by Sky Corgan
I hug myself, practically ignoring him while I work to put the pieces together. Our bedroom. That means he wants to share that bed. That means he wants to... Oh fuck, I'm meant to be his sex toy while the rest of the war plays out. Not happening.
He turns to me, looking pleased with himself, and I just scowl.
“What's wrong?” Fynn asks as he approaches me again. This time, when he reaches out for me, I make sure to move back enough so that he can't touch me.
“Listen,” I use a firm voice, “if you want to put me to work in the kitchen or scrubbing your toilets, I'm totally fine with that. But I'm not doing...this.”
A smile lights up his face, and he lets out a chuckle. He moves closer still, but I continue to back away. There's not much room left. Soon I'll be against the wall, but I can always sidestep him.
When he realizes I'm not going to let him lay his hands on me again, he stops. “What do you think this is?”
I stand my ground. “I don't give a fuck who you are, I'm not sleeping with you to pay some debt I never even asked for.”
He lets out a soft hiss as if I've wounded him. “You are...” He shakes his head at me.
“I am what?” I challenge him.
“You are something else entirely.”
I can't tell if he looks more amused or fascinated.
“Well whatever you think I am, I am not your whore.”
His mouth falls open in shock for a fraction of a second. “Whatever gave you the impression that I think that of you?”
“This.” I gesture at the bedroom around us.
Fynn takes yet another step forward, and my back finally meets the wall. His hand rises to caress my cheek, and I cringe away, though I don't sidestep him like I had originally planned. Something has shifted between us, but I can't really tell what. Maybe it's the fact that I now understand his intentions. Perhaps it's knowing that I can't escape him. If he wanted to, he could hold me down. There's no one who would come to my rescue here. It's much like it was back when we first came face to face in that abandoned house. He's my enemy. Stronger. With the advantage. I feel helpless and small, but I won't go down without a fight.
“Is this what you think of me?” His thumb slips beneath my jaw, tilting my face up and forcing me to look at him. “That I'm some monster that just brought you here to fuck you and cast you aside.” His eyes rove over me. There's something dark in them. Desire. Hunger. He wants me, and I'd be lying if I said he didn't look sexy as hell and that this wasn't turning me on to some degree. “I could do it, you know.” He leans in closer. I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes and pressing my head against the wall until it hurts. “I could rip off your clothes and have my way with you.” His breath wafts across my cheek. Without even seeing him, I know that his lips are dangerously close to mine. I feel weak in the knees, like I might melt into a puddle the second he makes contact. The stubble on his cheek brushes against my skin as he bypasses my lips to whisper into my ear. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not that kind of man.”
And then I feel nothing but cold air as he lets me go and puts distance between us. By the time I open my eyes, Fynn is already by the bed, my bag of belongings in his hand. I hadn't even noticed he'd taken it from me. I must have been too engrossed in the thought of him kissing me.
The bag rustles as he unties the knot and begins to go through it, pulling out my white t-shirt and holding it up to me. “Does this hold sentimental value for you?”
“No.” I shake my head, staying against the wall. I feel deflated with disappointment. That moment between us was so intense. For all my resolve earlier, I probably would have caved if he had kissed me. Maybe I'm not as strong as I think I am.
Fynn sighs. “I wish I had time to prepare for this better, but I suppose it doesn't matter since you won't be leaving this house anytime soon. Maybe it's good that you brought this. I can't have you going downstairs in just a robe, and you can't keep wearing those filthy rags.” He gives my outfit a look of distaste.
I watch him pull my clothes out of the bag and lay them on the bed. When he unwads my only other pair of cotton panties, I blush. He glances at me over his shoulder. “This definitely won't do. This neither.” He holds up my bra along with them.
I stomp up to him and snatch them from him. “I never realized you were such a pervert,” I bark at him in disdain, and he just chuckles.
“I'm just a man, Anya.” He turns to me, trying to touch me yet again. When I bend back to avoid him, he frowns. “Are you really going to keep doing this to me?”
