Page 34 of Muerte

It was almost as if he had taken the time to create an environment that catered to my wellbeing. It was hard to compare this man to the one that forced himself inside me while I slept and branded my flesh. At the reminder of the mark, there was an ache where it had been placed. I explored the area with my fingers, drawing them away when a sticky substance brushed against them.

I examined my fingertips thoughtfully, catching a whiff of something similar to aloe vera. So, he hurt me, and then applied a salve? I returned to my examination, tracing over the mark. It was a letter inside of a circle—an A. More than likely the same one I kept seeing. I had no idea what it represented—the story of my life lately.

The only thing I was certain of was that Mr. Hawthorne wanted me as his… what was the word he used? Electi? I didn’t know what that meant either. I was pretty sure the people here were fluent in Latin, or maybe Spanish. And then there were those other women that had been branded before I was. Who were they?

I sighed and sank deeper into the water, closing my eyes for a moment. A soft thud had them flying back open. I glanced around the room but didn’t see anything or anyone. To my left, a large walk-in shower with intricate fixtures beckoned.

The space was large enough to host a small gathering and even had a stone bench in its center. On the back side of the room, a partially open door seemed to lead to a sprawling walk-in closet. I could see a glimpse of dark colored clothes on hangers but not anyone inside.

To the right of that door was another, and if I had to guess, I’d say it led to the toilet because there wasn’t one anywhere else. I slowly turned my body, creating a silent ripple in the water. There were two bowl sinks side by side atop a sleek marble countertop. The sinks were a juxtaposition of elegance and functionality.

Above them hung a massive mirror. It stretched across the expanse of the wall, its frame a work of art in itself that held a hint of antiquity, capturing and reflecting the subdued light that filtered in through the arched windows.

I continued turning until I was back in my previous position and could gaze beyond the confines of the bathroom. The wall of curved windows framed a breathtaking view of the lake. The water's surface shimmered under the early morning sunlight, casting a serene and hypnotic spell.

I could just make out the silhouette of a lighthouse in the distance. It added an eerie touch to the scene, a beacon that seemed to guide lost souls but was unable to reach mine. Immersed in my thoughts and quiet solitude, I almost didn’t see Mr. Hawthorne until he was on the other side of tub.

His presence alerted me to his arrival seconds before he stepped into my line of sight and wordlessly commanded attention.

“Mind if I join you, deliciae?" he asked, his voice a low purr. It was a question as much as it was an invitation, a challenge, and a promise. He removed the towel with one hand, leaving it to drop to the floor.

A surge of conflicting emotions coursed through me as he stood unapologetically naked. The sight of his bare form was both unexpected and arresting. I inadvertently traced the contours of his toned muscles, his body a canvas of strength and power. I tried my best not to look at his cock and failed.

The fragile walls I had erected were on the verge of crumbling. I forced myself to meet his gaze, smoothing my expression into a blank slate. His eyes held mine, revealing nothing and everything all at once. A faint smile played on his lips as if he knew the effect that he had on me. I think he reveled in it.

He got into the tub, and the way his muscles flexed with each movement accentuated the vast difference in our sizes. I felt small and delicate, almost fragile in comparison. He settled across from me, and though his bathtub was spacious, it no longer felt so massive. The water seemed to shift to accommodate him. I was even more thankful for the bubbles now. They were the only thing keeping him from seeing all of me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his tone laced with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite decipher.

I looked at him warily, leaving his question to hang between us for a moment. "Do you want the honest answer, or the one that will placate you?"

A faint quirk of his lips hinted at amusement, but his expression remained composed. "The honest one, always," he replied, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"I'm sore," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The admission felt raw, a confession that held a vulnerability I hadn't intended to reveal.

“That’s to be expected,” he replied with a gentle acknowledgment. "Come closer.”

I blinked, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, unmoving.

"If you don't, I’ll simply come to you," he quipped, his gaze holding mine with a challenging glint.

Pick your battles, I reminded myself as I begrudgingly complied.

I coasted my body across the tub until scarcely any space separated us. My pulse quickened as a myriad of scenarios began to play out in my head.

"You are truly exquisite," he remarked, his voice a gentle caress as his strong hands encircled my waist and pulled me closer until I was all but straddling him. A tremor coursed through me, my thoughts attempting to turn back to the night before. I focused on his solid chest so I didn’t have to stare at his face.

He reached for something, and then I felt the cool sensation of body wash. His touch was unexpectedly gentle as he began to wash me, his movements deliberate and unhurried. I was acutely aware of our proximity, his presence enveloping me in a way that was disarming. His fingers traced my skin with a reverence that felt almost foreign, treating me as if I were a rare and fragile treasure.

The water around us seemed to hold an electric charge, every brush of his hand as he lathered the body wash with a soft sponge. His breath fanned across my neck, sending small flutters of sensation through me. My desire was a tangled web of apprehension and shame.

The circumstances of my situation were at the forefront of my mind. A part of me felt weak for not fighting him, but another argued I already had. I’d tried and epically failed to fight him off. He hadn’t even been using a fraction of his strength then. An actual fight was out of the question. There wasn’t any telling what he would do to me if I pissed him off. A man had just had his eyes gouged out and a woman lost her tongue for incurring his wrath.

All I could do for now was appease him without trading my soul in the process. There was a village with regular people—I hoped.

If I could somehow get back to there, my chances of escape would be significantly higher.

“You know,” he began, interrupting my planning. “You looked beautiful last night, and you impressed me.”