His Ruthless Temptation

Chapter Five

I woke slowly, as if clawing my way up through a dark fog. Every inch of my body felt bruised and aching, a soreness that reached deep into my bones. I stayed still, curled on my side, eyes closed tight, as if keeping them shut could make last night disappear. But fragments crept back in—the touch of his hands, the weight of his presence, the way he'd looked at me.

And I'd let it happen. My captor, a man with blood on his hands, a man I should despise. Yet, I'd given in, and the reality hit me like ice water. My chest felt tight with a kind of shame I'd never known, a cold, hollow ache that twisted in on itself, leaving me sick and reeling.

I wasn't a virgin, yet nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this. Last night had torn down any sense of familiarity I thought I knew. The way he fucked me, the rawness and force of it, had pressed deep, so deep that I'd lived it as if it was my first time. And with that came a darkness, a vulnerability that I hadn't thought I'd feel again, one that left me hollow and shaking.

After a few moments, I forced myself to shift, to turn onto my back, wincing at the new ache that flared in protest. I lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, before I braced myself and turned over. That's when I saw him beside me.

He was still asleep. His face was peaceful, his features softened, his mouth no longer set in that constant, mocking smirk. He looked almost... vulnerable. There was strength in every line of his face, his jaw, his shoulders. And that fleeting glimpse of him, just lying there, somehow made everything worse. I couldn't shake the revulsion at myself, couldn't stop the nausea that churned as I looked at him.

I turned away, unable to bear it any longer, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, moving carefully, each step sending fresh jolts of pain through me. My only thought was to get out, to put some distance between me and what had happened. But as soon as I tried to stand, my legs gave way, and I fell hard onto the floor, completely bare naked, unable to catch myself in time.

In the silence, the noise I'd made felt deafening. My heart pounded as I glanced back at the bed, praying he hadn't woken up.

But he was watching me. Awake and alert, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. A slow, knowing smile crept onto his face, and in that moment, he looked every bit the predator I knew him to be.

My breath hitched, and I froze, my heart racing as he leaned forward, his gaze never wavering.

"Going somewhere, Mariposa?" His voice was low, laced with amusement.

The room seemed to close in around me, my pulse pounding in my ears as I struggled to hold his gaze, to hide the panic that flared deep inside. His smile only grew, as if he could see every shred of fear and shame twisting through me.

Swallowing hard, I muttered, "I want to take a shower." The words felt thin, barely audible, but he didn't move, just watched me with that hint of amusement glimmering in his eyes, like he could read every flicker of shame rolling off me.

Without a word, he stepped closer, his hands settling on my shoulders before I could react. He lifted me easily, a smooth motion that left me breathless, and then his hand shifted behind my head, cradling me gently but with an unyielding strength. Before I knew it, he was guiding me forward. I focused on anything but him, fighting the urge to look down at his dick. Each step was a struggle; the ache between my legs grew sharper, each movement a fresh reminder of the night before. I could feel myself limping, grimacing with each jolt of pain, and he noticed that too. His gaze was intense, quiet, unreadable as he watched me, making no comment, just guiding me onward.

We reached the bathroom, and he turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature while keeping his steady grip on me. The warmth of the steam filled the room, a brief, almost welcome relief from everything outside. And before I could do anything, he picked up the shower gel and began to run it over my skin with a gentleness that took me off guard. His hands were careful, moving along my back, my shoulders, tracing over every bruise and ache with a tenderness that was at odds with everything I knew about him. His fingers traveled across my arms, my legs, my waist, as though he was trying to erase his own marks, to somehow make up for the violence he'd shown me as I was frozen, heart pounding.