Aria

I’ve never wondered what a prisoner would feel like when led from chains to a feigned freedom. Like a courtyard or elsewhere. I wonder if they feel the same initial instinct to stay

close to their warden, the way I do with Carter.

Or, maybe it’s because I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. Of fighting, of starving myself, of not sleeping. I’m not broken, but I am so fucking tired.

The rich mahogany furniture, high ceilings and carved molding accents move around me in a blur. Without shoes, my bare feet pad softly on the polished floors, and it’s all I can hear.

I’m not sure if I should peek up and take in my surroundings, but every time I do, Carter gently brushes my shoulder and I instinctively pick up my pace, focused on what’s to come. Still, I try to track everything, to pay attention to every doorway and window, every possible chance of escape.

My heart beats fiercely as he leads me to the right and I see a thin stream of light in the darkened hall from a room in the distance. The sounds of chatter and even laughter echo around me, although Carter pulls me in the opposite direction.

Adrenaline courses in my veins and my throat tightens.

There are other people here.

“Don’t be stupid, Aria,” Carter whispers in the shell of my ear, making my heart lurch and forcing me to jump back. I hadn’t realized my thoughts were so obvious.

“Come,” he orders me, offering me his hand. My own is small in his as he wraps his strong fingers around mine and leads me deeper down the darkened hall. All I can think about as he takes me closer to where he wants me, is that there were people here, all this time, and I have no idea if they heard my screams or what they would have done had I screamed just moments ago.

Carter unlocks a door, the clinking of metal keys accompanied by his rough voice as he says, “My brothers stay up late. They always have.”

His brothers. Jase. Who else? There isn’t enough curiosity in the world that could lead me to ask him. But deep in my soul, I’m crying for answers although I can already hear the hiss of the truth in the back of my skull.

There is no mercy here. Not from anyone.

The door opens with a muted creak and I only nod as he gestures for me to head inside. The small bit of hope fluttering in my chest is strangled. I can barely swallow, barely do anything but place one foot in front of the other through a large bedroom, until I hear the flick of a light switch.

The dim light flows across the black and white marble tile. Carter doesn’t wait for me to enter before turning on the bath at the far side of the room. I’m struck by the sheer size of the bathroom. Even coming from wealth myself, I’m taken aback.

“It’s beautiful,” I speak softly. Although how I’m able to speak, I don’t know.

The feel of the cold tile under my feet has never been so welcome.

The sight of the plush towel folded neatly on the counter makes me itch to touch like nothing else ever has.

The sound of a running bath has never felt so soothing. And yet, I’m so aware that I’m only a prisoner in a gilded cage, and this moment outside of the cell may be my only chance of escape.

My body is tired from not eating much and having terrors wake me every time I sleep. But I still feel the need to fight.

Carter doesn’t respond to a thing I say, or to the next step I take into the bathroom, letting my fingers trail along the pale paisley pattern on the silver wallpaper. My gaze flows through the room easily but stops when I see the tub.

I can’t take my eyes away from the steam that billows around the edge of the clawfoot tub.

Leaning over the spotless porcelain, Carter’s back is to me with his muscular shoulders pulling his shirt tight, and I imagine how I could push him and run. I could shove him with every ounce of strength I have and run out of the room. I doubt I’d get far though, and I don’t know where I’d go.

Now I know his brothers stay here. They’re here somewhere. No, I’m sure I wouldn’t get far.

“I want to feed you before I bathe you.” Carter’s statement cuts through the visions of me running until he adds, “Strip down and get into the tub while I get your dinner.”

The dead hope is resurrected; he’s leaving me. The thought makes me more anxious than anything.

As he leaves, Carter grips the door and adds, “I won’t be long.”

Left with only the heat and comfort of the running water, my heart beats once, then twice.

My eyes close and I whisper, “Don’t be stupid.” The aching inside, the desperate need to run, it’s all outweighed by the knowledge of what would come if I disobeyed.

Would I really deny myself a reckless chance of freedom for a warm bath? For food and his touch? Have I been so deprived that such small comforts would rate so highly?

My nails dig into my palms as I war with myself, and when my eyes open, all I see is myself in the mirror. My hair is tangled, although I’ve run my fingers through it daily. It’s oily and dirty, which is to be expected.

