Page 69 of Once Upon a Fable

“I’m...clean.”

Her voice whipped me around.

She stood wrapped in the towel I’d given her, blond hair darkened by water, her hands blessedly washed from my mess. Seeing the evidence of how badly I’d lost control had pissed me off. I’d never liked the by-product of sex. I always found it almost as disgusting as the need for sexitself.

The pleasure she’d granted had blinded me and struck me dumb, but the crash afterward had never hurt so much. I couldn’t keep doing this, but I also couldn’t fucking stop either.

Gritting my teeth, I marched across the bedroom and yanked open the closet. I’d cleaned this room last month. It was my second least favorite in the house. Not because of the red and silver color scheme but because of what’d happened in that bed.

At least the clothes in the wardrobe were ownerless. No one had left them behind. They didn’t smell of another. They were spares in case someone needed a gown, lingerie, or outdoor attire.

Stepping back, I waved stiffly at the hanging offerings. “Take what you want. Makes no difference to me.”

I couldn’t wear any of it. If my stash of male clothing eventually ran out, I might learn how to cut up a ball dress and fashion a shirt, but until that day came, I wanted nothing to do with them.

“Thanks.” She offered a small nod and drifted toward the wardrobe, her hands that’d touched me now clutching her towel as if it were a force field against me.

The sweep of her shoulder blades sent another crackle of lust down my legs as she turned her back on me and rifled through the clothes.

I wanted to snatch the towel off her. To reveal her nakedness beneath. I hadn’t drunk my fill before. I doubted I ever would, even if I commanded her to walk around naked for the rest of her imprisonment.

All my questions about her body had been answered.

Her stomach was toned.

Her legs were pale but not ghostly.

Her muscles were lean and carved beneath soft ink-free skin, adding definition to the curves of a woman who had substance. If I hadn’t believed she climbed here before, I did now. Even her fingers were strong. Her grip had rivaled anyone who’d ever touched me. She’d squeezed hard when I’d needed it and relaxed when I’d spent. She had the uncanny ability to read me, and it fucked with my head.

She was supposed to be the one afraid. She was the one trapped. So, what the hell was going on between us?

Moving toward the bed, I sat stiffly while she pulled a soft charcoal sweater from the wardrobe. Bending, she opened the drawers below, selecting a pair of lacy white underwear, some black satiny slacks, and bronze threaded socks.

Beside me rested the item I’d gone to fetch when she’d shut down.

She’d mentioned a way to tie her.

It’d reminded me of something.

That something was now resting against my hip and waiting to be used.

Glancing at me over her shoulder, she bit her lip as if debating whether to take her stash back into the bathroom where I couldn’t see her or perform a reverse striptease for me.

Leaning back on my hands, I tilted my head, waiting to see what she’dchoose.

Her eyes locked on the leather coil beside me. Questions ghosted over her face, followed by stubborn pride not to ask. She was smart beneath her stupidity of trespassing and offering herself up to me, so she probably already knew what the cuff entailed.

Another means of captivity that she wasn’t prepared to address right now.

Once again, she stood in a dilemma. She swayed toward the bathroom, hugging her chosen clothes. If she left, I’d order her to return. I wanted to watch. Therefore, she had no choice but to let me.

She seemed to know that—once again reading me correctly.

That unnerved me but could also prove useful. If I groomed her well enough, all it would take was a simple stare, and she’d be on her knees ready to serve.

My balls tightened.

She’d surprised me that she hadn’t run when I’d left earlier. Then again, the hollowness in her eyes when I’d tipped up her chin hadn’t been faked. No one could fake that depth of unhappiness. In that, we had things in common, and I was both proud and slightly sick that I’d been the one to put such sadness there.