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“And what does power feel like?” he asks, his voice deepening as one of his hands trail up to my neck, avoiding my breasts. His touch is sensual but… safe.

“Let me feel you here.”

His hand slowly slides up the column of my throat, giving me time to reject him. When I say nothing, he clutches the underside of my jaw, forcing my chin up as he pulls my head back against his chest. My gaze locks on the white ceiling as anxiety crawls through my body.

“Focus, Adeline. What does power feel like?”

I release another shaky breath and speak before I can think too deeply about it. “It makes me feel good.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “I want you to think about that feeling. In your mind, hold that gun to whoever you wish. To me. To any of the men that hurt you. Whatever makes you feel good.”

I close my eyes, and the first person that comes to mind is Xavier. He’s kneeling before me, begging for his life. I can still feel the heavy metal in my hand, but unlike just minutes before, my hand is perfectly still. No violent tremors rack my body as I hold Xavier’s life in my hands.

I press the gun to his head, relishing in the pleas spilling from his lips. And I pull that fucking trigger.

“Now feel between your legs,” Zade whispers, sensing how my breath has escalated for an entirely different reason.

Slowly, my hand reaches down, swiping between my legs. Moisture gathers on my fingers, and I’m surprised enough by the revelation that I completely forget about everything else. For just a moment, I bask in the fact that I’m aroused.

My breath falters, and shame filters in, but Zade senses that, too. With my throat still seized in his hand, he turns his head until his lips brush against the shell of my ear.

Warm breath skates across the side of my face as he whispers roughly, “Do you know how hard my cock gets when I think about all the ways I’m going to slowly torture the men that hurt you?”

I open my mouth, but no sound escapes. They evaporate on my tongue when Zade rolls his hips into my back, the evidence of his words digging into my lower spine.

It should repulse me. But it doesn’t. And I clutch ahold of that feeling while it’s there. I don’t care if it’s fucked up, it feels so much better than the constant agony.

I close my mouth and nod, acquiescing to the thoughts as the shame recedes.

“I'm going to touch your hand now,” he whispers.

He keeps my throat in his grip while his free hand reaches up and wraps around mine, the rose still clenched in my fist. He squeezes tight, forcing the sharp thorns to spear my hand.

I inhale sharply, hissing between my teeth before gritting them against the pain. And then he guides our hands down until the soft petals brush against my pussy.

My eyes shutter as he glides the petals up and down, coating the rose in my arousal. I feel the blood rising to my cheeks as he lifts it again and presents the dripping flower to me.

“Zade…”

Blood trails down my arm as he releases my throat to grab my other hand and bring it to the rose, guiding my fingers across the petals.

“Do you feel how soft and wet these petals are?” he whispers. Licking my lips, I nod my head slowly. “This is what I feel every time I’m inside you.”

Fuck, you feel like hea—

“Hold on to that feeling of power, baby. Don’t let go of it.”

I’ve tensed up again; my muscles strung tight. Shuddering, I shove out the intrusive voice and replace it with the image of pointing a gun to their head. Steady, and calmly as I pull the trigger.

I relax as he pushes my middle and ring fingers into the center of the rose, just like he would if it were my pussy.

The pain needling throughout my hand fades as a deep-seated pleasure takes hold. For the first time in so long, I feel sensuality and eroticism as I continue to push my fingers in and out of the rose, Zade’s own fingers held over mine.

I feel the pressure building in my core, desperate for some type of release. Different faces flash through my mind like a movie reel, all of them meeting the same demise. The pressure between my legs grows and grows until I’m sure just one touch of my fingers would send me over the edge.

“Zade,” I plead, though I don’t know what I’m asking for.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, continuing our movements with the rose.