I scrubbed the sweat and his heat off me. My skin was raw, but I couldn't stop. The water was scalding, almost unbearable, but it didn't matter. It could never be hot enough to burn away what he'd left on me. I hated how his scent still clung to me, the disgusting yet rich aroma of cigars and something that exclusively belonged to him.
The insatiable man didn't stop. Not even when I begged or when the room was spinning and my vision blurred at the edges from exhaustion.
I could barely keep my eyes open, but the adrenaline kept me going, the haunting realisation he wouldn't stop even if I lost consciousness.
I trembled as I sank deeper into the tub, the water raised to my chin but the heat did nothing to soothe the ache that settled in my bones. My fingers trembled as I rubbed the soap over my skin, scrubbing harder, desperate to erase every trace of him. But he was etched into my blood.
He was a fiend. An insatiable beast. The bastard didn't just take-he devoured. I didn't have to look in the mirror to know how bruised and battered I was, I simply didn't dare to. He had forced me to beg. Beg for mercy, for release, for anything that would end the torment.
And now, here I was, alone in the bathroom, scrubbing and scrubbing, but nothing could cleanse the filth he'd left behind.
His hands, his eyes, the way he smirked when he had me pinned beneath him. My heart pounded. I hated him. God, how I hated him.
I shoved the soap away, my hand slammed against the edge of the tub and I winced as the water sloshed over the sides. Chest heaved and the tears of frustration welled in my eyes. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. But what choice did I have? A lamb in a den of wolf, that's what I was.
My nails scraped against my skin, desperate to feel something, anything other than this numbness. But I could not erase his touch, no amount of water could cleanse the taint of him. The scars he left were more than skin deep. They'd burrowed into my soul like a permanent reminder of his cruelty.
My head fell back as a tear slipped down my cheek. The water was cooling now, but I couldn't bring myself to care. At least he wasn't here, at least for now, he let me be. The only peace I had was in this tub, where his hands couldn't reach me, where I could pretend, even if just for a moment, that I was clean, untouched, whole.
Suddenly, it hit me-my mother. My heart lurched. She didn't know. She had no idea I wasn't coming home. Panic gripped me like a vice, squeezing the remaining breath from my lungs. My hands froze mid-scrub, the washcloth slipping from my fingers into the murky water. She must be worried sick, wondering where I was, why I hadn't called. A mother's heart never rests easily when her child's away. And I had just vanished.
I shot up in the tub, water splashed everywhere, but I didn't care. I had to find my phone. I needed to tell her something-anything-but the truth.
And then there was Alina. Shit. What if she called? Or worse, what if Ivan called? My heart raced realising how deep I was in this mess. Ivan... if he didn't hear from me, he'd start digging. He'd find out. And then, hell would break loose. Judas already didn't like him for whatever reason. Even though I had doubts about Ivan, he couldn't be as dangerous as Judas.
I scrambled out of the tub and nearly slipped on the wet floor. My legs felt weak, trembling beneath me as I grabbed the towel, barely bothering to dry myself. My hands were shaking, my mind a blur of dread and urgency. I needed to find my phone. Now.
And the annoying thing, I didn't recall where I put it last night.
I stumbled into the bedroom, my eyes darting around, searching and to my luck, the devil wasn't there. Taking it as my chance, I stumbled to the bed. Where the hell was it? My pulse thundered in my ears.
"Come on, come on," I muttered under my breath, rifling through the sheets, and the blankets, tossing them aside.
"Think, think," I urged myself, but my head was a frantic mess. Where did I leave it? I couldn't remember. I found my bag on the couch and dug through it, flinging my glasses and gloves onto the floor, but no phone.
Then, suddenly, I heard it-a hush of wind, soft yet chilling. I turned around, and a scream tore through my mouth. My ankle twisted in panic, sending me crashing to the floor, landing hard on my arse. Pain shot through my body, throbbing and sharp. My breath hitched, and I clenched my fists against the agony.
Good Lord.
A chuckle echoed through the room, low and mocking. My jaw tightened and the sound twisted my insides clutching the towel against my chest. How long had he been standing there? I looked up at him, to my relief fully dressed, not a trace of the naked predator who'd ravaged me the night and moments before. The white blazer he wore complemented his dark soul perfectly, the pale blue shirt beneath it crisp and sharp, like the ice in his eyes. His hair was messy, and wet, as if he'd just stepped out of the shower and hadn't bothered to dry himself.
A true devil in disguise, wrapped in finery to mask the rot underneath.
His lips curled into a smirk and his eyes glinted with dark amusement as he stepped forward slowly. "If you wanted to be on your knees for me, ptichka, all you had to do was ask."
He tilted his head the smirk widening into a grin as he put his hands into the pockets of his white slacks. "But falling on your ass? I mean, I knew I had that effect on women, but this-" he gestured vaguely at me, sprawled and aching on the floor, "-this is new."
He glanced at his watch, tapping the glass with a finger. "As much as I enjoy the sight, you need to eat." He flashed me a grin. Sharper than the knife. "Unless you prefer me eating out that unsatisfied pussy."
My molars grinded but I kept my mouth shut and lowered my head.
They say even a cornered rat would fight back. But what could I do against a wolf in sheep's clothing, against the monster who wore his sins like a crown?