up his spine, then across his shoulders. Her fingers were small and dainty, her touch gentle. Gooseflesh jumped out all over his skin while his pulse pumped hard and that erection he’d worked to deflate came roaring back.

  “Wh—what are you doing?” he asked.

  “Helping.” She set the soap down, reached for the shampoo he’d used on her. “Turn around and lean forward. I can’t reach your hair.”

  His pulse turned to a roar in his ears. He knew he shouldn’t, that it was a bad idea to let her touch him any more than she already had, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from turning. At the last second some sense of decency shot through him, and he bent forward at the hips so she couldn’t see the effect she had on him. Her fingers slid into his hair. His curled into his palms so he wouldn’t react to her. But when her nails raked his scalp, tingles rushed all down his spine, sending a shiver over his skin he couldn’t contain.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  Gods, no. Her hands felt good. So good, he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. He managed a quick shake of his head, braced one hand against the wall so he wouldn’t fall. Tried not to lose it from so little contact. But damn, she looked like a wet dream, smelled like a fantasy. And her hands…they were pure heaven.

  “Tip your head back,” she said.

  His eyes slid closed at the husky timbre of her voice. He didn’t care anymore if she saw he had the mother of all hard-ons. He was lost in an erotic fantasy he didn’t want to wake up from. Of this beautiful creature touching, lathering, caressing every inch of his skin. Water ran down his face and dribbled across his back. Her delicate fingers landed on his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. His skin tingled with the need for her touch elsewhere…everywhere. As he imagined those hands sliding down his stomach and into his boxers. Wrapping about his—

  Her gasp jolted him out of his fantasy. He shook the water from his eyes, moved out from under the spray and looked down. Then nearly groaned all over again when he found her eyes wide, her mouth open in a small O, and her gaze locked solidly on his hips.

  Electrical currents rushed under his skin, made his blood hotter, his cock harder. The draw to her was so strong that the urge to reach for her overwhelmed him. But something held him back. It wasn’t just that he’d promised he wouldn’t, it was the knowledge that as soon as he did he wouldn’t be able to stop, whether she begged him to or not.

  Fire sizzled along his skin as water ran over his body, left him achy and hot. But he couldn’t leave yet either. Feet firmly rooted against the base of the tub, he watched her throat work as she swallowed, as she licked her kiss-me lips and continued to slide her electric gaze over his body. His balls tightened as that gaze lifted, as it hovered on his lips. And he held his breath and waited, expecting the worst, hoping it would be what he needed to cool him out. But he didn’t see fear in their dark depths when they locked with his. He saw desire. And hunger. And the same damn heat that was scorching him from the inside out.

  “Maelea…” Her name left his lips before he could stop it. His hand lifted to touch her as if it had a mind of its own.

  A knock sounded at the outer door. His hand froze halfway to her hip. Her head swiveled toward the sound and her eyes widened as if she’d just remembered where they were. And before Gryphon could figure out a way to draw her attention back to him, a voice called, “I’ve got your food.”

  Maelea’s shocked gaze shot back to his. She took a step back, quickly crossed her arms over her body as if the sound had broken some trance. And in the steam and silence that remained, disappointment rushed through Gryphon all over again, followed by the sharp, swift slap of reality.

  Skata. What the hell was he doing? He’d been about to touch her, about to kiss her as he’d stupidly done in that cave. He really was losing his ever-loving mind if he’d so easily been entranced by her in the timespan of one measly shower.

  He jerked the curtain open harder than necessary, stepped out, then yanked the plastic closed behind him, leaving her alone in the running shower. No protest echoed from the tub. And the fact that she didn’t seem to care if he came or went pissed him off more than if she’d flat out rejected him.

  “Finish up,” he snapped as he wrapped a towel around his hips, cursing himself and that darkness that still lingered inside him. The darkness that was controlling him, even now. “You’ve got five minutes before I haul you out myself.”

  ***

  What in all the gods’ names was she doing?

