She's Human but Alpha Wants Her Back.

Chapter Eleven

Rea's POV

My hands shook badly the second I touched the digital screen in the glass shower panel to activate it.

Having a bath in front of Alpha Damien Remington felt awkward and strangely humiliating. I should probably give up, pick up my clothes, and beg to leave Darkclaws. Maybe agree to Dad's plans about getting men to do the task when I finally get home and speak with Dad. But leaving the pack wasn't optional, just as I was warned. What was I thinking? Alpha Damien Remington would let me take a bow and leave just like that?

The look in his eyes said it all; he intended to hunt me and wouldn't stop until he's done unraveling me piece by piece, whether that meant breaking me or consuming me, but in the end, victory must be his.

And as a girl raised in a small town, intimacy was only something I've heard about, and o****m was something I only gave myself, never experienced it from a man. I wasn't used to being watched like this. Being watched while in the shower felt humiliating in ways I hadn't expected.

I forced my eyes away from where he sat—a cheeky frown tugging at my face—a look I had no business wearing. I tapped the digital screen, selecting a steamy temperature, and it gave a soft beep in response. After a second, the shower hissed to life, and water started pouring down freely, slapping on my bare body and relieving me momentarily, steam fogging the glass doors and walls around me. I found myself wishing to vanish behind the steamy water and have a quick bath in peace, or let the water wash off this feeling from me for good, and allow me be carefree, bath quietly while his eyes explored every inch of my body, like they owned the right to do so.

I showed the damp hair away from my face as warm water poured over me, letting out a sigh as the water ran over my skin, drenching me completely. Maybe I shouldn't how nervous and uneasy I felt at the moment; maybe this was a show he was asking for, having me bath while he watched. Maybe this was my chance to give a show and please him too. And if I proved myself at every turn, I might finally have the opportunity to tell him why I had come. The urge to be bold and reckless burned in me, screaming, take this opportunity and act alluring in the shower; that was probably what he wanted after all.

A man who acted bored of everything in the world wants to watch me shower; maybe I should give him a show, sway in the water, rub my fingers on my cl*t, and taste in my lips slowly, knowing he was watching… watching every inch of me, after all I had risked yesterday to make him grant my wish. What different would it make now?

My mind spun with a thousand thoughts, leaving me confused which way to go—get reckless and seduce him again, keep trying until he's impressed, or prove to him I wasn't a woman with no restrains in her desires, just like yesterday.

My thoughts were a mess, but my intentions were definite; whatever I chose to do now would have to earn him to letting me go… with the wolfsbane.

I squeezed shower gel into my hands and turned to face the wall, but it didn't matter; my ass still remained in view.

I wanted to wash myself in a way that teased him, but now, with his eyes on me like that, I didn't know why he looked at me like that, and that made my stomach knot. I feared the consequences of every misstep.

I spun around, against my will, my body moving fast before I could stop myself, heart racing, and I found myself spilling almost all the liquid in the hands.

My eyes stayed down as foamed up my body, gently massaging the gel all over, each motion jittery as hell, but the shower made attempt to calm me a little, even thought the temperature was steamy.

I haven't dared to meet his gaze since I stepped in her for a shower, and he hadn't said a word either—only silence, stretching until it felt humiliating.

And then I rinsed my body because I couldn't wait to get and a cloth over my body, clutching a towel frantically and wrapping it around my body like it was my only chance of reclaiming some sense of ease, before stepping out finally, without realizing I had only wrapped the towel around me in a sloppy hold. But it didn't matter, as long as it covered a great portion of my body. I could support the towel with my hands to stop it from falling.

I glanced up from the glass doorway, needing to see if he was still watching or if my actions were in line with his orders.

He was.

He was still seated in the armchair, legs crossed across the ankle, shoulder relaxed, yet he looked absolutely in control. His robe still clung on him like it knew exactly where it was supposed to be, and the hard planes of his chest glistened under the bright lights, just enough to make my gaze linger and my brain reset. If it doesn't, then I should be thinking of how to make him trust me and not be beneath him again, taking in his huge shaft.

He was sexy in a way that definitely felt sinful, and I didn't know if he was sitting there like a king on the throne making sure I felt every inch of his power and dominance, or he really chose that spot to casually sit.

I inched my way out of the bathroom, holding the towel around my chest, eyes darting everywhere in the room but him, confused on what to do next—change into a new cloth? I do not have any other clothes with me apart from the pullover and trousers, which had already been worn for too long and wasn't fit to be worn again, or just stand by the doorway waiting for the next order, or return back to being unclad just as he had ordered earlier, or just ask him straight up about what next to do.

His voice cut through the silence, low and always at the right time, like he gets access to read my mind too, just like he does my every move each time.

"Get the dryer. Upper cabinet. Beside you." He leaned back in the chair and let the silence stretch again.

I knew better than him anymore questions that would, in order words, be considered as futile. The dryer was ment to get my damp hair dried, to stop water from dripping onto my face and body and even on the floor, because it was clear—he saw it all.

And so, I bolted towards the cabinet without thinking or having him repeat himself, but the cabinet was taller than I was, stretching beyond my reach.

I stretch towards the top, but it wasn't enough; one arm was already holding the towel firm to prevent it from dropping.

I had to jump. I had no choice.

My body stretched upward, arm reached out over the cabinet, back tilting, my concentration was locked on the upper cabinet for a while, and while I hopped, I lost guard, and the damn towel just slipped away from my hold, dropping on my waist, and I grabbed it in a hurry before it hit the floor and exposed me again. But luckily, I grabbed the dryer in a single attempt.

I didn't wait to be told what to do next; it was for my hair, obviously. But just as I was about to plug it into the socket, his voice rang out again.

"Drop the towel on the rail and move." His words came out gravel-rough, low, and unhurried. Yeah, he has the whole time in the word to speak, and everyone would listen patiently.

My heart faltered.

What was he up to?