My face is thin. Much thinner than I remember. Lifting the thin cotton shirt above my head, I inspect my body, running my fingers over my sides and down to my waist. The cell is so dim; I didn’t see the bruises from when I was taken. The cuts around my wrists have left thin white scars, and the bruise on my ribs is an ugly shade of dark brown that’s faded to nearly nothing.

I hadn’t felt defeat until I was led from my cell, giving up the possibility to run only to see how damaged I’ve become.

The sound of the water striking against the surface harder brings my attention to the tub.

It’s nearly full. The steaming hot water and relaxing fragrance of lavender bath oils Carter poured in it, beg me to cave. To let go and stop

fighting. To be good and do as I’m told. If only so I can rid myself of the sense of failure and remember who I am again.

And I still remember those words he spoke days ago. He made a deal and I’m to help him. There is more to this than I know. “Be smart,” I whisper to myself. I’m playing a game without knowing the rules. Without knowing the next phase. The little bit of hope and wonder push me forward toward temptation.

Turning the iron faucet, I realize it’s the first thing I’ve touched in weeks beyond the few items in the cell. Something as simple as turning a knob feels both foreign and nostalgic. I never want to go back to the cell. My chest feels hollow as I think, never, but I know that the choice isn’t mine.

It is, a small voice murmurs in the back of my head. The voice that takes advantage of my pain and promises so much hope in whispers of deceit.

Jasmine and lavender fill my lungs as I inhale the calming scents, quickly stripping off my shirt and shoving my cotton pants down my legs. Even though the clothes are new, they still carry the grime of that cell. Everything in that place is filthy.

The fabric clings to my toes, and I have to kick it off, sending it toward the pile of discarded clothes. Just as I do, I hear Carter’s heavy footsteps returning.

Fear roots me in place for a moment, but I quickly step into the steaming water, hissing as the heat bites at my skin and splashing water around the tub. Drops hit the floor as I carefully place my other foot into the bath, the heat gradually becoming more soothing as my body adjusts. With my back to the door, I hear Carter enter, but I ignore him, sinking into the tub’s warmth that I so desperately need. I try to hide myself from him.

“How does it feel?” Carter’s voice resonates through the room, powerful and commanding.

Like heaven, I think, turning slowly to avoid splashing the water while keeping myself hidden beneath the white bubbles. I want to tell him how wonderful it feels and thank him when our gazes finally meet, but the intensity in his eyes silences me. His gaze burns with the dangerous promise of a man on the brink of getting what he wants. An animalistic heat

passes between us, and I can only nod, too afraid of what my voice might betray if I dared to speak.

Thankfully, he breaks the tension by reaching for a ceramic plate on the counter.

“You need to eat.” Carter’s tone is more of a reminder to himself than a command, and once again, I simply nod.

I’ve tasted delicious food before, indulged in delicacies without a second thought—one of the few perks of my upbringing. But the food Carter has brought makes my mouth water, and I grip the tub’s edge to keep myself from snatching the plate from his hands.

He must see my eagerness; he always smiles that devilish grin when he knows I’m craving something. Bastard.

“Open,” he orders, and like a good girl, I part my lips. I nearly moan as he slips a small chunk of filet into my mouth, the meat tender and drenched in au jus, with a dab of herbed butter on top. It melts on my tongue, the flavors singing on my lips. My eyes close as I savor the bite, thinking it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, when Carter brushes another piece against my lips.

Without hesitation, I open for him again, and his finger grazes my tongue as he feeds me another morsel, then another. My teeth lightly scrape his fingers, and my eyes widen in worry, fearing he might think it was intentional. But he simply feeds me more.

The fear and worry dissolve with each tender slice of meat he offers.

Blistered tomatoes, peppers, and roasted potatoes join the mix, and Carter feeds me until I’m full, until I can’t take another bite. It’s been so long since I’ve felt satisfied, so long since I’ve soaked in a deep tub filled with hot water. I rest my head against the tub’s edge and pretend, just for a moment, that everything is alright. That brief peace is shattered by the clink of the ceramic plate on the tile floor, pulling me back to the present.

My body tenses slightly, sloshing water toward the tub’s edge, away from Carter, as he dips a washcloth into the water.

