by Esme Devlin
The sound of the water is different now, signaling he’s standing under it. He drops my hand, I’m assuming so he can wash himself, and I stand just before the threshold letting the hot steam engulf me. Getting in there with him feels like crossing over some invisible boundary. The last time I did that, he left me.
I’m not so eager to be burnt by him twice, even if he claims I’ll never leave his sight again.
He lets me be for a few moments, saying nothing, before he moves toward me.
“What’s wrong, sweet girl? You are scared of water now?”
I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes at him. He wouldn’t be able to see it, anyway. Clearly, I have showered since the day I nearly drowned. Clearly, he knows this. “I’m not scared of the water,” I tell him. “Rather what’s in the water.”
He laughs at that. ”Quite right, too. But you do need to be cleaned, and right now I have the only means available of providing that for you.”
“That seems to be the story of our lives, doesn’t it?”
He lets out an amused laugh, and I hear the water fall in heavy thrashes as he scrubs his body. “That frustrates you? You have always been that way. Explain why I am so different from your last keeper.”
“I didn’t take showers with my last keeper. Or… kiss him,” I argue.
“Ha! I maintain the kiss was all you. And showering together saves electricity. Must you always see depravity in everything I do?”
“Yes,” I say.
“There is another shower directly behind you. Would you prefer that?”
“Yes.”
I feel his warm body brush against me as he goes to turn the shower on. A few moments later, the splashes of warm water hit the backs of my thighs, and he goes back to his side.
I must admit I’m surprised.
Pleasantly surprised.
The water feels incredible as I stand under it, letting it soak my hair and wash away the strange mix of hard substances on my face.
It’s been so long since I last cleaned myself with something remotely warm.
I almost forget there is a demon standing behind me. Almost, but not quite.
Still, he’s not bothering me, and I’m thankful for that. I’m too tired to fight with him or try to work him out tonight. With everything that’s happened, I’m mentally exhausted.
“Soap, dear?” he shouts over.
“Please, dear.”
He chuckles and kicks a bottle over, which ends up hitting me in the ankle. “Fuck!” I curse him.
“Should I have handed it to you?” he asks, his tone playful.
I can see where he’s going with this, and I refuse to fall into his trap. I bend down at the knees, trying to find the bottle in the darkness.
The sound of the water changing pattern is the only warning I get—and that’s not nearly enough time. His hands press against my head, keeping me crouched low. I reach out to stop myself from stumbling, finding only his thighs.
I feel his hands in my hair, scooping it into a wet ponytail at the back of my head and keeping me trapped.
“What are you doing?”
He says nothing for a long minute. “Pass me the soap.”
I shift my position onto my knees so I don’t need to keep clinging onto his thighs for balance. Feeling around, I locate the bottle behind me and hand it to him.
“There’s a good girl,” he says with a chuckle.
I don’t find this half as amusing as he does.
Yet again, I appear to have fallen into another one of his traps.
Normally I’d feel frustrated, I’d kick myself and wonder how I could have been so stupid. But tonight I just don’t have the mental energy to feel anything other than a vague sense of acceptance.
He pours the liquid into my hair and works it up to a lather.
The smell of him multiplies tenfold as the soap mingles with the hot water and creates a heavy scented steam around us.
His fingers are strong and cover every part of my head, massaging the back of my neck in a gentle rhythm. It feels nice, despite the fact that I’m on my knees beneath him. No doubt he enjoys that.
Let him, I tell myself.
Let him have his fun.
Seemingly finished, he pulls me up to stand under the spray with him. The water is so hot it’s almost scalding, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted to be clean. His hands come to my cheeks, and he rubs away the rest of the makeup and blood with his thumbs.
He works his way down slowly, covering my shoulders and kneading the muscles in my upper arms. It feels incredible, and I’m only realizing how much tension has been there now that he’s releasing it. That’s what living in fear does to you. Being on the edge all the time. Every part of me is tightened up like a coil, and I let out a sigh as he works the ache away.
But I know he’s not going to stay at my shoulders.
“I can wash myself,” I tell him.
“Really? Your little hands could do this?” He pushes the muscles above my shoulder blades together, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me. “You will need to show me that sometime.”
He spins me around and pushes me against the hard tiled wall, his chest pressing against my back and rendering me immobile.
The action comes from nowhere.
No warning.
No time to get myself ready or think about how I’ll react. He is always so unpredictable, and now my heart is racing just from wondering what he will do next.
Without sight, every sense is heightened. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest behind me. I can feel his cock as it presses hot against my lower back, and it’s definitely not soft. I can feel my heart as it beats hard against the wall.
There are multiple questions running through my mind at once, but one seems to come to the surface.
“Why did you leave me?” I ask him.
I have no idea where it came from, but I need to know.
The fact that I’m not even fighting him feels like a betrayal. And I hate myself because it’s not down to the horrible things he does to other people—which is the reason I should be fighting him. It’s because he left me. That’s the reason not fighting him feels like I’m betraying myself. Selfishly, I have to know.
