But no man had ever watched me as he did.

No man had ever given me his utmost attention.

No man stopped breathing or began to tremble the longer he studied me.

The way he watched me was borderline worship. He made me feel both like I was his for the rest of my life and that I was the ruler for the rest of his. He made no attempt to hide such fervency. No masks or quips to keep the upper hand. No games that so often existed in the bedroom between new partners.

Silently, I turned and gave him my back.

His sharp inhale sent my skin prickling, followed by the almost unfightable reaction to crumple at his feet as he draped the soft towel around my body and wrapped me tight.

I froze as he rubbed my arms, drying me off. Such a simple kindness. An unthought moment of sweetness.

But then his fingers dug into my biceps as if remembering our dynamic, and he stepped away from me. He backed up so quickly, I swayed as if he’d removed a wall from behind me.

Grabbing the towel, I turned to track him.

His jaw was clenched beneath his thick shadow of scruff, his long hair kissed his shoulders, and the tattered condition of his trousers hinted I wasn’t the only one in need of a shower.

He needed a shave. A haircut. He needed someone to groom him and teach him and perhaps, someday, remind him that whatever life he’d been living out here wasn’t a life at all.

It seemed whenever we were close, our eyes refused to unlock. I couldn’t look away from him—partly out of wariness in order to react quickly if he tried to hurt me, and partly because...despite everything—despite the two nights in a cellar drinking tap water and peeing in a bucket. Despite him shattering my cell phone and PLB. Despite the two strangulations and the forced blowjob, there was something inside him.

Something I’d been seeking ever since I was stupid enough to type up a dating profile. Something that no longer existed in men bred in today’s world.

That intoxicating blend of danger and doting. The ability to hurt but also to heal.

He kept watching as I dried off. I ought to have been embarrassed to rub the towel over my breasts and between my legs. Ought to have turned away and hidden all the pieces of me that I could.

But...if his lust could be harnessed—if I could do the unthinkable and make him free me, then I wasn’t embarrassed to use my body as a weapon.

The cold water and bathroom break had rejuvenated me.

I’m ready to fight again.

The longer I wiped off every droplet, the harder he trembled. Pain etched his eyes as his cock tented his trousers until the zipper strained and the button popped free. He looked in agony, yet he didn’t touch himself.

Licking my lips, I said in a voice that shook against my will. “I don’t have any other clothes. Do you...” I glanced past him to the bedroom. In my uninvited traipse of his home, I’d noticed wardrobes full of clothing. Some for men. Some for women. All rich and decadent and unused. “Would you allow me to borrow something while I clean mine?”

He lowered his head, his eyebrows shadowing the darkness of his stare. “A favor for a favor. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” His tone bordered a growl, thick with lust and frustration. Looking down at his cock, he snapped, “Deal with that, and you can have whatever clothes you want.”

Deal with that.

What does that mean?

He spoke of his body as if it was a traitor. As if the pleasure he was feeling and the anticipation of a release was torment instead of bliss.

“How...?” I swallowed, activating the fresh bruises around my neck. “Do you want to, eh—” I thought I’d come to terms with this. I had come to terms with this. I’d been prepared to offer my body in exchange for hope. Yet for some reason, verbalizing it took a strength I almost didn’t have.

Arching my chin and tapping into new courage, I asked clinically, “Do you wish to fuck me?”

He jolted.

His eyes snapped shut.

A guttural groan escaped his parted lips.

My belly coiled, and I was suddenly no longer cold from my shower. I was hot. I was steamy. But I didn’t want it. I couldn’t understand why my body reacted to his.

“Your hand,” he grunted. “I’ll fuck your hand.” His eyes opened, blazing coal and smoke. “Drop your towel and come here.”

Survival, Gem.

The only thing that matters.

Locking down my emotions for what was about to happen, I did as he requested.

I dropped the towel. I strode toward him bare. I stopped before him, suffering a full-body shiver at the heady heat rolling off him.

He didn’t touch me.

He looked as if he’d locked himself in place with shackles of invisible iron. “Free me.”

My heart somersaulted.

My inner battle for survival tangled with the ugly submission of giving in. Offering myself up verbally had been hard enough...willingly initiating sexual contact threatened to shove me back into the empty void from before.

“Do it,” he breathed, harsh and haggard. “Don’t and you’ll wish you obeyed.”

I looked up, fighting the urge to hide my body. “Do you...do you intend to touch me in return?”

I have to know.

Mentally, I had to prepare.

His jaw worked as his dark stare stroked my nakedness. “Make me come and you’re safe tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

His lips thinned. “Tomorrow? Nothing is guaranteed.” Impatience etched his mouth. “Enough talking. You owe me. Do it.” His hips rocked, almost against his will. “Get it over with.”

Get it over with?

Another hint that sex for him wasn’t normal. “If you don’t want—”

“I want. I want the pain gone,” he muttered. “Now. Give me your goddamn hand.” Grabbing my wrist, he forced my trembling hand to press against his zipper.

The second my fingers made contact with his stiff arousal, he let me go. “Don’t stop.”

Just do it, Gem.

Freedom comes with a price.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I ordered my hand to obey, shaking and wary, dragging the zipper down.

He grunted as the fabric pressure on his cock vanished. The ruined slacks slipped down his legs to the floor. The muscles in his belly stood out in explicit detail, cords of strength and ridges of vitality.

No underwear.

I paused for a second, studying his erection just as he’d studied me. I’d tasted him, pleasured him. I knew his body before I knew his mind. The thicket of hair was as wild as the hair on his head. Untrimmed and unruly, hiding the balls drawn tight between his legs. And thanks to the lights gleaming above, I noticed something I hadn’t in my gloomy cell.

Scars existed on this part of his body, too.

Tiny snaking lines followed the thick arteries pumping blood into his cock. An awful tapestry of yet more pain he’d endured.

Was it self-inflicted?

Was it punishment?

Who is this man?

And why did he fill me with equal parts hate and the unfathomable need to nurture?

“Touch it,” he snarled, frustration thick in his throat.

I jumped from the spell I’d been put under, seeming to slip whenever I was too close to him. I cursed it. It shouldn’t happen. This was my enemy. My prison guard—

“Fuck, please—” He groaned as if his frustration had escalated to pitiful misery.

Once again, he scrambled me up.

Here was a man who didn’t hesitate to hurt me, who could kill me where I stood, yet...his beg was full of despair. It made me want to obey more than any threat he could utter.

He wanted to come via my hand.

He’d spared me the task of having him inside me. He said he wouldn’t touch me in return.

I was grateful for that.

I wouldn’t risk him deciding otherwise.

Taking a fortifying breath, I reached for his impressive length. The moment my fingers locked around his velvety girth, his head tipped back, and he collapsed against the wall behind him. “Fuck.”