Did she know he’d turned to watch her? Was this another enactment to mess with his head?
Her teeth sawed along her bottom lip, and she twisted the end of her hair between a finger and thumb. No question the length and shine of her hair was exquisite, but she seemed to be eyeing it with more scrutiny than it deserved. What was she thinking about?
She dropped her hand, and her eyes slid up, finding his unerringly. Her lips bent in a conspiring smirk.
Oh no. What repulsive thing was she dreaming up? He locked his knees, waited.
Without looking away, she dabbed the tissue between her legs. Blotting? Was that how women wiped? Not that he was really watching, but his periphery caught it.
She flicked the flusher and stood. With a forearm over her chest, she reached back, unclasped her bra, and jerked it off without removing the coverage of her arm. What? No seduction or vulgar teasing? What was her game?
The red satin garment dangled from a finger at her side and dropped. On the floor. Where his eyes and knees should’ve been. Craaaaap.
He balled his fists and lowered to his knees. Crap, crap, crap.
I’ll feed you…if you follow the eight requirements you’ve been given.
Pressing his lips together, he wouldn’t make excuses or beg for food. Dammit.
He blinked at the bare feet beneath his bowed head. She could raise a knee and knock out a tooth. Or kick one of her deceptive little toes into his groin. He loosened his shoulders. He could take it.
Fingers touched his chin, lifting his head. “Raise your eyes.”
Following the hourglass curves of her waist, the cuts of her narrow torso, his breath caught when he reached the rounded undersides of her breasts. Not too full, they seemed to defy gravity, sloping upward, reaching toward the…cutting slits of her glare.
“Next time I tell you to raise your eyes, I’ll be more specific.” Her fingers walked from his jaw to his temple and dragged along his scalp. “I’m surprised a big boy like you isn’t more focused on the next meal.”
Of course he was frigging hungry. As a linebacker, he consumed 5,000 calories a day. But apparently his sexual appetite was running things.
She patted his head. “I’ll reevaluate your progress at dinnertime.”
What mealtime was it now? Lunch? Dinner? She certainly hadn’t fed him breakfast when he woke in the rubber bag. Straining to keep his jaw from locking in a murderous clench, he remained still and stoic.
She held out a bottle of bath wash and stepped under the spray of water. Sitting on his heels, he started with her feet. That was easy enough. Then he lathered soap up her shins. The set of his jaw loosened as he reached her thighs, his palms gliding over taut satiny skin and lean muscle, his erection an eternal aggravation.
Her legs tightened and relaxed beneath his hands, her calves outrageously defined for a girl. Maybe she ran marathons when she wasn’t trafficking humans. Or maybe she kicked kittens. Into end zones painted with the blood from dead puppies.
“What are you thinking about? Look at me.”
He snapped his eyes up, caught in the rich chocolate of hers. His stomach growled.
“I asked you a question.”
Permission to talk? Thank you, oh hateful one. “Kittens and puppies, Mistress.”
Her gaze froze over. “Do not fuck with me, boy.”
Not a chance, girl. Holding her eyes, he leaned up, his chest against the flat expanse of her belly, and ran soapy hands up her calves. “Mistress, I was debating whether your leg strength came from running or kicking small animals.”
The fierce point of her chin softened. The icy cut of her eyes melted into liquid brown, and pink stained her cheeks. Absolutely stunning. But nothing on Earth compared to the mystic beauty of her lips as they curved up, stretching with abandon. Her smile was jewel-like in its discovery, sparkling and precious. And for a fleeting heartbeat, it was his to treasure.
Then it was gone, replaced with a scowl and an invisible wall. “I did not give you permission to stop washing.”
Sliding his hands up her backside, firm cheeks filling his palms, the spirit of her smile fluttered inside him. He’d found her. Behind perversion and tyranny was a girl who could enjoy the humor in being teased.
Still on his knees, he lowered his eyes and met her breastbone, paralyzed by a hammering need to press his lips there. He fought the impulse and continued his ministrations up and over her slender hips.
“I run,” she said into the silence.
His hands faltered on her waist. He hadn’t expected a response but wasn’t surprised by the answer.
The angle of the shower head immersed them both in the warm spray. The tile floor dug into his knees, but it was nothing like the aches endured on the farm or during practice. He quickly shoved those thoughts away and collected more soap from the bottle. Angling his face away from the spray, he lathered suds over her ribs. Yeah, his attention skipped the body parts that guaranteed awkwardness and discomfort. Maybe she wouldn’t notice.
A sigh drifted down with the torrent of water, swirling around his ears. “I’m giving you back your voice. Use it wisely.”
Why would she do that? Because he made her smile? Because she was lonely?
Please God, don’t let him mess this up. “What makes you happy, Mistress?”
Her back turned to stone against his splayed hands. “Why?”
Suspicion edged her voice. Not surprising given her line of work. If she kept company with genuine friends, they were probably as cautious with their feelings as she was.
“Mistress, I love your smile. If I could free it once a day, it might make the next ten weeks bearable. Would smiling cause a conflict in your job?”
Her chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Would she punish him with silence or respond with something foul and shut him down? Or would she try out an honest answer and keep the conversation open? The way she stared over