His hand runs up the side of my body and lingers underneath my breast. Out of instinct, I flinch at his touch.
Baron sighs behind me and I feel his chest deflate. “If I told you, you wouldn’t react like this. And I do so love it when you react like this. You’re like a little mouse trapped inside a ring with a tiger.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” I say.
He spins me around so we’re face-to-face, slamming me back hard against the wall.
“You want me to explain it to you, but I cannot. You want me to put you at ease so you feel better about the fact that you want to touch me—that you want me to touch you—but I will not.” His hand comes around my neck now, and he moves in closer. My chest presses against his, and yet again I feel my own heart pounding against something hard. “Tell me, do you like it when I touch you?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Really?” He trails his other hand down my side and grasps my hip, pulling me in even closer until his cock is lodged firmly between us.
“I kill people.” His hand tilts my head up toward him.
“I make a business out of suffering. I feed off the fear of others,” he continues, bringing his head down so I can feel his breath against my wet cheeks.
“People shake in distress when I enter the room, and I live for it.” His cheek brushes against my own, and I shiver despite all the horrible things that are pouring from his mouth. “I torture people and I enjoy it. I play with people because it sates my boredom. I took you because I wanted to do those things to you.”
“Stop it,” I tell him, putting my hand on his chest.
“Why? Am I scaring you?” Baron asks, his tone a taunt.
“Yes,” I tell him. Yes. That’s not a lie.
He chuckles. “But you are not scared of the things I just admitted. You are scared because, despite all of that, you still like it when I touch you.”
“I’m not a saint, Baron,” I argue. “You took everything away and replaced all of it with you. I’m not stupid. I can see that much. If I like it when you touch me, it’s because of what you’ve done to me. It’s an illusion.”
I hold my breath while I wait for his reaction. Somehow, I don’t think a man with an ego as large as his will take kindly to me calling it all fake.
But he just laughs it off, as if it’s nothing more than the water falling from his shoulders. “You never fail to surprise me, sweet girl. And that is why I keep you.”
He crashes his lips against me and unlike last time, there is nothing gentle in this kiss. Every part of him dominates every part of me, his whole body acting like a cage.
When he eventually lets up, it’s only so he can gasp for air. I try to catch my breath, but it’s impossible with all the steam surrounding us.
He doesn’t give me a second. He grabs me and pushes me across the enclosed space, slamming me into the wall at the side that used to be his. “Even in the dark, I can find you so easily,” he says from across the cubicle. “Try to run from me. Try to escape. Do you remember what I told you, that day in my office?”
I shake my head while I cling to the wall, before remembering how useless that is. He can’t see me. He’s said so many things to me in that office, I have no idea which one he’s talking about. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve just given me the keys to my own perfect little kingdom,” he says with a laugh.
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but the water pattern shifts as he moves closer and I have a feeling I’m about to find out.
He grabs me again, this time forcing me down onto the wet floor.
With a hand on my neck, he puts me on my back, and now the water is lashing down onto my face.
I can’t breathe.
My arms and legs flail in panic while I try to turn my head away, try to find a way to get some air.
But he has me pinned down, and the floor is too slippery to get any traction against him.
“I said you’d cry. Flinch. Scream. Beg. But regardless of it all, you’d still want me. And you just told me you wanted me.”
I’m almost crying now.
He’s going to kill me if he doesn’t let me breathe soon.
All I can do is choke out his name and try to kick him, hit him.
He laughs and then finally moves his body so it’s above me, creating a shield from the water with his chest.
I gasp for air while his knees split my legs apart.
“I won’t scream,” I tell him, trying my best to mean it. “I won’t beg, either. You don’t deserve the satisfaction.”
He moves down, his head going for my neck and sucking on it. The movement allows the water to crash down on my face again, and I find myself turning my head toward him, trying to find shelter.
“Oh, sweet girl,” he says, right into my ear. “Your defiance does nothing except make me more desperate for you. Your protests make me harder.”
Finding no reprieve with him, my arms scramble against the slippery floor, trying to get out. Trying to find some air. I angle my leg so I can crash my heel down on his back, and it just lets him press closer to me.
He moves over me again, and I gasp for air, clawing at his chest. “You’re going to kill me!”
He laughs cruelly. “Oh, I wish I could. I fear I’d miss you too much. I fear that would only be a kindness for you, not me, and I do so like to be selfish.”
I claw at his chest; to what aim, I do not know. But it feels good to fight him. “You are twisted,” I tell him.
“Twisted? Quite the contrary, sweet girl.” His face is above me now. I can feel his breath on my cheeks and the drops of water are threatening to spill onto me again. “I do think I have been rather tame with you. Do you know how easy it would have been to take you that very first night? You would have forgiven me, I’m sure. I wanted to. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman more.”
