All He’ll Ever Be (Merciless World Series Book 1)
All He’ll Ever Be: Merciless – Chapter 18

I’ve never wondered what a prisoner would feel like when led from chains to a feigned freedom. Like a courtyard or elsewhere. I wonder if they feel the same initial instinct to stay close to their warden, the way I do with Carter.

Or, maybe it’s because I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. Of fighting, of starving myself, of not sleeping. I’m not broken, but I am so fucking tired.

The rich mahogany furniture, high ceilings and carved molding accents move around me in a blur. Without shoes, my bare feet pad softly on the polished floors, and it’s all I can hear.

I’m not sure if I should peek up and take in my surroundings, but every time I do, Carter gently brushes my shoulder and I instinctively pick up my pace, focused on what’s to come. Still, I try to track everything, to pay attention to every doorway and window, every possible chance of escape.

My heart beats fiercely as he leads me to the right and I see a thin stream of light in the darkened hall from a room in the distance. The sounds of chatter and even laughter echo around me, although Carter pulls me in the opposite direction.

Adrenaline courses in my veins and my throat tightens.

There are other people here.

“Don’t be stupid, Aria,” Carter whispers in the shell of my ear, making my heart lurch and forcing me to jump back. I hadn’t realized my thoughts were so obvious.

“Come,” he orders me, offering me his hand. My own is small in his as he wraps his strong fingers around mine and leads me deeper down the darkened hall. All I can think about as he takes me closer to where he wants me, is that there were people here, all this time, and I have no idea if they heard my screams or what they would have done had I screamed just moments ago.

Carter unlocks a door, the clinking of metal keys accompanied by his rough voice as he says, “My brothers stay up late. They always have.”

His brothers. Jase. Who else? There isn’t enough curiosity in the world that could lead me to ask him. But deep in my soul, I’m crying for answers although I can already hear the hiss of the truth in the back of my skull.

There is no mercy here. Not from anyone.

The door opens with a muted creak and I only nod as he gestures for me to head inside. The small bit of hope fluttering in my chest is strangled. I can barely swallow, barely do anything but place one foot in front of the other through a large bedroom, until I hear the flick of a light switch.

The dim light flows across the black and white marble tile. Carter doesn’t wait for me to enter before turning on the bath at the far side of the room. I’m struck by the sheer size of the bathroom. Even coming from wealth myself, I’m taken aback.

“It’s beautiful,” I speak softly. Although how I’m able to speak, I don’t know.

The feel of the cold tile under my feet has never been so welcome.

The sight of the plush towel folded neatly on the counter makes me itch to touch like nothing else ever has.

The sound of a running bath has never felt so soothing. And yet, I’m so aware that I’m only a prisoner in a gilded cage, and this moment outside of the cell may be my only chance of escape.

My body is tired from not eating much and having terrors wake me every time I sleep. But I still feel the need to fight.

Carter doesn’t respond to a thing I say, or to the next step I take into the bathroom, letting my fingers trail along the pale paisley pattern on the silver wallpaper. My gaze flows through the room easily but stops when I see the tub.

I can’t take my eyes away from the steam that billows around the edge of the clawfoot tub.

Leaning over the spotless porcelain, Carter’s back is to me with his muscular shoulders pulling his shirt tight, and I imagine how I could push him and run. I could shove him with every ounce of strength I have and run out of the room. I doubt I’d get far though, and I don’t know where I’d go.

Now I know his brothers stay here. They’re here somewhere.

No, I’m sure I wouldn’t get far.

“I want to feed you before I bathe you.” Carter’s statement cuts through the visions of me running until he adds, “Strip down and get into the tub while I get your dinner.”

The dead hope is resurrected; he’s leaving me. The thought makes me more anxious than anything.

As he leaves, Carter grips the door and adds, “I won’t be long.”

Left with only the heat and comfort of the running water, my heart beats once, then twice.

My eyes close and I whisper, “Don’t be stupid.” The aching inside, the desperate need to run, it’s all outweighed by the knowledge of what would come if I disobeyed.

Would I really deny myself a reckless chance of freedom for a warm bath? For food and his touch? Have I been so deprived that such small comforts would rate so highly?

My nails dig into my palms as I war with myself, and when my eyes open, all I see is myself in the mirror. My hair is tangled, although I’ve run my fingers through it daily. It’s oily and dirty, which is to be expected.