“I'm not your property, Fynn. You can't just do whatever you want.” I shove my bra and panties back in the bag and out of sight.
“But you are mine.” He sneaks in a caress, taking advantage and cupping my face in his large hand to hold me in place again.
There's that smoldering look that makes me feel weak. I can't continue to make eye contact with him, or I'm going to be done for. “I like you better with your hair down,” I mumble, though I'm not sure why I said it. Maybe it's a diversion tactic. Whatever the case, it's the truth. I want to touch his hair so damn badly that it's driving me insane.
He chuckles, letting me go to pull the hair tie from his hair. His long brown tresses cascade in waves over his shoulders and frame his face. My ovaries go into overdrive as I think about how delicious he looks.
“We need to bathe before dinner,” he informs me.
“Bathe,” I mouth the word, because sexualizing him has somehow made me forget English.
When sense finally returns to me, all I can picture is buckets of cold water, washcloths, and tarps. Realizing that I might actually get to experience warm running water, I can't help but feel excited.
Fynn takes my hand and leads me into the master bathroom. There's a long hall with his and her sinks and a vanity between them with a linen closet on the opposite side. At the end of the hall, through an open door, I can see a clawfoot tub.
Fynn stops at the vanity and pulls out the chair tucked beneath it, using it to block my path to the tub. He sits, facing me. “Take off your clothes.”
My jaw unhinges at his blatantly obvious request for me to strip. “Excuse me.”
“You have to be naked to get in the tub.” He nods behind him.
“You strip.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He gives me a warning look before standing and pinching the zipper at the front of my hoodie. “I can take these off for you, if you'd like.” The zipper makes a near deafening sound as he starts to slowly pull it down. All the while, his eyes never leave mine. That heat is there again. I refuse to let it get to me, though. I can't allow him to seduce me so easily.
I grab the front of his belt, pulling it out of the buckle while I glare at him.
His eyes grow wide with surprise, and he grins. “This is a bit unexpected.”
“Oh, it's not what you think.” I force a smirk.
“It isn't?”
“Once I get this off, I'm going to beat you with it.” I start to pull his belt from the loops, but he stops me by placing his hand on top of mine.
Before I even know what's happening, his arm is behind my back, drawing me to him. His mouth descends on mine, stealing my breath. I press my palms against the hard wall of his chest. My eyes are wide from shock, but it doesn't take long for them to grow hooded, for my fingers to relax instead of digging into him, for my lips to savor the way they mold perfectly against his.
I part my lips to let out a shaky breath, and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue into my mouth. Against my better judgment, I moan into the kiss. For the first time since he's touched me, I'm pushing towards him, not against him. It's like his kiss has caused some strange erotic magnetism. My hand moves to his side, trailing over his ribs. I want to rip his shirt off and see what's beneath.
He pulls away from me, looking down on me with a sense of dominance that makes my pussy clench. Yes, he could have me if he wanted. It wouldn't take much more coercing, and that thou
ght terrifies me. While this isn't my first kiss, I've never been with a man before. I hadn't really cared about saving myself for marriage, but I wanted to give myself to someone worthy. Fynn is my enemy. No one can possibly be less worthy than him.
This doesn't seem real. This person standing in front of me can't be a prince. He looks like just a man—a devastatingly handsome man, but a man nonetheless. There's no crown or fancy wardrobe. I didn't meet him while he was surrounded by people trying to protect him because he can't wipe his own ass. I met him out on the field—alone and vulnerable, putting himself at risk of capture for...what?
When he caresses my face this time, I don't shy away from him. His thumb pets over my lips, and I try not to feel intoxicated by his touch, by the arousing way he's looking at me.
“Take off your clothes for me,” he tells me gently. It feels like a request, but I know it's not. The way he's towering over me says it all.
“Turn around,” I reply, trying to find some middle ground.
“No.” He shakes his head, his hand pulling my zipper down the rest of the way.
I roll my shoulders to help him pull the jacket down over my arms. This feels wrong, somehow, but if it is, then why do I keep doing it. Why am I allowing him to undress me?