His lips cover mine, and he slides his tongue inside expertly. He rolls against my parted thighs, causing that familiar pressure to return. “I wanted to force your legs apart and bury myself inside you. Watch the fear and the pain in your eyes as you struggled against the size of me. Listen to your cries as I ripped away your innocence. And I’ve spent countless sleepless nights since thinking about doing just that,” he says, before continuing the broken kiss.
His words send me trembling, cold fear rushing around my body in waves with every sentence.
But his kiss lights a fire.
I’m trapped between freezing from the malice of his words and burning from the passion of his actions.
“Twisted would be doing all of that to you with the dammed mask on. Letting you live with knowing your first fuck was a monster with the face of a demon. Would you prefer that? At least then, I could watch that fear dance across your face. I could drink from the terror in your mismatched eyes. Tell me, sweet girl, would you rather I was selfish? Say yes, and I will stop this now.”
That’s a manipulative question. Of course I don’t want that. But saying no would only give him a yes.
Fuck, the man creates games as easily as the water creates puddles.
“I will have my answer,” he says, his tone a warning. “This is inevitable. At least this way, I can bring you some pleasure…”
He slides down my body, leaving me exposed to the water again. My hands fly to my face, covering my nose and mouth and allowing me at least a little bit of air. But it also binds my hands there. If I move them, if I try to fight him off, I won’t be able to breathe.
And I do so want to fight him off me, because I sense what he is about to do. He’s about to take another one of my firsts.
He splits my legs wide, and despite the room being shrouded in complete darkness, I feel utterly exposed to him. His lips trail along my thighs, the short stubble on his jaw scratching slightly.
I moan and squirm at the sensation and try to bring my knees together, but his hands are strong against my thighs and he doesn’t allow it.
Baron moves closer, sucking the water as he goes and creating a trail of fire.
He stops just above where my legs meet and bites down, hard, and my hands instinctively fly to his hair, trying to get him off me. He laughs, but he doesn’t let go, and now I can’t breathe again.
I let go, trying to cover my face from the piping hot water that’s crashing down against it. He takes the opportunity to go to the place that no one has ever gone before.
He kisses me there, and I feel like I’m melting into the floor. My back arches against the feeling, and he doesn’t let up. He uses his tongue as if he’s possessed with hunger, and it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever experienced.
His hands move around my thighs, pressing and kneading and ultimately forcing my legs farther apart.
I can’t help myself moving against him. I want more. He’s driving me into a frenzy, and there isn’t enough air up here for me to catch my breath.
When he backs off, I feel lost without him there. Lost and desperate. I squirm against his hands uselessly and he chuckles.
“This is how you make me feel every… single… day….” he says, his voice low and raspy. “You tease me. You sit on my knee and you wriggle against me and you let me fawn over you. I know you enjoy it. I can see it in the way your eyes move. The way you play with your hair. The way you try to mask your expression. You are scared of me, but your curiosity still wins.”
He bends down and runs his tongue slowly against my slit. I cry out at the sensation.
“Do you know how hard that is for me? Everything about you is a puzzle. You call me cruel, and yet you’d happily let me chase you forever. You have made me obsessed with you.”
His words twist in my stomach, and when he leans in and plays
with me again, I’m as tight as a drum.
“I wanted to punish you for that,” he says. “I had every intention of showering and tying you to my bedpost. I wanted to torture you until the sun came up. Perhaps, I may still do that. But right now I am desperate for you. My patience with you is spent, and I am dying to bury myself inside your perfect little body.”
His nails dig into my thighs and I cry out in pain and try to get away from him, but the floor is far too wet and I only have seconds before I’ll run out of air. “You’re still trying to run away from me? Let me assure you, sweet girl, it is far, far too late for that. It’s only a little pain, and I’m afraid it will get worse long before it ever gets better.”
He slides his finger inside me, and my whole body freezes from the ache. It feels foreign and wrong, and all I want to do is back away from it. But a moment later he brings his mouth back to my clit, swirling his tongue and sucking gently.
I begin to relax slightly. Just slightly. I’m still stiff as a board.
Is this what it feels like? Ruby told me it was awful but assured me it gets better. She didn’t say how long that would take so right now I’m just trying to breathe through it.
He moves his finger inside me and while it doesn’t take the pain away, it does mask it with something much better. Something that leaves me feeling lightheaded and wanting.
“I wish I could see you,” he says. “I wish I could watch you come undone at my touch. Let me hear you. Let me hear you, at least.”
A second finger joins the first one, stretching me even farther. This hurts worse now, but he’s right there trying to take the pain away with his mouth. I’m grateful for that, especially after hearing what he wanted me to do that first night.
Fuck, what has he done to me?
I’m grateful.
Grateful!
He pushes another one in, and now I feel like I’m going to faint. There is no pleasure in the world that will mask this ache. I cry out, though there are no words.
He moans against my wet center, his mouth growing hungry as I try to push myself away from him. It feels like torture. And the fact that I know what he’s doing—that I know he’s trying to get me ready for what’s certain to come—makes it even worse.