Chapter Three - Is Hell Sexy?
963 Words
I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me, my breath ragged.
The space was sleek and modern—black marble counters, gleaming silver fixtures, and a massive glass shower that looked like something out of a luxury hotel. But none of it mattered. Because I could still feel him.
His smirk. His touch.
The way he dropped his towel just to f**k with me.
I exhaled sharply, glaring at my reflection. My cheeks were still flushed, my lips slightly parted, my eyes wide with something I didn’t want to name.
Get it together, Vira.
I turned on the water, waiting for steam to cloud the air before stripping out of the oversized shirt. The second the hot spray hit my skin, a shiver ran through me, washing away the thoughts of the last twenty-four hours.
I should have been relieved. I should have felt cleaner.
But I didn’t.
Because he was still out there.
Waiting. Watching. Playing his twisted little game.
I squeezed my eyes shut and ran my hands over my arms, trying to scrub away the feeling of his fingers on my face, his breath on my lips.
God, what was wrong with me?
This man kidnapped me. He is keeping me here like a f*****g pet, dangling my freedom over my head, and all I could think about was the way his voice dropped when he teased me.
Pathetic.
I took longer than I needed to, but eventually, I shut off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it tightly around me. My stomach twisted as I stared at the sleek black robe folded neatly on the counter.
Had he put that there?
I hesitated, then grabbed it, slipping it on over damp skin. It was soft, too comfortable, and when I caught a faint whiff of his scent on the fabric, my heart kicked against my ribs, again. It smelt of something leather, a little bit of smoke, and something dominant, distinctly male.
Fucking hell, I should get my thoughts together and figure out a way to escape this hell. I try to remember all I have heard of Dustin, but nothing beats the knowing feeling of him waiting in the room, just across from me.
Dammit!
I sucked in a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom. Dustin was exactly where I left him, still shirtless, lounging in an armchair with a glass of dark liquor in hand. He looked up lazily, eyes dragging over me like he owned me.
My stomach flipped.
He smirked. “Feel better, sweetheart?”
I scowled, crossing my arms. “You’re disgusting.”
“Am I?” He took a slow sip of his drink, completely unbothered. “For what? Taking care of you?”
Taking care of me? Did he just say that? I was tossed in a trunk like a thief, exchanged so that i***t would be free, and now, I wasn’t sure what my fate was. Will I be slaughtered in public? A disciplinary action taken to warn all of his enemies, or will I become a slave in this mansion, doing all of his cleaning and bidding? What exactly was the plan for me?
But for now, I let out a bitter laugh. “You kidnapped me, asshole.”
His smirk widened. “And yet, here you are, wrapped up in my robe, smelling like my soap, standing in my room.”
I hated the way my skin prickled at his words.
I swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. “What do you want from me?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes locking onto mine with deadly focus.
“I want to see how long you’ll fight me,” he murmured.
My breath caught.
Dustin stood up slowly, closing the distance between us in a few lazy steps. The scent of whiskey and lust wrapped around me, and I fought the urge to stumble back. I refused to cower, but my pulse thrummed like a warning bell. He reached out, his fingers grazing the damp ends of my hair, twisting a lock between his fingers.
“Tell me something, sweetheart.” His voice was low, intimate. Like we weren’t enemies.
I swallowed. “What?”
His smirk returned; dark, knowing, wicked.
“Has a man ever really touched you?”
My stomach dropped.
Heat rushed to my face, a slow, suffocating burn that crawled down my neck and wrapped around my throat like a noose.
I jerked away, my voice sharp. “f**k you.”
His chuckle was deep, rich, intoxicating.
“That’s not an answer.”
I clenched my fists. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Dustin exhaled, shaking his head like I amused him. He loved this. Loved seeing me squirm, loved how easily he could strip me down to raw nerves and trembling breath.
I hated him for it.
But I hated myself more for the way my body reacted, for the warmth pooling low in my stomach, for the way I couldn't stop looking at his mouth.
No. No, no, no.
I was not going to be one of those girls.
I was not going to be his. I’d rather hang on a tree.
I forced myself to breathe. Forced my voice to stay steady.
“What now?” I bit out.
“You gonna keep me locked up like a pet?”
Dustin tilted his head, studying me like I was something unexpected, an accident he finds interesting.
“No,” he said finally.
“I’m taking you out.”
I blinked. “What?”
His smirk was pure danger, delight in his voice.
“Get dressed, sweetheart. You’re coming with me.”
Will I truly hang on a tree?
- Writer
