Gritting my teeth, I marched across the bedroom and yanked open the closet. I’d cleaned this room last month. It was my second least favorite in the house. Not because of the red and silver color scheme but because of what’d happened in that bed.
At least the clothes in the wardrobe were ownerless. No one had left them behind. They didn’t smell of another. They were spares in case someone needed a gown, lingerie, or outdoor attire.
Stepping back, I waved stiffly at the hanging offerings. “Take what you want. Makes no difference to me.”
I couldn’t wear any of it. If my stash of male clothing eventually ran out, I might learn how to cut up a ball dress and fashion a shirt, but until that day came, I wanted nothing to do with them.
“Thanks.” She offered a small nod and drifted toward the wardrobe, her hands that’d touched me now clutching her towel as if it were a force field against me.
The sweep of her shoulder blades sent another crackle of lust down my legs as she turned her back on me and rifled through the clothes.
I wanted to snatch the towel off her. To reveal her nakedness beneath. I hadn’t drunk my fill before. I doubted I ever would, even if I commanded her to walk around naked for the rest of her imprisonment.
All my questions about her body had been answered.
Her stomach was toned.
Her legs were pale but not ghostly.
Her muscles were lean and carved beneath soft ink-free skin, adding definition to the curves of a woman who had substance. If I hadn’t believed she climbed here before, I did now. Even her fingers were strong. Her grip had rivaled anyone who’d ever touched me. She’d squeezed hard when I’d needed it and relaxed when I’d spent. She had the uncanny ability to read me, and it fucked with my head.
She was supposed to be the one afraid. She was the one trapped. So, what the hell was going on between us?
Moving toward the bed, I sat stiffly while she pulled a soft charcoal sweater from the wardrobe. Bending, she opened the drawers below, selecting a pair of lacy white underwear, some black satiny slacks, and bronze threaded socks.
Beside me rested the item I’d gone to fetch when she’d shut down.
She’d mentioned a way to tie her.
It’d reminded me of something.
That something was now resting against my hip and waiting to be used.
Glancing at me over her shoulder, she bit her lip as if debating whether to take her stash back into the bathroom where I couldn’t see her or perform a reverse striptease for me.
Leaning back on my hands, I tilted my head, waiting to see what she’d choose.
Her eyes locked on the leather coil beside me. Questions ghosted over her face, followed by stubborn pride not to ask. She was smart beneath her stupidity of trespassing and offering herself up to me, so she probably already knew what the cuff entailed.
Another means of captivity that she wasn’t prepared to address right now.
Once again, she stood in a dilemma. She swayed toward the bathroom, hugging her chosen clothes. If she left, I’d order her to return. I wanted to watch. Therefore, she had no choice but to let me.
She seemed to know that—once again reading me correctly.
That unnerved me but could also prove useful. If I groomed her well enough, all it would take was a simple stare, and she’d be on her knees ready to serve.
My balls tightened.
She’d surprised me that she hadn’t run when I’d left earlier. Then again, the hollowness in her eyes when I’d tipped up her chin hadn’t been faked. No one could fake that depth of unhappiness. In that, we had things in common, and I was both proud and slightly sick that I’d been the one to put such sadness there.
She surprised me again as she finally made her choice. Inhaling sharply, she whipped her head back around and dropped her towel.
Instantly, my cock swelled and ached.
I’d seen hundreds of stunning women. Slim ones, expensive ones, cruel ones. But never had any of them come close to the provocative perfection of this girl. If I had the freedom to touch myself, I would have.
I would’ve unzipped and fisted and worked myself to another release all while she bent over, silently stepped into the underwear, and slid them up her thighs.
I swallowed a groan.
She didn’t dress seductively. She did it quickly with jerky hands as if my eyes on her made her twitch, but no matter the perfunctory motions, she couldn’t stop the electricity sparking between us.
Maybe she didn’t feel it, but I sure as hell did.
I doubted I needed batteries and solar power to work the lights for Fables. Her power alone could light up this entire valley—shining spotlights into all the dark corners, the blackened corridors, and the many shadowy rooms where a thousand secrets refused to die.