"Get dressed."
Two words. That's all he said before he left the room putting on his sweats and a half-sleeved black t-shirt. It amused me how the cold never bothered him as if he was made of ice himself.
I took my time bathing. And contemplated pulling out that… thing… out.
Maybe I should. He wouldn't know.
I remained under the steaming water, letting it cascade over me like a shield against the chill that always seemed to cling to my skin, even in his absence. The thought nagged at me again. That thing. The freaking butt plug. It felt foreign, wrong. My fingers trailed over the spot and the faintest touch ignited the dull ache of its existence.
He wouldn't know. Couldn't. Not if I was careful. He barely looked at me unless it was to order me around or remind me of the leash I wore.
I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a towel, pacing the small, suffocating space of the bathroom. Maybe I should pull it out. Just for some hours. My teeth worried my lip as the thought transformed from a maybe into a certainty. It was uncomfortable, constantly reminding me of what little control I had left. My breath hitched at the memory of his cold, commanding gaze, but it wasn't enough to stop me.
My fingers trembled as I reached for it. Quick. Precise. And with a sharp inhale, I pulled it out. Relief bloomed in its wake when I felt the burn lessening. I'd put it back before he noticed, before he even had a chance to think I'd defied him.
Dressing felt like an act of revolt. Thick leggings, a warm sweater, and a jacket that swallowed me whole. My skin felt raw, vulnerable, as I zipped it up, hiding every trace of what I'd done. He wouldn't notice. He never noticed.
Or maybe he did. But he looked too irritated to even care I guess.
I combed through my damp hair, doing little to calm the storm of my thoughts. My mind drifted as I stared at the mirror, my reflection wearing the same resigned expression I always did around him. Time stretched unbearably thin. Ten minutes passed, maybe more, and he still hadn't returned.
He was the one who told me to get dressed.
My jaw tightened. Typical. He barked orders and disappeared, leaving me to wait like some obedient dog. But I wasn't waiting for him. Not really. My stomach churned, hollow and aching, reminding me of how little I'd eaten. After yesterday's mess, I barely had the energy to move, let alone eat. Now, hunger gnawed at me insistently.
I set the comb down with a huff. I should look for him.
Pulling my jacket tighter around me as I left the room. Not because I missed him. No. The thought alone made me sneer. I just hoped-prayed-he'd made something edible. Judas had his ways of controlling everything, even the food in the house. And everything aside, he was a great cook.
When I moved to the kitchen, it kitchen was empty. Cold. As sterile as the rest of this place. My frown deepened as I glanced around, my irritation growing. Where was he?
Just as I was about to go back to our bedroom, I heard the faint murmur of voices drifting through the hallway, so low I almost missed it. My curiosity sparked. A dangerous thing, but it propelled me forward, toward the living area.
I moved quietly with careful steps. The murmurs became clearer, though I still couldn't make out the words. Amidst them, I recognised Judas's voice. His tone was clipped, laced with irritation, but there was something else-a sharpness, a tension that made my pulse quicken.
I stopped just short of the doorway, pressing myself against the wall. A part of me wanted to turn back, retreat to the safety of our bedroom and pretend I didn't care. But I couldn't. Not with the faint edge in his voice pulling me closer like a hook buried deep under my skin.
What's he up to now?
I leaned forward just enough to peek into the vast living room, my breath hitching at the sight before me. There were people. Not guards-not the usual faceless shadows trailing Judas. No, these were different. Real. A palpable danger radiated from one of them, a man with a towering stature, almost as tall as Judas himself.
He was facing Judas, hands in his pockets and eyes narrowed. Judas's back was to me.
He stood like a king without a throne. Dark eyes-sharp, cold, hunting. His gaze carved through the room. Like a blade waiting for flesh. Thick brows framed his expression, unreadable, cruel. His jaw, sharp enough to wound, clenched with tacit power.
Salt and pepper streaked through his hair and it only added touch of time that didn't soften him-it sharpened. The tailored black suit moulded to his body making him look controlling, powerful and dangerous. Broad shoulders carried storms, and the way he filled the room made breathing feel like a luxury.
He scared me.
Menace bled from him reminding me of the quiet predator in a cage he built himself. Just like Judas.
I hated how my chest tightened. Hated how my lungs betrayed me, stealing quickened breaths.
His presence weighed heavy on my skin, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to claw it off or let it consume me whole.
Something about him stirred the edges of my memory. A face I had seen before, but I couldn't place where or when. My stomach tightened, and I forced myself to look away from him, shifting my attention to the woman beside him.
She was stunning, complete opposite of him. Ethereal even, with pale, porcelain-like skin that seemed to glow under the light. Her lips were a soft pink, full and inviting, complementing her delicate features. Brown hair, rich and glossy, fell in waves over her shoulders, cascading like silk against the deep emerald dress she wore under the large woollen coat. The fabric hugged her figure tastefully and the neckline plunged just enough to tease without being obvious. A slit ran up one side of the dress, revealing a glimpse of toned legs, and the jewelled heels she wore added an extra touch of sophistication.
They stood close to Judas, speaking in low tones that I couldn't quite make out. Whereas the woman looked kind of nervous, the man was anything but that.
He was the first man I had seen keeping eye contact with Judas for more than two seconds. And he didn't seem scared a bit.
The man's jaw occasionally tightened as he spoke in Russian, while the woman's expression remained serene, almost calm, though her eyes-wide and panicking-tracked every word as she looked between Judas and the man. Her hands clamped on his arm as she pulled him.
I felt rooted to the spot as an uneasy mix of fascination and dread washed over me. Who were they? I couldn't shake the feeling that their presence wasn't just a casual visit. These were people of importance, of power, and something about them sent a chill crawling up my spine.
Judas, still speaking in that clipped, irritated tone, turned slightly, his gaze flickering toward the doorway as if sensing he was being watched. My heart lurched. I stepped back quickly, pressing myself against the wall, barely daring to breathe.