I shake my head. I can’t. I don’t want to.
With pursed lips, he reaches over me and yanks the knob. The beautiful, blissful stream of water comes to a sudden halt.
“You’re mean,” I say, slapping at his hands, but he pays me no heed. “Leave it.”
He captures my wrist in his strong grip and pins my arm to my side. “Do not strike at me.”
I feel chastened and hang my head. The smell of something warm and fragrant hits my senses, but my belly churns.
“I don’t want to eat.”
He only leads me out of the shower and wraps a towel around me. “That’s a girl.”
I reach for the shower to turn it back on again, but he only takes my fingers and tucks them in his fist. “Ah ah,” he says, shaking his head. “Out here, now.”
There are clothes laid out on the bed, pretty, pastel things that look soft and comfortable. I eye them warily. I’ve never worn things like that. I look down at my body, wrapped in a towel and look back at him.
He hasn’t tried anything. He hasn’t so much as touched my breasts or my arse.
“Are you gay?” I ask warily.
He gives me a quizzical look. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“You haven’t touched me.”
“What kind of a douchebag would touch a girl strung out like this?”
I don’t quite know how to process his response. Every man I’ve been with?
“You don’t want me, then?”
His brows draw together. “Get dressed, eat your food, and stop your questions.” One minute he’s gentle, the next he’s stern. I don’t know what to expect with him.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Didn’t ask if you were hungry,” he says, the stern voice back. “You’ll fucking eat, because it’ll help.”
“You’re not my bloody father.”
He only grunts and glares, then points his finger to the food on the bedside table. My stomach clenches. I’m not hungry.
I dig in my heels. “If I eat, I might vomit.”
He shakes his head. “You will not.”
I fold my arms across my chest. He folds his arms across his.
“Sebastian says you must,” he says. “Just a few bites of bread and broth.”
“Who the fuck is Sebastian?”
“Clan doctor.”
“He’s not my doctor.”
“He is now.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Now, if you haven’t put that food in your belly within one more minute, I’m going to turn you across my knee, give you that spanking you’ve earned, then force feed you myself.”
My jaw drops, but he isn’t bluffing. I can tell by the determined look in his eyes he’ll do just that.
“Fine, then, you brute.” He doesn’t flinch. I take a bite of bread, then follow it with a little broth. Tiny nibbles seem to ease a minuscule bit of the shakes and nausea, but I can’t eat much.
“I’ve had enough,” I tell him. “I can’t eat anymore.”
He pushes the tray aside. “That’ll do then, for now. Tomorrow we’ll try again.”
I look out the window, almost surprised to see it’s pitch black outside. But still, the pain in my body burns. I don’t know how I’ll sleep without something to soothe me.
“I need it to help me sleep,” I say. I know before I finish my sentence, he won’t give me what I’m longing for.
“Not tonight,” he says. “If that means you don’t sleep, then you don’t, but eventually you’ll be tired enough you’ll get some rest.” He knows what “it” is. I should be ashamed of that. I’m almost relieved.
“You don’t know that.”
He half-smiles. “Then we’ll see, won’t we?”
To my shock, he produces a pair of handcuffs from the bedside table. I blink at the cold, harsh metal, but he doesn’t do anything with them. He places them beside me.
“You may not leave,” he says. “Tonight, I’ll sit by the door until you sleep, but if you set foot out of this bed without my permission, I’ll restrain you.”
I glare at him, but he continues.
“You may use the jacks with permission as well, but that’s it.”
“You’re treating me like a prisoner.” What the hell is this torture?
He chuckles mirthlessly. “Not like a prisoner.”
Wait.
What?
My God. I won’t be able to get away? I can’t escape this?
I’m out of the bed before I know what I’m doing. My hand’s on the doorknob when he reaches me. He’s got me up in his arms, and I’m flailing, shoving, screaming. His palm cracks against my arse, hard and punishing, but I pay it no heed. I can’t stay here. I can’t allow him to keep me like this.
He spanks me again, his voice harsh and angry, but I don’t hear what he says, and I don’t stop until he’s got me on the bed. He restrains me as easily as if I were a child. He’s so damn strong. The next thing I know, my wrists are in cuffs, fastened to his headboard.
“Let me go!” I scream, which earns me the gag he promised me downstairs. Within five minutes, I’m fully restrained, gagged, and cuffed. The tears are back, and so is the relentless pounding of my heart and body.