Theressa didn't say a word to Marcelo as she ascended the stairs. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air between them, a palpable tension that neither dared to address. Marcelo's dark eyes followed her every step, burning with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze or to try to say something-anything-that might bridge the chasm growing between them. Silence was her shield, and she clung to it desperately.
Her footsteps were slow and deliberate, each one a testament to her inner turmoil. The stairs creaked softly under her weight, an almost comforting sound in the oppressive quiet. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before her, each step a journey into her own mind. She walked away from Marcelo, away from the confrontation she couldn't bear, and headed to the bathroom in his room.
She turned the faucet and let the water rush from the showerhead, the sound a soothing white noise that drowned out the thoughts clamoring for her attention. She stepped into the warm cascade, hoping to wash away more than just the physical grime of the day.
As the water poured over her, she felt an overwhelming need to let go, to release the emotions she had been bottling up for so long. But even in the privacy of the bathroom, with only the water as witness, she couldn't let herself break down. She tried not to think of Marcelo's dark gaze, the way it seemed to pierce through her defenses, exposing the vulnerability she worked so hard to conceal.
Theressa reached for the soap, her hands moving mechanically as she lathered her skin. The act of cleaning herself was almost ritualistic, a way to impose order on the chaos within. Each stroke of the washcloth was methodical, purposeful, as if by scrubbing away the dirt, she could also scrub away the confusion and pain. She rinsed the soap off, watching the suds swirl down the drain, and imagined them carrying away her troubled thoughts.
Theressa dried her body slowly, savoring the feel of the soft towel against her skin before wrapping herself in a robe.
She moved to the mirror, avoiding her own reflection at first. The mirror had a way of confronting her with truths she wasn't ready to face. But eventually, she forced herself to look. The woman staring back at her looked tired, her eyes shadowed with worry. She could see the echoes of Marcelo's gaze on her own, the questions and fears reflected back at her.
Theressa halted as she reached the door to the bathroom, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't want to turn the doorknob; she feared what awaited her on the other side. Her hand wrapped around the cold metal, trembling as she wrestled with her hesitation. Her heart raced, pounding in her chest like a drumbeat of anxiety. She swallowed hard, shook her head as if to dispel her fears, and finally opened the door.
Just as she expected, Marcelo was seated on the couch at the end of the room, his dark gaze unwavering as he stared at her. His legs were crossed, and his fingers toyed absently with a lighter, the small clicks of the metal cap snapping open and closed echoing in the quiet room.
"Do you have anything to say to me?" Marcelo's deep voice reverberated through the space, each word like a physical presence that almost made her knees buckle.
Theressa felt the weight of his question settle heavily on her shoulders. She said nothing, the silence between them growing thicker, more oppressive. She walked over to the dresser, her movements deliberate as she searched for a nightgown. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, torn between the truth she was afraid to speak and the lie she could easily fabricate.
The drawer slid open with a soft creak, and she rifled through the neatly folded clothes, her fingers brushing against the smooth fabrics. She pulled out a simple, silky nightgown and held it against her, the cool material a stark contrast to the heat of her flushed skin. She could feel Marcelo's eyes on her, a penetrating gaze that seemed to strip away her defenses.
But before she could come up with a decision, Marcelo had made his way behind her. His presence was a palpable force, so close she could feel his breath on her nape. The sensation was electric, sending a shiver down her spine, and she almost threw her head back, but she managed to hold herself still.
Theressa swallowed, trying to summon the courage to speak. "I need to go to bed," she stated, her voice shaking, betraying the turmoil inside her. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought he might hear it.
Marcelo's breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, "I could help you with that." His voice was a soft, tantalizing promise that sent her mind reeling. Before she could fully register his words, she felt herself lifted off the floor, caught in Marcelo's arms.
"Put me down!" she cried, struggling against him. The fear and confusion twisted together in her chest, making her breath come in short, panicked gasps. "Marcelo!" She winced as her back hit the mattress, and suddenly, Marcelo was towering over her, his presence overwhelming.
"Don't you think it's too early to be shouting?" Marcelo stated, his tone calm but firm. He caged her in, his body a barrier she couldn't easily break through. Theressa's instinct was to resist, her stubbornness driving her to fight against his hold. But Marcelo was stronger, his grip unyielding as he pinned her hands above her head with one of his own.
"Marcelo, let me go," she demanded, her voice a mix of desperation and anger. Her breath was shaky, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to free herself. But his grip was secure, and her struggles only seemed to tighten his hold.
Theressa's chest kept heaving up and down, each breath a struggle against the whirlwind of emotions inside her. Marcelo watched her intently, his eyes dark and predatory, licking his lips as if savoring a memory. "I've missed your taste, angel," he muttered, his deep voice sending shivers rolling up her spine.
Before Theressa could muster a response, Marcelo began trailing kisses along her neck, moving slowly to her chest. His touch was possessive, each kiss a claim that left her feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.
"I love it when you're disobedient," Marcelo stated, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "It gives me the chance to do what I want with you, to teach you a lesson." There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he reached into his pocket, retrieving something that made Theressa's heart race even faster.
Her eyes widened in fear as she saw the handcuffs gleaming in his hand. Marcelo's lips curled into a grin, his satisfaction evident as he watched her reaction. "Don't worry, angel. I'm not going to hurt you," he muttered, but the cold metal around her wrists told a different story.
Theressa's breath came in short, panicked gasps as Marcelo's fingers traced the contours of her face, lingering on her lips. Those lips he had kissed so many times, now trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "Just a little game, angel. You will love it," Marcelo said, but she knew better. This was not a game; it was punishment.
With a swift motion, Marcelo ripped open the robe that covered her delicate body. His fingers trailed down her skin, from her belly to her V-line, and she couldn't help but breathe out hard, a mix of fear and unwanted arousal coursing through her.
Her eyes followed Marcelo's every move, a silent plea in her gaze. He stepped back, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "How about we make this more exciting?" Marcelo suggested, moving to the chair at the end of the room and picking up a carton box.
Theressa's brow furrowed in confusion as he brought the box to the bed, his movements deliberate and slow, like a hunter savoring the moment before the kill. Her confusion turned to terror as he tore off the seals and poured out the contents. The sight of various toys scattered across the bed made her stomach twist in fear.
"Every disobedience should have a reward, and you…" Marcelo trailed off, picking up a dildo and examining it with a gleam in his eye. "You are going to get your reward."