Tormented

ear her head and get away from the humidity of the shower still raining down on them. But his arms kept her trapped. Her IQ dropped against the feel of his slick, hard body.

“It’s not a drought year, but we shouldn’t be using this much water,” she remarked.

He squeezed a breast, then started pulling at a nipple. “I asked a question, pet.”

“Yes!” she yelped. “I mean, no! I didn’t ask permission. I forgot. Sorry.”

“What do you think would be an appropriate punishment?”

Her mind whirled. Shit. She had no idea.

“I’ll give you time to think about it,” he said. “If what you propose is acceptable, I’ll take your suggestion. If it’s not, we do your proposal and what I have in mind.”

She sucked in her breath. She hated how he always managed to stick her between a rock and a hard place. This was not a good situation. And it had taken him less than an hour to obliterate her resolve not to fool around with him anymore. She was beginning to think it was impossible. Because he made her come so good. Because her body reacted to his every touch before she was even cognizant of what was happening. Hell, he didn’t even have to touch her. He just had to look at her to produce sensations inside her. Reasoning didn’t stand a chance.

“What’s considered ‘acceptable?’” she asked. With his arms wrapped about her, her body continued to hum. To her surprise, she was ready to go at it again. The climax against the shower jet had been agonizing and amazing all at once. She hadn’t thought a second orgasm possible because being slammed against the shower wall hadn’t been all that comfortable, but it was as if his ardor had seeped into her; his desire expressed in the force with which he dominated her, fueling her lust. Of course, he was more physically powerful than she, and there was something seductive about that. It spoke to a raw, primal instinct.

“You’re a smart woman. You’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t get any guidelines whatsoever? That’s not very fair.”

“Who said life is fair?” He released her. “Finish up but don’t get dressed yet. You can wear the robe on the back of the door. Then wait for me in the playroom.”

Her traitorous body mourned the loss of his embrace. He waited in the shower, which could have fit four people comfortably, as she quickly ran conditioner through her hair. She then hurried out and wrapped a decadent, oversized towel about herself. She needed to put distance between her and Ben. Seeing him step under the showerhead, the water streaming down his chiseled body, however, she was tempted to stay and watch.

No. Better to go and take advantage of some alone time to think.

Slipping into the large robe, she left the bathroom. But she didn’t want to go into the playroom. Standing in the bedroom, she willed herself to focus. A part of her wanted to take the opportunity to run, escape, far from Ben. The whole thing was far too messed up. She should not be this attached to a potential subject of her story. In fact, her involvement with him took him out of the story.

But Sam wanted more info on him, or his uncle rather. Maybe that was okay. Or not. At first, like Sam, she had been excited by the special angle she had been given. But now she didn’t feel so good about it. Her original intent was to expose the Scarlet Auction and their suspect practices, prevent other women from falling into Marissa’s situation—which she felt Claire was perilously close to doing—and thereby land herself a job at the Tribune.

But how could she do that and get herself untangled from Ben? The man expected her to come up with her own punishment. Having seen what was in his playroom, she did not want to go through with it.

Maybe just a little bit.

Damn her curiosity.

But it might be so cool.

And it might not. She had no doubt that Ben was as good at inflicting pain as he was at pleasure. She’d had a dose of it already and suspected the forthcoming punishment would be tougher. Better to get the hell out while she could.

But then how was she going to get her story? How was she going to stop Jake? She couldn’t just leave Claire in his hands.

Hearing that the shower had stopped, she quickly bolted out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the playroom. He wouldn’t be happy if he found she hadn’t followed his command. She looked about the room for the safest spot to sit or stand. She opted for the bed. The wrought-iron spindle bed looked innocuous enough, except it was the complete opposite of the other bed in his place. This one looked like it belonged in a jail cell. It didn’t have a box spring, let alone pillows and linen.

Ben entered wearing only a towel around his hips. Kimani closed her mouth to keep herself from drooling. He looked so hot with water still dripping off his hair. Unlike most mixed Asians she knew, his hair was jet black. Thick, shiny and straight, it was completely unlike hers. She wanted to run her fingers through his locks, maybe yank them, hard, to make him gasp the way he made her gasp.

Standing in front of her, he reached for the sash of her robe, undid the tie, and pulled it from its loops. She braced herself for being tied up.

“About the punishment,” she said, “some guidance would be helpful.”

“I’m sure it would,” he replied placidly, and began wrapping the sash around her eyes.

She pursed her lips in displeasure. Since meeting him, she oscillated between thinking him a nice guy and an asshole. Right now, he was an asshole.

“What are we doing now?” she asked, worried about the deprivation of sight.

He tied the ends of the sash behind her head. “You’re lucky I don’t usually require my subs to be silent. But none of them ask as many questions as you do.”