"Lie down," Sienna ordered.
Isaac did as told without hesitation, his eyes fixed on her, and she walked to him with a rope, avoiding his gaze. She secured his wrists to the bed frame tightly to prevent him from destroying things later. Herself included.
Then she waited.
It came as expected. Within minutes, the transformation began: the slow creep of those beastly and hungry features covering his face, the redness seeping into his clear eyes, the veins rising against his skin like cracks. He thrashed violently against the restraints, his body arching off the bed, and for a moment, Sienna hesitated.
Her feelings had interfered with her professionalism; she had asked herself if she really wanted to hug an engaged man in her underwear, but she pushed it down; she told herself she was only acting as a doctor here.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his thrashing body against hers. She began to whisper a soft lullaby into his ears, her voice steady as calmness thrown into a stormy sea.
The drug she had injected him with was designed to bring out the worst of the monster in him; that meant that her cloth alone would not calm him like usual. It meant that without a tranquilizer, bringing him back would be nearly impossible.
She was risking her life on this.
He kept thrashing, his body jerking against hers with violent force. She held on, her arms locked around him, her voice never wavering, the lullaby continuing its gentle rise and fall. Minutes passed. Then more. The strain burned through her muscles, her arms screaming in protest, her throat sore from the singing.
She almost gave up and reached for a tranquilizer to calm him down but…
Slowly, like a storm finally calming down, he stopped.
His breathing evened, the red faded from his eyes, and the veins receded beneath his skin. He blinked up at her, awareness returning back to his being.
She had done it.
Sienna climbed off him immediately, her hands trembling as she loosened the restraints. She moved to gather the rope and put distance between them as fast as possible.
He suddenly grabbed her arm, and she fell backward, straight into his embrace, her back against his chest, his arm locked around her waist before she could react. She tried to retreat immediately, pushing against him like she had touched flames, but he held her in place with frustrating ease.
"What exactly is going on?" He asked, his voice low and rough from the episode but steady.
"I implore you to respect yourself, Prince." She twisted in his grip, anger flashing in her eyes. "This is assault."
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "If that is what it is, then that is what it is." A pause. "What's the problem?"
She opened her mouth to retort, but he turned her to face him, caught her chin, and tilted her face up to meet his gaze.
"Tell me, Sienna," he said, using her name; he had never used her name before. It sounded different coming from him, softer, warmer, like something precious being handled with care, and she hated that she liked it. "What is going on?"
She glared at him, daggers in her eyes. "Nothing is going on, Prince. Everything outside of treatment that happened between us was a mistake. It will not happen again." She wrenched her chin free. "I am done with your treatment for today."
He knew it was more than that. She didn't just wake up one morning and decide to be professional. If that were the case, she wouldn't be this cold. It was as if he had done something to her, something he didn't know, but he hadn't even seen her since the last time.
"This conversation will get us nowhere," he murmured.
Before she could think, he suddenly lifted her like she weighed nothing and placed her beneath him on the bed. He pinned her hands above her head, his body pressed against hers, his face so close that their breaths intertwined, warm and unsteady.
"What exactly do you want from me?" she questioned sharply, and he could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers. "Isn't it treatment? What else?"
That sent a pang of annoyance through him.
And he suddenly kissed her; he kissed her like a man starved, his mouth claiming hers with a wildness and desperation. She kept her lips closed, resisting and fighting, and he kept pressing and demanding until finally she gasped in pain and he dove inside.
It became a war.
Their tongues clashed, neither willing to yield. She bit his tongue hard, but he didn't stop; he let her taste the blood from the injury she had caused. It was like he didn't feel it at all. When he finally broke the kiss, he stayed close, his forehead nearly touching hers.
"What happened?" His voice was ragged. "What did I do wrong?"
"You bastard," she finally snapped, her voice holding all the anger and pain she had been bottling in since a few days ago. "You play with my body and my emotions, and then you return to Subrind to your fiancée like I am some wooden toy to be picked up and discarded at will."
She yelled it straight into his face, her eyes wide with unshed tears.
He frowned and then he understood. She had heard the news.
"I don't have a fiancée," he said quietly.
She sneered, obviously not believing him.
"She is not a fiancée. She is a watchdog my father sent to monitor me, to prevent me from doing anything outside his will." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "Do you think anyone would want anything to do with a monster like me without strings attached?"
The anger she had been nursing for days began to ease, though not completely, but enough that the sharp edges of her fury dulled; she didn't want to believe him.
"Even if that is true," she said, her voice quieter now, "the fact remains that you are someone's fiancé, whether she is a watchdog or not."
He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent, full, natural, and intoxicating, flooded his senses. He had missed this, missed the way the world seemed to make sense when she was near.
"I am sorry," he murmured against her skin. "I cannot change that right now. But I am and will always be yours."
"What the hell are you saying?" Her face burned red. "Who wants you? I only want to be free from you."
He didn't argue. He simply lowered his mouth to her neck and bit down gently; his tongue soothed the spot immediately, hot and wet, and she sucked in a breath she couldn't seem to release. He kissed her earlobe, tugged it gently between his teeth, then traced his lips along her jaw. She bit her own lip hard, desperate to stop the sounds threatening to escape her.
He traveled back to her mouth, planting soft, teasing kisses at the corners, on her chin, and on the swell of her lower lip. And then he kissed her again.
This kiss was different. It was wilder and more passionate, but the cold atmosphere between them had dissolved, replaced by something hot and urgent. She moaned against his lips, she couldn't stop it, and the sound sent a visible shudder through him. His grip on her wrists loosened entirely.
His hands found new spots.
One slid under her breast tube, groping her breast with pressure that made her head spin. His fingers found her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and she arched into his touch. The other hand kneaded her other breast, squeezing and releasing in a rhythm that had her moaning.
Her own hands found their way into his hair, threading through the soft, pale strands, holding on like he was the only solid thing right now.
She didn't stop him.
She didn't want him to stop.
The breast tube became an annoyance, and he tore it off with a single, impatient movement. The fabric gave way like paper, and then his mouth was on her.
Hot, wet and desperate.
His mouth closed around one nipple sucking and licking while his hand worked the other, and she cried out loud, unrestrained and helpless. He groaned against her skin, the vibration sending sparks down her spine, and she felt the evidence of his desire pressing against her core through the thin fabric of her underwear.
He spent what felt like an eternity on her breasts, licking and sucking and biting, leaving marks and by the time he finally traveled back up to her mouth, she was trembling, wet, desperate.
Her hand found his belt.
She fumbled with the buckle, her fingers clumsy and impatient, and she couldn't focus, couldn't think, she couldn't do anything but feel. He broke the kiss to help her, his hands working faster than hers, and soon every piece of clothing between them had been discarded to some forgotten corner of the room.
Skin met skin. Heat met heat.
"Do you want it, Sienna?" His whishpered against her ear, voice low and sensual, dripping with promise.
"Yes." She replied without hesitation or shame. "Yes, please."
"Say my name." He kissed her earlobe, bit down gently and soothed it with his tongue. "Tell me what you want. Use my name."
She moaned, her hips bucking against him involuntarily. "Please…"
He rubbed against her core, teasing, playing, the head of him catching on her wetness and making them both gasp.
"I want it, Isaac." The words tore out of her, raw and desperate. "Please."
"What do you want, Sienna?" His voice was strained now, barely controlled. "Tell me."
"F**k me, Isaac."
That was all it took.
He kissed her, hard and consuming and slid into her in one smooth, devastating motion. She cried out against his lips, half pain, half pleasure, her nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, low and guttural, and then began to move, the world fell away.