She tugged sharply on the cuff. My eyes snapped open instantly. She was already sitting up, pulling against the chain. “Unlock this,” she said flatly. “I need the bathroom.” I smirked, stretching lazily even though every muscle felt wired. “I didn’t cuff you to unlock easily, sweetheart. Whatever happens now happens like this.” She gave me a deadly glare that should have burned holes through me. But I just smiled wider. “Elijah!” She called my name in a warning tone. “The choice is yours,” I said with a smirk, raising my eyebrows. She huffed, stood, and dragged me with her toward the en-suite bathroom. I followed without resistance, enjoying the way the short chain forced her to stay close, her hip brushing mine with every step. Inside, she stopped in front of the toilet, arms crossed, waiting. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, not moving an inch. Her eyes narrowed. “Turn around.” “Nope.” She stared at me for a long beat. Then, with a roll of her eyes that screamed fuck you without words, she hiked up the dress, sat, and did what she needed to do. I watched shamelessly the whole time, drinking in the flush creeping up her neck, the way her thighs pressed together, the stubborn set of her jaw. When she finished she stood, washed her hands, then turned to me. “I need to shower.” I tilted my head. “Then shower.” “Unlock me.” I shook my head slowly. “Elijah…..” “Why don’t you just shower with me attached? We’re going to be sleeping together eventually. What’s a little water between future bedmates?” Her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. “You really think seeing you naked is going to make me lose control?” “I think seeing me naked might make you beg. But we’ll see.” I challenged her. She rolled her eyes again, harder this time, then reached behind her back and unzipped the dress in one smooth motion. The fabric slid down her body like liquid, pooling at her feet. My breath caught. If I say she is very beautiful, even that would be an understatement. Her skin was a canvas of ink. Tattoos everywhere……sharp, intricate lines curling over her ribs, her hip, the curve of her spine, disappearing beneath black lace she started removing. More than I’d ever seen on any man in my crew. More than most mafia enforcers carried. Even though I don't have that many tattoos on my body either. Each one looked like it had a story carved into her flesh. I arched a brow, impressed despite myself. “You wear your kills like jewelry.” She didn’t answer. Just stepped under the rainfall showerhead and turned the water on. I followed, stripping out of my sweatpants as I went, letting them hit the floor. The chain clinked as I stepped in behind her. Hot water cascaded over us both. She ignored me completely, tipping her head back to wet her hair, hands smoothing over her scalp like I wasn’t even there. But I was and I was looking. Every curve. Every tattoo. Every inch of skin glistening under the spray. My cock was already rock-hard, aching from a night of denial. She didn’t look at me once and I could no longer hold myself back. I wrapped my free hand around myself and started stroking. Slow at first. Then harder. The sound of water masked the rough rhythm, but my breathing grew ragged anyway.