He grabs the bottom hem of my shirt, and I lift my arms and allow him to pull it over my head. In my dingy black Dollar Store bra, I feel self-conscious. I wrap my arms around myself to hide my body from him.
“No.” He takes my hands and uncrosses them.
“Yes.” I defy him, stepping away.
“Anya,” he makes my name sound like a song, “you are absolutely stunning. I want to see you.”
“I...” I stutter. “I can't.”
“You will.” He approaches me again, except instead of trying to pry my arms away, he reaches behind me and unclasps my bra. I gasp from his boldness, gazing up at him. He smirks.
“What about you?” I bow my head towards his pants. His belt is hanging halfway off, and he hasn't made any attempt to fix it.
“Don't worry about me.” He pulls the belt off the rest of the way and tosses it aside as if reading my mind. I can't help but grin.
Fynn's hands reach for my hair, and he pulls out the rubberband at the base of my braid before untwining my hair. I stare at his chest, resisting the urge to touch him. It feels so forbidden placing my hands on royalty in such a lecherous way, yet he's not shy at all about touching me. It's because we're on different social levels, I remind myself. He feels entitled, I think with a frown.
Once my hair is down, he slides his fingers into it and fluffs it out. Then he takes a step back, admiring me in my bra and jeans. It makes me nervous, like he's judging me.
“How about this?” he begins. “I'll go run the water, and by the time it's done, you'll be naked for me.”
Compromise. Perhaps he is capable of it.
I nod, waiting for him to turn around before my eyes scour the room for a towel. There's a hand towel hanging on a hook on the wall, but it's not nearly large enough to shield my nakedness. That's when I remember the linen closet.
Fynn pivots to walk to the clawfoot tub. As soon as he's far enough away, I go to the linen closet, turning the handle and stepping inside. If he thought I was going to give him the peep show he's been hoping for, he's got another thing coming.
For a moment, I consider closing the door behind me, but I don't want him to think I'm trying to lock him out. That would be pointless. He could easily break down the door, and then he'd be pissed, and I don't want that. So instead, I leave it open, finding the shelf with towels and pulling one down to wrap around me as I slide my bra down over my shoulders.
Undressing while trying to shield myself is awkward, but I do it the best I can, ever paranoid that Fynn might be able to see me somehow. Once I'm done, I leave my pile of dirty clothes on the floor, tightening the towel beneath my arms before stepping back into the vanity area. Fynn is still filling the tub. He's pouring a box of crystals in it and doesn't even turn to me. The scent of roses fills the air, and I inhale deeply, feeling dizzy from the luxurious scent.
Luxury. That's what he's offering me right now. I could be standing behind the tarp in the camp, my skin covered in goosebumps from the cold. The air here is filled with humidity and warmth. Knowing what's coming, I crave it almost as much as Fynn's kiss. Comfort. Things I haven't been afforded since before the war—things I took for granted.
I approach Fynn quietly, each step bringing with it horrible thoughts. He's not a vulnerable man by any means, but he looks vulnerable with his back turned to me. I must have looked the same way when he came upon me in that abandoned house. Even though I feel guilty for it, the thought does cross my mind that I could end him. Right here, right now, I could do my country a favor and try to take his life. My eyes even look around for a weapon a few seconds before surrendering to the fact that the idea is completely insane. He could still overpower me, and even if I could kill him, I don't think I want to anymore.
I place a hand on Fynn's shoulder to alert him of my presence once I've closed the distance between us. He looks up at me with a charming grin that makes my heart flutter. Damn him for being so attractive.
“Turn.” I nod for him to turn around so I can take the towel off and step into the tub.
Instead, he stands, remaining hunched over for a fraction of a second to check the temperature of the water before turning the knob to stop filling the tub. Then he steps up behind me, wrapping his powerful arms around me. My body goes rigid, the temperature rising several degrees from the sexual tension that his touch causes.
He unwraps me like a present, and I do little to resist, allowing the towel to fall away behind me. My back is to him, so he can't see anything, which offers me a smidgeon of comfort.
