Touched Without Permission

Chapter Two

Ardyn

He didn't speak.

He just stared.

Caelum Thorn stood at the edge of the steam-fogged glass, backlit by the low glow of the bathroom sconces like some ghost from a darker world. A nightmare I should’ve feared. A man no girl should ever tempt.

But I was naked. Wet. Dripping.

Fingers still between my thighs. Breath caught in my throat. My shame glowing across my cheeks as his silver eyes devoured every inch of me.

I froze. Not because I was afraid—though maybe I should’ve been—but because he didn’t look away.

He made no move to turn around. No demand to stop.

He just… watched.

I lowered my hand. Slowly. Not in modesty, not really. It was something else. Some primal instinct that told me to behave, to obey, to submit—because I was prey, and he was the kind of man who only hunted when he was ready to own something completely.

His voice broke the silence like a whip.

“You think I wouldn't find out?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry despite the shower’s heat.

“I—” My voice cracked. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to disobey?” His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t mean to finger yourself in my shower while thinking about my cock?”

I gasped. Not from the words—God, I lived among worse in the brothel—but from how calm he was. Like none of this affected him. Like I was a stain on his floor he hadn’t yet decided whether to clean or claim.

I tried to cover myself, one arm over my chest, the other across my core.

He tsked softly. “Don’t hide. It’s too late for that.”

I dropped my hands without thinking.

Something inside me… liked obeying him.

“You want to be punished, Ardyn?” he asked, voice low and lethal.

I blinked up at him. My legs shook, the heat of my arousal nowhere near gone. I was still throbbing. Still wet. Not from the water.

“No,” I whispered.

A pause.

“But you do want something, don’t you?”

God help me. I nodded.

He stepped closer. My back hit the slick tile wall, heart hammering against my ribs. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t raise his voice.

But I felt the threat of his control in every inch between us.

“You want me to touch you. To bend you over this marble and fuck you until you forget your own name.”

I sucked in a breath.

“Yes,” I whispered, dizzy with want.

He smirked.

Cold.

Cruel.

“No.”

The word hit harder than a slap.

He stepped back, watching my face twist in confusion, then humiliation. I wanted to scream. Beg. Cling to him like an animal in heat. But I didn’t move.

“You don’t get rewards for disobedience,” he said, turning on his heel. “And I don’t fuck desperate little girls who touch themselves like whores in my home.”

My eyes burned. I should’ve hated him.

But all I felt was need.

As he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Clean yourself up. Put on your uniform. And stay out of my quarters.” A beat. “Next time, I won’t just watch.”

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And I collapsed to my knees, still shaking, skin burning with the weight of his voice.

I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, come, or follow him down the hall just to beg for the chance to feel his hands on me.

But I knew one thing with terrifying clarity:

I wanted to be his.

But he hasn’t even touched me yet.

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End of Chapter Two