The Ruthless Heir

ERICA’s [POV]

My face flames with heat, and I shake my head again, silently cursing myself. Judge doesn’t acknowledge my strange behavior. He continues to wash me, not shying away from any of the areas on my body.

When his palm glides down between my thighs, I almost buckle in his arms, and I don’t know why. But the gentle caress of his fingers in such an intimate place is doing strange things to me. Things that shouldn’t be happening. If Santiago ever found out he even did this much, my brother would murder him.

Still, it gives me a secret thrill I can’t deny. We might hate each other, but there’s no arguing a part of him wants me too. And I find myself wondering if a part of me wants him? Or am I just reaching for comfort in a terrible situation, even if it is from my captor?

That question is laid to rest when he releases me momentarily to let me rinse. When I’m done, he moves on to shampooing my hair, which is a whole other sensory experience.

My hair is long and thick, but he takes his time working through each strand, even pausing to massage my scalp when he notices the way it gives me goose bumps.

He rinses me again, and, to be extra thorough, washes my body one more time. I’m grateful for that small gesture because I would have done the same. But I’m also slightly relieved that it’s not over yet.

God, there is seriously something wrong with me. By the time he releases me, my legs feel like jelly, and I can barely stand.

“Go dry yourself off,” he says. “I’ll be out to join you in a minute.”

I do as he bids, stepping out to towel off, lingering in the bathroom for far too long. I’m curious if he’ll undress completely, and I can admit that maybe a part of me wants to get a glimpse. Just to see what he’s packing down there. To see the weapon between his thighs.

Judge turns away and doesn’t acknowledge that he knows I’m still there. He yanks off his briefs and tosses them onto the wet floor, then turns the spray to cold. I freeze, unable to move as my eyes survey the perfect globes of his muscular ass.

Holy shit. It really is… beautiful. That’s such a stupid thing to say about the man I hate more than anything right now, but I can’t pretend it’s not true. He has a gloriously sculpted body, like a piece of art. You can’t help but stare at it.

While my eyes are roaming over him, I catch a glimpse of some dark ink wrapped around his side and onto his back. At first glance, I think it must be the brand of the IVI tattoo we all have inked into our skin.

Then he turns and catches me gawking, raising a brow as my eyes instinctively head south. And there it is in all its glory. The long, hard cock jutting out from that dark patch of hair. He doesn’t even try to hide it, and I wonder if this is a test. If he wants to see how I’ll react.

I want to believe I have a good poker face, but when I glance at him again, I can tell he knows. He hasn’t missed the way my nipples have tightened or my belly has clenched. He can see that I’m curious. More than curious.

I’m… I don’t know what the hell I am, actually.

JUDGE’s [POV]

I switch off the water and reach for a towel, Erica’s eyes following my every move. Her neck and cheeks are flushed, and her eyes keep dropping south. I’m aroused. Still. Even after the freezing spray of water. Washing her, having her that close, touching her, well, fuck. I am a man.

A man who should know better.

I rode hard this morning. The truth was, I needed to after spanking her. I don’t even know if it was the spanking or the fact that she was wet that did it. I can still smell the delicate scent of her arousal on my fingers.

When women are sent to me to be disciplined, I draw a very clear line. One I’ve never come close to crossing even when the opportunity arose. Erica, though, I don’t know what the fuck it is with her, but all I can think about when I’m around her is how tight her pussy would feel around my cock. How she’d cling to me as I claimed her. How my name would sound on her lips when she came on my dick.

Fuck.

I need to stop this, or I’ll need another cold shower. After scrubbing my hair with the towel, I wrap it low around my hips.

Erica clears her throat, and I look up to find her eyes on me. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s quick to shift her gaze away.

“Come here,” I tell her.

She steps toward me. I notice how her pupils are dilated, her lips are parted, and her nipples are hard as pebbles beneath the towel she’s holding loosely over her shoulders. She lowers her gaze again as I take the towel from her and dry her shoulders and arms, watching the top of her head as I do.

She reaches out, fingertips hesitantly tracing the skin of my chest, my abdomen. My muscles bunch beneath her touch, but I remain still as she tests.

“What are you doing?” I finally ask, though I don’t stop her.

She looks up through thick lashes and watches me as she lets her fingertips slip toward the towel.

My dick responds, and I grab her wrist harder than I mean to. “What are you doing, Erica?”

“Nothing,” she snaps.

I study her, keep her tiny wrist in my hand then turn her arm over to look at the delicate skin there.

“You don’t want to touch me like that.”

Her cheeks burn. She blinks several times, clearly embarrassed, her hand tightening around the knot of the towel as she tries to tug herself free of me but fails.

“That side of me you do not want to know, understand? It’s not for you.” Just as you’re not for me.

It takes her a moment, but she steels herself and turns her narrowed eyes up to mine. “You can touch me, though? Any way you want.”

“To discipline you. To clean you.”

She tugs. “Let me go.”

“Do you understand?”

She snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself, Judge. I can have any man I want.”

My jaw tenses, and I realize I’m squeezing her wrist too hard when she winces. I let her go, and she takes two steps away.

“Any man. Any time,” she says, then cocks her head and grins that arrogant, self-satisfied Erica De La Rosa grin.

I close the space between us, relishing in the fact that she takes two away before her back hits the wall and she’s out of room. I touch her chin and tilt her face up. “I have no doubt they drop to their knees on your command, little monster. But I’m not one of those boys you can wrap around your pretty little finger.”

She jerks her chin out of my grasp. “As if I’d want to.”

I grin. Good. This is good. We were moving into dangerous territory there. I turn to exit the bathroom, but before I’m even out the door, I hear her gasp, and I stop dead. Because fuck. I haven’t showered with a woman in a long time. Too much intimacy. What just happened proved that, didn’t it?

Without looking back, I continue into her bedroom.

She follows. “What is that tattoo?”

“It’s nothing.” In her bedroom, I see the tray of food Miriam must have returned. Still uneaten for the most part. Some of the bread has been picked at. It’ll grow mold soon. “Your breakfast is here, Erica,” I tell her as I reach the door to exit her room.

She’s right behind me. “Judge?” Her fingers wrap around my bicep just as I pull the door open. “What the…?” She touches the spot. “There’s a scar under there. What is this?”

I turn to face her. “The past. Get dressed, eat your breakfast, and think about why you’re here or you’ll be spending another day locked in this room.”

She searches my face, hers unreadable. “Who did that to you?”

Is she taunting me? Using my own words to play with me? “Go eat your breakfast. Now.”

“I’m not eating that. Tell me who did it? And why you’d hide it under a tattoo. Or can you ask me, but I can’t ask you? Like you can touch me, but I can’t touch you.”

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