DELIVER(31)

His smile fell. No way she saw his reaction. He glanced over his shoulder, and followed her gaze to the mirrored door she’d left angled open. The reflection of her mask stared back.

He blew out a breath. He was a rookie in this demented game, and she controlled the line of scrimmage.

“The next time you speak without permission, we’ll find out how easy your ass reddens beneath my cane.”

His backside clenched, relaxed. He wasn’t sure what his limits were, but that wasn’t one.

She sashayed to the sink, wet a rag, and flung it toward the floor. He intercepted it and knelt before the toilet to begin his first task. To win this, he’d play her game until, eventually, hopefully, they played on the same side.





Chapter 15




Toilet cleaned, hair washed, Josh stood under the warm spray of the shower. He attempted to use the few spare minutes to meditate, but the pangs of hunger nudged him from his thoughts. Facing the wall, he soaped away crusty remnants from his ball sac.

A trickling sound cut through the whoosh of the shower head. Was she peeing? He leered over his shoulder before his brain told him not to be rude.

Perched on the rim, knees and toes together, ankles twisted out, she tore off a wad of toilet paper. The mask lay on the tile beside her discarded panties. He turned slowly, not to gape while she did her business but to devour her expression.

Her lowered eyes fanned thick blades of lashes over her cheekbones, softening the elegant lines of her face. Where most complexions washed out under fluorescents, her flawless skin seemed to glow in the glare.

He held his breath, feet frozen to the floor. She appeared so very human and gut-wrenchingly beautiful sitting there doing normal things like peeing and fidgeting. Fidgeting!

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? 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 and 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 f*ck 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 jewellike in its discovery, sparkling and precious. And for a fleeting heartbeat, it was his to treasure.