Page 56 of Peak Cruelty

I strip.Step in.Let the heat bite first, then soothe.My scalp aches.My thighs are sore.My wrists are raw.All signs of progress.

He doesn’t knock.Doesn’t announce himself.Just steps in like he owns the water, too.

He does.

His eyes rake me in pieces.Not slow.Not sweet.Just practical.Like he’s making sure all the parts are still where he left them.

Then he pushes me back against the tile and lifts my leg.

No lead-in.

No buildup.

Just bare skin and the sound of his breath when he finds I’m ready.

He fucks me like a man who resents the timing.Fast.Brutal.Efficient.

Like he’d rather be elsewhere—but not alone.

I don’t moan.I laugh.

He pins my wrists to the glass.

I stop laughing.

The sound of our bodies echoes.Slap, grind, curse.I bite his shoulder, and he groans like I hit a nerve.

When I come, it’s not a wave.It’s a snap.

Sharp.Hot.Instant.

He follows with a grunt, buried deep, mouth at my ear like he needs to anchor himself to something solid.

We stay like that.Breathing like we outran it, but didn’t.

Water washing nothing away.

“I should hate it here,” I say.

He looks at me.Still close.Still inside.

“But you don’t.”

“No,” I say.“I don’t.”

29

Vance

“You gonna clean that up?”she asks, nodding toward the hall.

I know she doesn’t mean the mess on the floor.

“I’ll get to it.”

“Good.”She steps out of the shower.“Because if he starts to smell through the vents, I’m not taking the blame.”

She walks out as if it’s decided.As if the worst already happened.

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