The bathroom was made of black marble, steam rising from a sunken tub in the corner. Caleb didn't bother with the tub. He set Elena down on the cold tile floor and locked the door.
He turned to her. He was a vision of violence and beauty. The blood on his arm was smeared across his chest. His eyes were burning with a dark fire.
"Take off your clothes," he commanded.
Elena didn't hesitate. She pulled the wet, ruined shirt over her head and shimmied out of her skirt. She stood naked before him, shivering not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of his gaze.
Caleb looked at her for a long moment. He looked at her breasts, her stomach, the curve of her hips. He looked at her like he was memorizing her, like he was committing a crime.
"You are mine," he said. "Say it."
"I am yours,