My face is thin. Much thinner than I remember. Lifting the thin cotton shirt above my head, I inspect my body, running my fingers over my sides and down to my waist. The cell is so dim; I didn’t see the bruises from when I was taken. The cuts around my wrists have left thin white scars, and the bruise on my ribs is an ugly shade of dark brown that’s faded to nearly nothing.

I hadn’t felt defeat until I was led from my cell, giving up the possibility to run only to see how damaged I’ve become.

The sound of the water striking against the surface harder brings my attention to the tub.

It’s nearly full. The steaming hot water and relaxing fragrance of lavender bath oils Carter poured in it, beg me to cave. To let go and stop fighting. To be good and do as I’m told. If only so I can rid myself of the sense of failure and remember who I am again.

And I still remember those words he spoke days ago. He made a deal and I’m to help him. There is more to this than I know. “Be smart,” I whisper to myself. I’m playing a game without knowing the rules. Without knowing the next phase. The little bit of hope and wonder push me forward toward temptation.

Turning the iron faucet, I realize it’s the first thing I’ve touched in weeks beyond the few items in the cell. Something as simple as turning a knob feels both foreign and nostalgic. I never want to go back to the cell. My chest feels hollow as I think, never, but I know that the choice isn’t mine.

It is, a small voice murmurs in the back of my head. The voice that takes advantage of my pain and promises so much hope in whispers of deceit.

Jasmine and lavender fill my lungs as I inhale the calming scents and quickly remove my shirt and shove my cotton pants down my legs. Although the clothes are new, they’re still dirty. Everything in that cell is dirty.

The fabric clings to my toes and I have to kick it off and toward the puddle of clothes. Just as I do, I hear the heavy footsteps of Carter coming back.

Fear keeps me from moving for only a moment, but then I quickly place a foot into the steaming water, hissing at the onslaught of heat and causing the water to splash around the tub. Water hits the floor as I move to step with my other foot into the hot bath, the heat becoming more and more welcoming as my body adjusts to it. With my back to the door, I hear Carter enter, but I ignore him, lowering myself into the tub filled with a warmth I so desperately needed. And hide myself from him.

“How does it feel?” Carter’s voice carries through the room with a powerful resonance.

Like heaven, I think as I turn slowly, careful not to splash the water, but also careful to stay under and somewhat hidden beyond the white bubbles on the surface.

I try to tell him that it feels wonderful and thank him when I finally meet his gaze, but I’m silenced by the intensity within. His eyes swirl with the danger of a man close to getting what he wants. An animalistic heat passes between us and I can only nod for fear of what my voice would sound like if I dared utter a word to him.

Thankfully, he tears his gaze from me and picks up a ceramic plate from the counter.

“You need to eat.” Carter’s command sounds more like a reminder to himself. And again, I merely nod.

I’ve had delicious food before. I’ve gorged myself on delicacies without thinking twice. It’s one of the only benefits of my upbringing. But the food Carter brought me makes my mouth water and my grip tighten on the tub to keep me from ripping the plate from his hands.

He must see my eagerness; he always smiles that devilish grin when he knows I’m eager. Bastard.

“Open,” he commands me and like a good girl, my lips part and I nearly moan when he slips me the small chunk of filet dipped in au jus with a dab of herbed butter smeared across the top. The meat melts in my mouth, the tastes singing on my lips. My eyes are still closed as I relish the food, thinking it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten when Carter brushes another piece against my lips.

Instantly I open my lips for him, and his finger brushes against my tongue as he gives me a second piece and then another. My teeth scrape against his fingers and my eyes widen with worry that he thinks I did it on purpose, but he only feeds me more.

The fear and worry slip away, just as the time does with each slice of tender meat.

Blistered tomatoes and peppers along with roasted potatoes replace themselves in the mix as Carter feeds me until my stomach is full and I can’t take another bite. It’s been so long since I haven’t felt hunger pains. It feels like forever since I’ve sunk into a deep tub, covered in hot water. I rest my head against the side of the tub and pretend like everything is alright. It’s only a small moment until the clinking of the ceramic plate on the tile floor disturbs me and brings me back to the present.

My body stiffens slightly, sloshing the water toward the edge of the tub away from Carter as he dips a washcloth into the tub.