“Would you like my help?” he asks before tossing the towel onto a chaise against the wall.
“No.” I take the initiative and lift my leg to step into the tub.
The hot water on my toes feels heavenly. Each submerged inch is like the warmest caress. I close my eyes when my body sinks down into the water, so overwhelmed with pleasure that I don't care what Fynn sees of me anymore. When I open my eyes again, he's crouched next to the tub, a smile plastered on his face.
“Has it been a while since you felt warm water?” He reaches across me to pick up a bottle of shampoo from a small table next to the tub.
“Ages,” I reply with a relaxed sigh.
I pay little mind to him, soaking in the sensation of the bath before I feel him put his hands in the water, cupping them to draw up water and pour it over my head.
“What are you doing?” I flinch away.
He chuckles. “I'm washing your hair.”
“Why?” I give him a suspicious look.
“Because it's dirty.”
I can't argue with that. Still, it feels like our roles should be reversed. Doesn't the servant bathe the royalty, not the other way around?
I submit to being pampered, allowing him to lather my hair with water and shampoo. His large fingers feel good massaging my scalp, and I have to resist the urge to moan, though I do praise him once, so he'll know I appreciate it.
With my hair lathered with conditioner, he grabs a bottle of liquid soap and a sponge and begins sudsing it up before dragging it across my skin. I blush from the sensuality of his actions. His slow movements make it more than just a bath. There's something highly intimate about what's going on between us.
“I can do that.” I try to grab the sponge from him, not wanting him to think that I'm giving him permission to touch me inappropriately.
“I know you can,” he whispers into my ear, sliding the sponge down over my collarbone and between my breasts. It feels like my entire body sucks in to avoid his touch, but it does no good.
“I've got it,” I say more firmly, steeling my hand on top of his so it can't travel down any further.
He snorts in amusement before letting go for me to take over. I fin
ish bathing myself, discomfort snaking around inside of me with the knowledge that he's watching. It makes the bath a little less pleasurable. Thankfully, he doesn't move in to help me again until it's time to rinse the conditioner from my hair.
“Would you like to soak for a while?” he asks once I'm clean.
The real answer is yes, but I say no because I have a feeling he would just sit there and watch me the entire time. I would not be able to relax if he was watching me.
I open the drain at the bottom of the tub and wait for Fynn to bring me a towel. He holds it open for me, and despite the fact that he's seen everything already through the water, I still climb out of the tub backward and keep my back to him as he towel dries my hair and then uses a second dry towel to wrap me up in.
“Why are you doing all of this for me?” I dare to ask, turning to him once my body is covered.
“Because I care,” he replies simply. “Now it's my turn to bathe. You can get dressed while you wait for me.” He leads me out to the vanity area before closing the door behind himself.
I'm left feeling perplexed and a little disappointed, wondering why he got to watch me bathe but I don't get to watch him. The sound of spraying water confirms he's going to take a shower instead. I stand in the vanity area, slowly towel drying my hair while I listen to him moving around in the bathroom. My mind falls to lecherous thoughts. I imagine him disrobing, the wall of ripping muscle beneath his shirt. His hard length when he takes off his pants. Did he close me out because he's going to jack off to fantasies of me? A smirk plays on my lips as I realize the thought pleases me. That I want him to be painfully hard from all the dirty thoughts his brain can conjure. I want him to yearn for me to the point that he has to touch himself. I bet he looks hot when he comes. I want to hear his voice when he moans in pleasure.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror and blush to find that my nipples are hard pink beads. Perhaps I'm doing more fantasizing than he is, I think with a frown. Though all my fantasies just involve seeing him naked. They're relatively innocent.
I distract myself by brushing my teeth with my finger since I can't tell if one of the toothbrushes in the holder is meant for me. Then I leave the vanity area to return to the bedroom, put on my clean clothes, and wait for Fynn to finish his shower. I sit on the bed, sliding my fingers across the cushy comforter. I haven't slept in a bed this soft in a while. Tonight, I'll be sleeping in it with Fynn. But will sleep be all that we do?
