The sound of running water soon echoed from within.
Nelson remained frozen, his lips hovering in the empty space where she had been.
He slowly straightened up, violently yanked his tie loose, and tossed it to the floor.
He hadn't bothered to turn on the bedroom lights. He leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, listening to the muffled spray of the shower.
Inside, Juniper peeled off her clothes. She washed quickly. As she dried herself, she saw the massive, purpling bruise blooming across her shoulder. The slightest touch sent a spike of agony through her nerves.
But physical pain meant absolutely nothing compared to the excruciating psychological torture she was forcing herself through.
She grabbed a fluffy towel, wrapped it tightly around her body, and walked out.
Nelson gave her no time to react.
She didn't kiss him back. She lay there like a block of dead wood.
He threw her onto the mattress and stopped, staring down at her in the dim light.
Her face was a mask of cold, lifeless apathy.
It was painfully obvious that he was the only one losing his mind with desire.
Sparks of fury ignited in his eyes. His thumb dug roughly into her jaw, forcing her lips apart as he demanded access. "Are you mute? Did you forget how to kiss?"
She kept her eyes squeezed shut, refusing to move a single muscle.
Nelson let out a harsh laugh. So, she was playing this game.
His lips grazed punishingly against hers. He grabbed her hand and slammed it against his dress shirt. "Take off my clothes."
Juniper didn't move.
He waited a full sixty seconds. Then, his patience shattered. He violently tore the towel away.
He wanted nothing more than to break her right then and there.
He couldn't stop himself from kissing her, devouring her, but every time he saw that dead, empty expression, the rage inside him burned hotter.
Over an hour later, he looked down at her. Sweat dripped from his jaw, splashing onto her collarbone.
His voice was ragged, thick with desperation. "Juniper, give me something. Kiss me back."
Juniper's eyes remained tightly shut. Her hands gripped the bedsheets beneath her in white-knuckled silence. She was enduring this like a prisoner surviving a medieval torture rack.


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