Free Captive, Mine by Trent Evans, Natasha Knight

moment, she stayed that way, crouched down, trying to protect the shred of modesty she had left, delaying the inevitable.
    “I told you,” she said, her voice soft. “No wire. Now let me get in the shower. Please.”
    “Stand up straight, Ms. Cross.”
    Rising, her eyes flashed, her delicate jaw clenching. One arm crossed over her breasts, her other hand covering her sex.
    “You don’t have to do this.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Why are you doing this? You know I don’t have a wire, Lake.”
    “I’m doing this because I can’t trust you, and because you need to learn how to do as you’re told. Apparently, getting your ass tanned wasn’t enough of a reminder for you.” Lake shrugged. “That’s fine. Plenty of other ways for me to get through to you. I’ll keep trying them until I find one that works.”
    “I don’t—”
    “Keep that smart mouth shut.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “We could’ve gotten this done by now if you’d simply lowered your hands, but you had to push it. Every time you delay, every time you disobey, you’ll regret it. Now, put your hands behind your head, and stand up straight.”
    “You… I can’t.”
    “You can, and you will. Do I need to bind them behind your back? Do you want to try to wash yourself without the use of your hands?”
    “No!” She dropped her head, taking a deep breath. “I’ll… I’ll do it. Fuck.”
    He had to suppress a smile as he watched her reluctantly rise to her full height, her movement almost slow motion. Then with a small, defeated sound, she brought her hands up to her head, her chin raised, mortification, defiance, and something indefinable warring within her gaze. Her lower lip quivered, and she clamped her teeth down upon it.
    Taking a moment to look her over, he wished that time might slow, allow him to take it all in at his leisure. Her breasts weren’t large, but rather were proportional to her slight frame, firm and high. The dark nipples had tightened into hard points, whether from mortification or something else, he couldn’t tell.
    He hoped it was both.
    Her belly was tight and smooth, just like the rest of her, and he wondered what she did to keep that fit. Her overall physique suggested yoga, but then those strong thighs and round bubble butt made him think gymnast or some other sort of athlete. She was almost too trim though, the slight jut of her hip bones twin counterpoints to the deep navel, the smooth, elegant muscles of her belly. He wondered if she trained her body almost to the breaking point, relentless, uncompromising, to that pure state where there was only the exertion, her breathing, the pleasant fatigue of those muscles. More of that spirit that drew him to her, despite the surreal circumstances.
    “We wouldn’t have to do this if you’d listened. Remember that, Ms. Cross, next time you feel like you should be running the show here.” He made sure he’d caught her gaze, before lowering his eyes to her bared sex. She kept it entirely smooth, the labia, like her bottom, surprisingly fleshy for one so slight, the lips of her sex closed in a tight seam that he wanted to tease with a fingertip, easing it between those folds to test that slippery heat.
    Though he had no idea why, he knew she would be wet — despite the vitriol of her words, and the angry flash of her eyes. His cock wasn’t the only thing at attention here.
    “Are we done? Let me go, Lake.”
    “Turn around,” he said, making the motion with an extended finger.
    “Lake…”
    He gave her an arch of his brow, his fingers drumming on his crossed arms.
    “Maybe I need to stand there and supervise your shower too? Or do I need to wash you myself?”
    “You’d like that, prick,” she said under her breath as she turned, the slight movement of her hair matching the sway of her breasts
    And then her ass was presented once more, and his breath caught in his throat. Her back tapered nicely