Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“What are you doing?” I cried.
He unbuttoned my dirt-encrusted pants and peeled them down to my ankles. Then he knelt and urged me to step out of them by grasping my leg above the wadded pants and lifting.
Was this real? What the hell was happening? Independent of my brain, my body complied, eager to get out of the wet, muddy pants.
His voice was hushed. “Can you take off your shirt, please?”
It was so confusing, it would have made me dizzy if I weren’t already. When I didn’t move, he stood, grasped the hem of my shirt ,and dragged the damp fabric up, which clung to me. My body refused to fight him, like my brain was no longer online.
I stood before him again in just my undergarments. I’d been so focused on what was happening, I hadn’t realized there was a large mirror behind him.
“Don’t look,” he said, but it was too late.
The side of my body streaked with blood. Bruises, mud . . . the purple-yellow swollen cheek. I didn’t care right now. I knew I should, but my thoughts were fuzzy.
He brushed a piece of wet, clumped hair off my forehead. Like he cared about me. I pushed his hand away and had to brace myself against the counter right after. I had to get away from him.
“Stop it.” I felt seasick.
“I don’t want to hurt you."
He didn’t leave me any time to evaluate if he was being truthful because he pulled his own shirt off, the one with my blood smeared on it. I gaped at him with shock, but he kept moving. He shed his pants, leaving him in only a pair of white boxer briefs.
“What are you doing?” My voice was loud this time. Blood rushed in my ears and my head pounded.
“We’re both covered in mud, and you can barely stand. You’ll collapse in the shower.”
He began to herd me toward the glass door. When I resisted, he simply lifted me off the floor and stepped into the shower where the warm water soaked us both. He eased me down onto the cold, slick seat, and I immediately had to avert my gaze.
His white underwear was entirely see-through when wet.
Juric stood under the water and rinsed the mud off his body while he watched me, curious. “You can look,” he said. “I am.”
I turned away and folded my arms over my chest. Shouldn’t I be more upset with this? All I could think about was the tingling in my skin and the bizarre urge to smile.
He finished cleaning and knelt before me on the tile floor, his gaze wandering over my bare skin like he found it fucking fascinating. I jerked when he grasped one of my legs and ran the soap over it. Mud swirled down the drain.
“Stop,” I said.
This. Was. Horrifying.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Kara.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He finished with my leg and focused on the other. The shower was warm, but I wasn’t under the water like he was, so my skin pebbled beneath his touch. That was the cause of this. Not his touch, I told myself.
My eyes closed and my head fell back against the tile wall. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You haven’t figured that out yet?”
I had. It had been lurking in my subconscious, but I had refused to believe it. When I opened my eyes in alarm, he leaned over me, a hand on the wall on either side of my head. My heart lurched, wanting to break free and run away.
He dropped his head to mine and kissed me.
Juric’s kiss was so much worse than the knife. Worse than all the other damage he’d inflicted on me.
I tried to fight, to break it off, but I was unable. He was warm, and my skin sang with every touch, and my brain could not get control of my body. I just sat there, my back against the cold wall, surrounded by steam and the monster above me.
It finally dawned on me why I had no pain and no control. “You drugged me,” I hissed. “The water bottle.”
“I’m drugging you now,” he murmured, his lips returning to mine. It wasn’t a confession or a denial. His tongue was invasive, but I had no resistance. What the hell had he dosed me with?
“Do you want to kiss me?” he asked.
“No.”
His mouth left mine and traveled downward to the hollow at the base of my throat. “Come on, don’t just sit there.”
“I have no desire to kiss you.”
His hands cupped my neck. He whispered it against my lips. “Liar.”
I shook uncontrollably. “Stop, please.”
He did, showing me that his eyes were heated and he was . . . aroused. He was breathing as deeply as I was, although his was with excitement and mine was fear.
His hand was on my thigh now, and I wanted to push it away. I wanted to get up and run. But my whole goddamn body was immobile. It was a locked, inescapable prison.