His fingers brush against my skin, and sinfully, I welcome the touch. It’s been so long, and I’ve been so lonely. I want more. I need more. I find myself wishing for him to take me, just as I know he wants to.

Has he really broken me so easily? Or is this something I should want as desperately as I do? The questions fog my mind, making my blood thrum with anticipation. The washcloth travels over my body, starting at my feet and working its way up. My calves, my thighs—so close to between them.

I know he can hear my heavy breathing, see how I grip the edge of the tub. But he doesn’t touch me there. Instead, he tells me to wet my hair and takes his time massaging my scalp, lathering my hair. The scent of chamomile shampoo overwhelms me, and I hum softly, until I catch myself and stop.

Everything feels so good.

“Back under, songbird,” he commands in that velvety voice. The voice I can’t disobey, and so I don’t. I do exactly what he says. With every command, I comply without question.

He massages the washcloth over my shoulders, and I whimper as he kneads the tension away. I hadn’t realized how much my body ached until he started easing the pain. A low groan of approval forces my eyes open to meet his. But he isn’t looking at my face; his gaze is locked on my hardened nipples, peeking above the water.

The washcloth splashes as it drops into the tub, slowly sinking. Carter’s fingers trail down my chest, pinching one nipple and then the other. His touch is slow and deliberate, as if giving me a warning. His rough thumb circles my nipples before tugging on them, causing my head to fall back and my thighs to clench. Each tweak sends a sharp spike of need between my legs, and I almost spread them for him. My clit throbs with longing. The need is so strong I’m sure it wouldn’t take much for me to cum. And I can’t muster any shame at the thought.

The dull desire that’s been simmering inside me ignites, and I welcome it.

Carter’s dark eyes find mine, but instead of moving lower, his hand dips into the water beside me, retrieving the washcloth.

I’m reminded of his patience, how slowly he does everything. I can’t tell if he enjoys teasing me or if he simply doesn’t want this moment to end, but either way, I lean my head back as he continues to bathe me. I don’t protest until his hand is exactly where I’ve secretly wished it would be.

He brushes the washcloth against my throbbing clit, and I gasp, instinctively moving away from the intense pleasure, sending waves splashing over the tub’s edge. Fear and desire blend into a confusing potion I drank long ago. And in this moment, I’d drink it again, down to the last drop. That’s how much I crave for him to touch me again.

“Don’t let go, Aria. If you do, I’ll stop,” he warns, and my breath catches. My body burns with need. Slowly, I lower myself back into the warm water, until my breasts are hidden again, and I lock eyes with Carter as I reach up to grip the edge once more. My body is still, so still, as his gaze flickers between my pussy and my eyes. I bite my bottom lip as he reaches between my legs again.

His movements, once steady and slow, now turn savage. Careful and considerate no longer. The washcloth falls into the water, brushing against my thigh and ass, replaced by his fingers. He shoves them inside me. My back arches as the sudden surge of pleasure crashes through my body.

“Carter,” I whimper his name as he presses his palm against my clit. I’ve never been touched like this. The air is ripped from my lungs, and I can’t breathe or move, only cling to the tub’s edge, trying to stay still as he finger-fucks me harder and harder.

“Carter,” I cry out his name louder into the steamy air, gripping the edge of the tub with all my strength. I can’t let go, but my body is begging me to move, to both escape the overwhelming pleasure and to dive deeper into it.

I know when I finally cum, it will shatter me, and he’ll love watching me break apart under his touch. The thought both terrifies and excites me.

I should be ashamed as I writhe in the water. I should be embarrassed when he hisses as my pussy clenches around his fingers, my orgasm ripping through me, faster and harder than ever before.

My heart shouldn’t pound for more. My body shouldn’t ache for more. I shouldn’t sit up so quickly, intending to grab his wrist and beg for more. The waves of pleasure are still crashing through me as he turns away, grabbing a towel and ignoring how I’ve just unraveled for him.

My fears start to cloud the desire, dimming the lust that thrums through my veins, my breathing gradually steadying.

But when he turns back to face me, I know everything is alright. I know I did well to let him touch me. From the way he looks at me, it’s as if he’s never wanted anything more in his life.