His fingers brush against my skin and sinfully, I welcome the touch. It’s been so long, and I’ve been so lonely. I want more. I need more. I replace myself wishing for him to take me like I know he wants to.

Has he really broken me so easily? Or is this something I should want the way I do? The questions bring a haze to my mind and a thrumming in my blood. The washcloth travels over my body, starting at my feet and working its way upward. My calves, my thighs and so close to between them.

I know he can hear my heavy breathing; he can see how I grip the edge of the tub. But he doesn’t touch me there. Instead, he tells me to wet my hair and takes his time massaging my scalp and lathering my hair. The scent of the chamomile shampoo overwhelms me, and I hum ever so slightly until I hear it and stop myself.

Everything feels so good.

“Back under, songbird,” he tells me in that velvety voice. The voice I don’t want to disobey, and so I don’t. I do as he says. With every command he gives me, I do exactly what he says.

He massages the washcloth over my shoulders and I whimper as he kneads the pain away. I hadn’t realized how much my body ached until he showed me so. A low groan of approval forces me to open my eyes and stare into his. But he’s not looking at my gaze. His eyes are focused on my hardened nipples, peeking up from the water.

The washcloth makes a splash as it hits the water and slowly sinks to the depths of the tub. Carter lets his fingers trail down my chest, plucking one of my nipples and then the other. It happens slowly, his fingers determined but also giving me a warning. His rough thumb circles them first before tugging on them and causing my head to fall back and my thighs to clench. Each tweak sends a sharp spike of need between my legs, and I nearly spread them for him. My clit pulses with need. I feel it so strongly I don’t think it would take much at all for me to cum for him. And I can’t replace it in me at all to replace any shame at that fact.

The dull desire that hasn’t faded, shoots through me and I welcome it.

Carter’s dark eyes replace mine, but instead of reaching lower, his arm dips into the water next to me and he gathers the washcloth once again.

I’m reminded of his patience. How slowly he does everything. I don’t know if he replaces pleasure in teasing me or if it’s simply that he doesn’t want this moment to end, but either way, I lean my head back as he continues bathing me, and I don’t object until his hand is right where I’ve secretly been wishing for it to be.

He brushes the washcloth against my throbbing clit and I gasp, moving away from the intense pleasure and making waves in the tub that splash over the edge. Fear and desire mix into a confusing potion that I drank long ago. And at this moment, I’d drink the bottle again, I’d suck it dry and lick the edge of the neck where the last beads of liquid would gather. That’s how badly I wish for him to do it again.

“Don’t let go, Aria. If you do, I’ll stop,” he warns me and my lungs still. My body’s on fire with need. I slowly lower myself back under the warm water, until my breasts are hidden again, and I hold Carter’s eyes as I slowly reach back up and grip on to the edge. My body’s still, so still as Carter’s gaze flickers between my pussy and my stare. I bite down on my bottom lip as he reaches between my legs again.

His movements have been steady and slow. Careful and considerate even. But as the washcloth falls into the water, brushing against my thigh and ass, and his fingers replace the cloth, his movements are nothing but savage.

He shoves his fingers inside of me. My back bows as the sudden spike in pleasure crashes through every inch of my body.

“Carter,” I whimper his name as he pushes his palm against my clit. I’ve never been touched like this. Air is torn from me and I can’t breathe or move or do anything but grip tighter and try to stay still as he finger fucks me harder and harder.

“Carter,” I cry out his name louder into the hot air and grip the edge of the tub as hard as I can. I can’t let go but my body is begging for me to run, to move, to both get closer to the intense pleasure and to leave it quickly.

I know when I do cum, it will split me into pieces and he’ll love how I shatter under his touch. It both terrifies me and thrills me.

I should be ashamed as I writhe in the water. I should be embarrassed as he hisses when my pussy clamps around his fingers and my orgasm tears through me, coming faster and harder than it ever has before.

My heart shouldn’t pound for more. My body shouldn’t ache for more. I shouldn’t sit up so quickly with the intention of gripping his wrist and pleading with him for more. The waves are still crashing through me as he turns around, grabbing the towel and ignoring how I’ve just come apart for him.

My fears cloud the desire; they dim the sensation of lust that ricochets through my blood, my breathing steadying.

But when he turns to face me, I know it’s alright. I know I did well to let him touch me. From the way he looks at me, it’s like he’s never wanted anything more in his life.