Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
The man rolls me onto my side, away from him, removes the tie from the end of my braid, and unravels my hair next. As he runs his fingers through the strands to separate the sections, he murmurs at me in an even lower voice that makes my heart race.
Finally, he scoops my naked body off the table and carries me to the tub that’s still filling with water. When he squats next to the basin, he reaches in to feel the water before taking my hand and lowering it into the stream.
Instinctively, I jerk my fingers back. It’s too cold. I wiggle in his embrace, hoping he won’t put me in this frigid water.
He frowns and adjusts the knobs. When he holds my fingers under the stream again, he looks at me and lifts a brow.
I smile and nod. It feels much better. I’m so grateful he cares what I think. He’s not going to force me to sit in freezing water. My entire outlook on life has shifted with the addition of this man. So far, he has seemed kind. I wonder what his plans are for me.
Clutching his neck, I lean my head against his shoulder. I’m weak and still feel heavy. It’s been days since I was drugged, so my heaviness shouldn’t be from whatever they injected me with. But, it’s also possible I’m being drugged by the formula.
When the man is satisfied with the temperature of my bath, he grabs one of my feet and dips it into the water, lifting a questioning brow again.
I smile and nod.
He grins and lowers me slowly into the tub.
It feels heavenly. Warmth surrounds me. For the first time in days, I’m no longer shivering.
I immediately cover my breasts and clasp my legs together, but the man gently grips my chin and tips my head back. Frowning, he shakes his head before prying my wrists apart, forcing me to lower my hands.
He’s kneeling next to the tub, but he’s at least seven and a half feet tall, so his huge frame is leaning over me.
When he releases my wrists, I instinctively pull my hands back to my chest.
He shakes his head, frowns, and points toward a hook embedded in the tub near the top. There’s one on both sides.
The man holds up a pair of handcuffs next, shakes them in front of me, points toward the hook, and does that questioning eyebrow raise again.
The blood drains from my face. Is he threatening to cuff my wrists to the sides of the tub if I don’t stop covering my breasts? I’m shaking as I lower my hands to my thighs. I know I’ve understood correctly when he smiles and gives me a curt nod.
I’m shocked by our ability to communicate without words. I’ve never tried to talk to someone who spoke a language I don’t know. It’s bizarre, and yet we’re managing. But it will be exhausting if I have to gesture to express my thoughts and needs for the rest of my life. The sounds coming out of the Venkorians’ mouths are not noises I could ever learn to make.
The man sets a palm on the back of my neck, covers my eyes with his other hand, and leans me back until my hair is completely underwater.
I panic and reach for his forearm, but he doesn’t let my face go in. In seconds, I’m upright, startled, as he pours what I assume is shampoo into his palm.
He points at my eyes and squeezes his own closed for a few seconds. I understand his meaning and lower my lids to avoid getting soap in my eyes.
As soon as he starts massaging my scalp, I whimper. His touch is so nice. I can’t recall the last time someone washed my hair. It must have happened when I was a toddler, but that was so long ago.
He takes his time, and I’m glad because I never want him to stop, but eventually he tips me back to rinse off the soap. I’m not nearly as scared this time. I know what to expect.
Next, he pours more soap into his palm, lifts one of my arms, and washes from my fingers to my shoulders. He does the same to the other arm and then my feet and legs.
I think he might be done, and I won’t have to endure him washing my torso, but I realize I’m sadly mistaken when he grabs my hips, stands me on my feet facing him, and sets my palms on his shoulders.
I’m getting him wet, but that’s not even a tiny fraction of my concern because the man reaches around to wash my back and then my front. He cups my breasts and spends far more time than necessary fondling them.
When he pinches my nipples, I yelp.
He chuckles, his voice deep. It seems to reach inside me.