Page 7 of The Vixen

Thisis natural.

On him, it looks wrong.

My head tilts as I survey his penis and push the ridiculous thought from my mind. I have to hand it to him, for as cold and turned off as he must be, he still has good length. Half a foot at least.

“Very good.” Pulling the baton back, I nod as if satisfied. As if that served some other purpose than reminding myself howvulnerable Sawyer is. Reminding him. “Aiden, you may go.” I lean the baton against the stool and bend to drain the tub.

For a moment, the only sound is the drain chugging water, but one pointed look from me, and Aiden’s boots retreating add to the mix.

When Sawyer and I are left alone, the tension seems to loosen. The air feels breathable. The candles no longer feel out of place. Every flicker is a subtle mockery of intimacy we don’t have—that we’ve never had, but that each of us seems to enjoy nonetheless.

If lit by him, Sawyer would call itplayful.

I never knew I was capable of such a thing.

Once the tub has drained, I turn the water on and go about rinsing Sawyer’s filth while he shivers and stares wantingly at the baton. He doesn't try to hide it, not in Aiden’s absence.

I pull my hair off my shoulders before rinsing the cloth and applying more soap. “Would you like to hold it, pet?”

He openly glares at me as I stand, and when I graze the cloth over his pec, he cinches my wrist. I lift my eyes to his without the slightest climb of my heart rate.

“If you’re going to demean me, you should do it while your pitbull is in the room.”

I tip my head to the side while a slight curve plays at my lips.

I’m not one to smile this much.

“Demean you?Sweetie pie.” I purse my lips as I drag the moniker out. “Honey caaakes.Come on.You of all people should appreciate endearment… Don’t you think,pet?”

My teeth unveil as my smile widens. A rush of heat spreads across my flesh so intense, Sawyer is in danger of being burned. Still, he doesn’t let go. He stares with all the rage of the powerless, and every moment our eyes connect, the more power I seem to take.

Then he spits in my face.

My eyes close as saliva coats my cheek. Every muscle in my body tenses as thousands of microscopic insects attack all at once.

Imaginary. It’s imaginary.

Sawyer takes both my wrists in one palm and pins them against his chest while he digs his thumb into my lips to keep them pinched shut. As if I’d scream. As if I’dneedto scream for my big, scary,maleprotector to come to my rescue.

If he knew what I was capable of, he’d crumble at my feet.

He puts his mouth to my ear. “Pet names are fine for lovers or friends. You and I are nothing but victim and victor.” His grip on my wrist tightens until my bones protest. “Enjoy your turn, you evilfuckingcunt.”

The way he speaks… Calm. Certain.

Foolishly naive.

And yet, my lungs lock.

An impossibly long second passes before he pulls away. Impossibly long, but not long enough to recover.

Sawyer releases my wrists to take my head in his hands. Without missing a beat, he licks his saliva off my cheek—slow, steady, thorough, his dehydrated tongue rough as sandpaper.

When he pulls back, I’m stunned silent.

His shoulders rise as he shakes his head in a pitiless, disgusted, maybe even bitterly amused way. “Forgive me…Your Grace.”

A second passes.