  Maelea scrubbed the wet hair back from her face and closed her eyes tight. Good gods, she’d touched him. She’d rubbed his back. When he’d turned around and she’d seen that monster erection, she’d almost…

  Nope. Not going there. Not even remembering it.

  She flipped the water to cold and stood under the stream until her skin chilled and a scream built in her throat. She was not falling for her kidnapper. What did the news call it? Stockholm syndrome. That was it. When hostages twist events around in their minds until they have empathy for their captors. Gods, she was not that stupid. It didn’t matter that he’d saved her life in that tunnel…or that he’d killed those daemons before they had a chance to get to her. Or even that he’d gotten them away from those hellhounds. He hadn’t done that for any noble reason other than the fact he needed her for something.

  A shiver ran down her back, so she turned the water back to warm. She could hear Gryphon talking to the kid out in the hall. He was probably mind-washing the boy again. Now there was a noble and heroic act if she ever saw one.

  She picked up the soap and washed her entire body, needing to clean away Gryphon’s touch, to wash away any memory of his fingers brushing her skin. Relief bubbled through her at the knowledge he wasn’t going to rape her. He’d had ample time in the shower and hadn’t made a move. In fact, he hadn’t been aroused at all until she took the soap and started washing his back. Calling herself ten kinds of stupid all over again for that brilliant move, she scrubbed harder, cursing that miserable darkness inside that was so obviously attracted to him. He was psychotic, unbalanced, and he’d kidnapped her, for crying out loud. She had the bruises to prove it. Needed her? Bullshit. What he needed was a good, swift kick to the head. Preferably from steel-toed boots. He needed—

  Her fingers stilled.

  Did it really matter what he needed from her? As long as it wasn’t sexual, she was safe—for the time being. But between that kiss in the caves and this shower, it was obvious he was attracted to her as much as—no, more than—she was attracted to him. Why, she didn’t know. Whether it was her or just the fact she was the first female to get close to him in months didn’t matter. She could use that attraction to her advantage, if she was careful.

  But…damn. She bit her lip as the warm water beat down on her body. She was so not good at the seduction game. It’d been years—way too many—since she tried to seduce a man. She’d given up sex when she realized relationships—even the short ones—caused too many complications and put her and those she even remotely tried to care about at too much risk. Keeping to herself had served her far better over the years than a few mind-shattering orgasms ever could.

  But he didn’t know she sucked at seduction. After all, he’d been hard as stone after just a few minutes in the shower with her. A
nd the way he’d kissed her in the tunnels like a man starved…well, hell. He was one, technically. He’d been in the Underworld for three months—no sexual pleasure there—then locked in his room at the colony for the two after that. She seriously doubted he’d had any kind of female contact of late. The females at the colony were too scared of him even to go near his door.

  Which meant…she could do this.

  Her pulse picked up speed as the idea took root. So long as she gave him just enough so he didn’t handcuff her again, she could trick him. It didn’t necessarily mean she had to have sex with him. She just had to…satiate him. Then she could figure out a way to escape.

  All kinds of images flashed in her mind. Ways she could pleasure him. What he’d look like in the moment of release. What he’d sound like. What he’d feel like. And they all started with him naked, as he’d been moments before in this shower. Except this time without those soaking-wet boxer briefs.

  Her blood ran hot, and her own arousal trickled from her stomach lower to spread between her thighs. Still remembering what Gryphon had looked like, how hard and hot and turned on he’d been from so very little contact, she brushed a hand against her aching breast, then lower to her stomach, her fingers heading for the spot that was now throbbing with the need for her own release.

  The shower curtain jerked open. Maelea jumped and dropped the soap. Gryphon glared at her from the other side of the tub. “What the hell are you still doing in here? Time’s up. Rinse and get out.”

  Her adrenaline surged. He stared at her with heated, knowing eyes. Eyes that seemed to sense what she’d been about to do. Eyes, she noticed as she looked closer, that were filled with frustration.

  “I…Okay,” she managed.

  He frowned, then his gaze traveled the length of her body, and when they lingered on her breasts and she saw the heat that erupted in his light blue eyes, she knew that frustration was purely sexual.