I groaned and half turned on my side. I watched as his gaze again fell on the scab at my hip where Victor had branded me.

The water warmed, and he closed the drain to let the tub fill up. He then picked up a washcloth and a bar of soap that sat on the edge of the tub.

I made some sound of rebellion.

“It’s clean,” he said, holding up the square of cloth. “Relatively.”

I must have made a face because he laughed outright.

“Just kidding. Christ, lighten up, princess.”

Princess. Victor had called me that a few times. He’d picked it up from Mateo. But the way he said it made my skin crawl.

“Stop,” I said, the word coming out slurred.

“Look at you, got your voice back.”

He lathered up the washcloth and started to rub me down. I had to admit the water filling the tub felt good. Warm, almost hot. It was so cold in the other room. Although it made me hiss when it reached the tender wound on my hip.

He raised each arm and scrubbed each finger, not leaving even a tiny square inch of skin untouched, paying special attention to my breasts until my nipples hardened.

“Pretty,” he said.

I tried to slap away the cloth but he took my hand and shook his head as if he were chastising a child.

“Be a good girl, and I won’t add on to the punishment you’ve already got coming for biting me.”

Goose bumps covered me at his words, and I did as he said. I lay still while he cleaned me, his touch gentler than I expected, especially around the scabby, tender spot at my hip, as if he were taking care of it. Maybe he wanted to be sure he’d be able to read whatever it was.

My captor pushed my legs apart then, and, with his eyes on mine, dragged the soapy cloth between them.

I protested by closing my legs and pushing his hand away, realizing as I did so that I was regaining mobility a little at a time. But it wasn’t nearly enough to make any difference when all he did was “tsk” at my efforts. This time, he held one knee wide, wider than he’d spread me before, and cleaned between my legs. My face heated—given he’d turned on the lights in here, I could see through the mesh covering his eyes—and I swear he smiled behind his mask. I hated him for it, hated him for his tender invasion, for the natural response of my body as he rubbed that very delicate spot over and over again, as if wanting to draw that very thing from me.

“There,” he said. “Almost done.”