Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Upon glancing at the camera’s blinking light, I realize I’m being watched. A sudden feeling of no longer being alone washes over me. Sure enough, as I turn to look, Vincent enters the bathroom.
In the doorway, he stands silently. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t try to touch me. He just…watches.
I don’t know what comes over me, but instead of telling him to leave, or getting out of the bath, I reach for the bar of soap and wash. My eyes hold his as I run the slippery bar over the crests of my breasts and sit up straighter in the tub until the bubbles no longer hide the pinkish flush of my skin.
My eyes drop to the crotch of his pants when I can’t help noticing the growing bulge there.
I should stop—I know I should stop. By doing this, I’m tempting fate—and tempting the Devil. I expect something unwanted to happen. Despite that, I can’t seem to help myself. Instead of being afraid of Vincent, I’m turned on by the way he’s watching my hands trace over my body.
I let my hair fall down around my shoulders as I sink back down in the tub, keeping my chin just above the water and my lips slightly parted as I continue to stare back at him. Vincent stands frozen, his steely eyes unblinking, his body motionless except for the subtle swelling in his pants.
When I reach my hand down with the bar of soap between my legs, the tension between us rises to a level that seems unbearable. I tremble, wondering and maybe even wanting whatever is about to happen next. But then, as quickly as he appeared, Vincent turns and leaves without ever having spoken a single word.
As soon as he’s gone, I realize what a mistake that could have erupted into. What the hell was I thinking? He isn’t some dark knight or seductive anti-hero—Vincent Moretti is a mafia man, a cold-hearted killer, and a vicious man who has stolen me from my life. Any fantasies I’ve allowed to creep into my head need to stop right now.
I avoid lustful thoughts about him during the day, but my subconscious desires take over when I try to sleep. Almost as soon as I drift off into a deep slumber, I dream.
My dream feels so real that it’s hard to distinguish what I’m imagining now in my sleep from what happened earlier today. In my dream, I’m back in the bath again and Vincent is still standing in the doorway watching me. This time, he doesn’t stay still or quiet. This time, he walks toward the tub and reaches his hand down into the water beside me. I can hear his voice in my head as if it’s actually taking place.
“You want me to touch you, Isla,” he says with an insatiably sultry look in his eyes. “Don’t you?”
I nod, unable to speak even though I open my mouth to try.
He slides his hand between my legs, and his fingers open me like parting the petals of a flower. When he strokes me, I can feel it every bit as intensely as if I were awake, as if his touch were actually really happening.
Tilting my head back against the tub’s side, I let him touch me until I feel like I might burst.
“Stop,” I beg, even though I want him to continue. “I shouldn’t…I can’t—”
“You can do anything you want with me,” he says smoothly as he keeps his hand in place. “You’re my little ballerina, and I can make your body dance for me.”
The sensation rises to the point of no return, and right at the moment when I feel myself cascade over the edge of pleasure, I open my eyes.
I sit up in bed, breathing heavily and urging the ache between my legs to subside. The dream may not have been real, but the fact that I woke up soaked in shame is.
I stare out the window as I try to calm myself down and get my bearings. Outside the door, I can still hear Marco standing guard. Inside my room, I can see the tiny blinking red lights of the surveillance cameras. I wonder if Vincent is still watching me through them now. I wonder if he could see the pleasure coursing through my body before waking from that dream. Most of all, I wonder why he watched me for so long in the bath without making a move to touch me.
Perhaps he’s having trouble sleeping tonight, too, and is watching the cameras right now. As if to tempt fate even further, I step out of bed and slip my wet panties off and toss them onto the nearby chair. Then, without replacing them and wearing nothing underneath the soft shirt that falls just above my knees, I climb back into bed.