Page 53 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
When I lower the brush to the countertop, I catch a glimpse of something in my reflection. My hip. And around the sides of my ass.
I spin, craning my neck over my shoulder to look behind me, and I see it.
Or rather them. Light bruises in the shape of fingerprints.
That asshole marked me. I wait for the expected fury to burn in my gut, and it does, right on schedule. In my head, I’m already calling him every foul name I can come up with as I step into the shower.
I can’t scrub these off, and I can’t block out the memories either.
I hate that they pummel me like the hot spray.
My anger drains away and shame replaces it when I realize I can’t even stay pissed about the marks, because under no circumstances can I say I was unwilling last night. I urged him on as he gripped my hips and fucked me harder.
That asshole got his wish.
He manipulated me. Messed with my head. But there’s no doubt that I begged him for it in the end.
Shame burns down my face in two hot streams that I refuse to admit are tears. I’m getting better and better at lying to myself.
I slap my palms against the shower wall and hang my head between them, letting the water pour over me. Wash me clean. Absolve me of the sins I’ve committed.
After several long minutes, I let loose a final sniffle and stand straight w
ith my new mantra for the day pounding in my head with the same intensity I still feel between my thighs.
Lachlan Mount will not break me. He might fuck me. He might fuck with my head. But he will never break me.
I use the back of my hands to wipe at my eyes and swear to myself that he will never earn another one of my tears. He’s not worth it. I hate him.
The intensity of my feelings hasn’t faded. It grows stronger each time my body turns against me. It’s humiliating that I find so much pleasure in what he does to me. I’m sure he’s plenty amused by it.
A spine of steel won’t help me with Mount. Titanium is required.
The only person who can decide who and what humiliates me is me, and I won’t give him that power ever again.
Fuck him.
Which I know I’ll do, even though everything in me wants to deny it.
Magnolia said there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it, but she’s never dealt with Mount before. Or has she?
I remember my purse in the bedroom. Scar didn’t take it from me last night, but I was too furious to even think to use my phone.
The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of this shower is text Magnolia. She might not get up before noon, but a late-afternoon lunch with her just became imperative. I have to know if there’s anything else she’s managed to uncover since this whole disaster began.
I need more ammunition against Mount if I’m going to win this battle, not to mention anything possible to armor myself against him. Magnolia told me not to let him get into my head, and I’m failing at that task about as spectacularly as America’s war on drugs.
Magnolia will help me. She’ll have wisdom to impart. If nothing else, talking to her will be another piece of normalcy I can reclaim.
When I turn off the shower fifteen minutes later and wrap myself in one of the luxuriously thick and fluffy towels hanging on the warmer, tucking one end between my breasts, my entire body stills as I reach for a second one to dry my hair.
I’m no longer alone.
Mount leans indolently against the door frame that leads to the bedroom.
My first thought is one of utter invasion. “Now I don’t even get to shower in private?”
“You get what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less.”
