Chapter 31: Chapter Thirty

The silence in the bathroom was too loud and deafening. Mirabella stood stiffly while Hunter stood tall beside her, his body dripping with water, his face as hard as a carved stone. He had said nothing since they left the club. He said nothing while he carried her upstairs and into the bathroom. Said nothing while he stripped their clothes away as if they were flimsy rags. Said nothing while he pulled her into the steaming shower with him.

His large hands moved over her body with measured control. He washed her skin slowly, deliberately, as if she were a porcelain he intended to polish clean. The warm water ran down her curves, mixing with the firm strokes of his palms. He soaped her shoulders, her arms, her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, but there was no emotion on his face; no smirk, no lustful comment—just silence.

Her heart hammered wildly, her chest rising and falling faster with each passing second. The silence scared her more than his angry words ever could. Was he so furious with her that he couldn't even say anything to her? Was he so angry at her for disobeying him? For leaving the house and showing up at the club? But he had spoken to her at the club. He had touched her at the table—and let his men see what he did to her body.

She bit her lip, shivering despite the steam. Her mind kept on asking what he had in mind. Say something, she thought. Please, just say anything…

But Hunter’s eyes remained cold, unreadable, focused entirely on his task. He rinsed her off, then crouched to soap her legs, his strong fingers sliding over her thighs, calves, feet. She gasped softly when his fingers lingered in her center.

When he was done with her, he washed himself. Quickly, efficiently, with no hesitation. She stole glances at his hard cock hanging proudly between his muscled thighs. The water glide down his abs, his chest, his powerful arms. The silence pressed heavier with every breath.

When the shower finally clicked off, Hunter grabbed a towel and without speaking, he wrapped it around her small body and lifted her into his arms. He carried her into the room—his dark, vast room.

Hunter set her gently on the edge of the mattress. His gaze, sharp and unyielding, never left her face as he untied the towel from her body and crouched to dry her wetness. Every stroke of the towel was slow, controlled, possessive. He dried her breasts, her stomach, her legs, then moved to dry his own dripping body.

Mirabella sat frozen in place, heat crawling up her neck, confusion clouding her thoughts. Her heart beat erratically. What is he planning? Why won’t he talk to me?

When he finished, he dropped the towel and stepped close, towering over her. With one hand, he pushed her back onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Before she could understand what he was about to do, he reached under the headboard and snapped cold steel around her wrists.

Her breath hitched. Handcuffs.

Her arms were now stretched above her, trapped against the bedpost. Panic fluttered inside her chest. “Hunter… what…”

His face lowered, eyes burning into hers. He kissed her hard, swallowing her protest. His lips tugged, bit, licked and claimed hers. His tongue pushed deep into her mouth, dominating, controlling. She whimpered, struggling, but the cuffs held firm.

When he pulled back, his mouth trailed down her neck. He sucked, nipped, bit, leaving hot trails of pain and pleasure. She gasped as he sank his teeth lightly into the delicate skin above her collarbone, then soothed it with his hot tongue.

Her body arched when his lips went low and wrapped around her tight nipple. He sucked hard, drawing the sensitive pink bud into his mouth. His teeth grazed, his tongue lashed. She moaned, her back aching helplessly.

“Hunter…” she breathed, her voice shaky with need.

He didn’t reply. His other hand kneaded her other breast, pinching and squeezing the nipple until she cried out. Then his mouth traveled lower, down her stomach, across her trembling skin.

Her thighs spread instinctively, her body begging for relief. And finally, finally—his fingers slid to her center, stroking the slick heat of her pussy.

Mirabella moaned, her head pressing back against the pillow. His fingers teased her folds, spreading her wetness, rubbing circles against her clit until she trembled.

“Yes… please…” she whispered, her voice desperate.

Hunter slipped two thick fingers inside her, pumping slowly, curling them upward to press against her g-spot. The sensation ripped a cry from her throat. Her hips jerked up, seeking more, riding his fingers. Faster. Harder.

He gave it to her—but only enough to keep her hovering on the edge. Whenever she felt herself climbing toward release, he'd slow down. Whenever her moans grew frantic, he changed rhythm. Each time she thought she would finally fall over the edge, the feeling slipped away, leaving her panting in frustration.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please, Hunter, let me come.”

He did not reply. His face remained impassive, his gaze fixed on her writhing body. His silence was torture, his control unbearable.

Minutes stretched into eternity. Her thighs shook, her nails bit into her palms. Her body throbbed with unbearable need.

And then, after a while—his mouth replaced his fingers.

Mirabella cried out as his hot tongue slid over her folds. He licked slowly, thoroughly, tasting her, drinking her wetness. His lips wrapped around her clit, sucking gently, then harder. His tongue flicked, pressed, pushed inside her.

Her body writhed. Her eyes squeezed shut. The coil inside her wound tighter and tighter.

Finally, when she thought she would lose her mind, Hunter sucked hard on her clit. The orgasm exploded inside her—so close she could taste it…

But he stopped. Completely

“No!” she gasped, shaking her head frantically. “Hunter, please, don't leave me like this…please don’t stop—”

Her body shook violently, her thighs pressing together in search of friction. Her wrists strained against the cuffs, her back arching in desperation.

Hunter rose from her body, his expression still blank, dark, calm, cruel. He lay down beside her, stretching out his massive body, and closed his eyes.

Mirabella stared at him in confusion. “What… what do you think you are doing?” she whispered, her chest heaving.

He said nothing.

Her body throbbed painfully, her thighs rubbing together desperately. “Hunter, please,” she begged. “Finish what you started. Please, I need you.”

His lips twitched into the faintest smile. Still, he said nothing.

She whimpered, grinding her thighs together, trying to chase what he had denied her. But it wasn’t enough. Her body ached for him, begged for him.

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you? You enjoy seeing me desperate and begging.” she whispered disappointedly.

His eyes opened slowly, gleaming in the dim light. His smile deepened, dark and cruel. “That is exactly what I want, Bella.” His voice was a low, husky rumble.

Her heart twisted painfully.

Hunter closed his eyes again, settling against the pillow. “Now sleep.”

The command cut through the silence, final and absolute.

Mirabella lay trembling beside him, her wrists still bound, her body shaking with unspent desire. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to breathe, trying to calm herself. But his words haunted her, echoing in the darkness.

That is what I want, Bella.

And she knew—this was only the beginning. He was going to turn her into a desperate minx.