The bottom of my stomach tightens and heat pours all over my skin. My nipples pucker and strain against the towel until it’s slightly painful.
Aiden watches me with a tilted head as if he’s searching for something.
He always takes whatever he likes without asking for permission. Hell, he loves not having permission. It’s weird that he’s going as far as gauging my reaction.
“Are you wet, Frozen?”
It takes everything in me to jut my chin out. “No.”
“You’re not, hmm?” He releases my hair and drags his thumb at the bottom of my lip. “So you’re telling me that if I reach under the towel, you won’t soak my fingers?”
I clamp my lips shut around whatever voice that’s been clawing its way through.
“Maybe I should check, huh? Just to make sure.”
Keeping a hand around the towel, I plant the other on his chest. The word ‘stop’ hangs on the corner of my tongue, but knowing he’d probably take it as a challenge and continue, I swallow it back inside.
Instead, I say, “The only way you’ll be able to do that is if you knock me unconscious.”
“That’s both necrophilia and cheating. Neither interests me. When I bring you to orgasm, I want your face flushed red and your screams cutting through the air.”
“You really are sick.”
“And you’re really beginning to sound repetitive.”
His gaze drops to my naked shoulders and the hint of my scar surrounded by the hickeys he left.
“Aiden… don’t...” I warn. My nails dig into my palm as if my grip on the towel is my lifeline.
“I asked you nicely this morning.” His dark eyes meet mine. “But maybe you don’t like nice, sweetheart. Maybe deep down, you like the opposite of nice.”
“I like being left alone.”
“Is that what you believe?” His thumb traces down my cheek and swipes harshly along my bottom lip as if he’s attempting to wipe something off.
I can’t even fight him away because that will mean leaving my towel and my body at his mercy — or the lack thereof.
“Do you know what I think? I think a part of you likes the opposite of nice, but because you’re such a good girl, you’re out to destroy that part. You’re scared about what it could mean about you. How can you like something so deprived when you’re such a perfect human being? You’re scared of yourself, sweetheart.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” He releases my face and his fingers drop down to my collarbone. Every contact of his skin against mine is like a scorching fire.
And like any fire, ashes is the only thing he’ll leave behind.
“Leave me the hell alone,” I hiss.
“I told you. I can’t.”
He yanks the towel down, exposing the scar and my pale breasts.
It’s a miracle that I keep the towel fastened around my middle. Or maybe I only keep it because he allows it.
He wraps his thumb and forefinger around my nipple and squeezes hard.
A zapping sensation shoots straight to my core and I close my eyes with shame.