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realized how dehydrated she’d become, Adara fought to order her thoughts.
    The hideous dress helped stiffen her spine. Yes, the fabric was unbelievably soft against her heated skin, particularly the sore and obviously reddened skin of her ass, and it was comfortable. But it was all he’d left her to wear and it was ugly with its long full sleeves that fell to her fingernails. And it had a hood , shades of monkdom. Such a specious claim. Her nakedness beneath the baggy garment seemed all the more obvious because of its shapelessness. He knew, and she was intensely aware of that. Surely the little shudder passing through her body was indicative of terror and not anticipation. The size and heat of his cock beneath the barrier of his pants was imprinted on her brain, and no way was she looking forward to feeling it in places other than under her palm. She supposed she was grateful that he allowed her to be covered at all, and that grated too.
    Adara pinched her forearm viciously to remind herself this was a battle of wills and hissed at the pain and immediate bruising. It was her curse, the fair skin of being a redhead—every little injury showed. That thought had her yanking the skirt of the cursed dress up to her waist, and she strained to peruse her bottom. It was definitely red, but there was no sign of bruising. Her captor clearly knew his stuff. For sure she’d be tender for a while and would be reminded of his stern lecture for some time, but there would be no actual marks left once the red faded.
    She wondered where he’d honed his spanking skills, and then shut it down. Why would she care how many women he’d spanked? Maybe that drink she’d partaken of included something other than nourishment and a muscle relaxant. Maybe that attendant had included something to shut a person’s thinking brain down, because there was no way the old Adara might consider the next month as anything other than a period in her life to endure. She had a goal at the end of this particular tunnel.
    “We must leave.” Thorn’s deep voice interrupted her newly found determination to get through this. She hurriedly pulled the dress down to veil the lower half of her body, noting the way his eyes darkened with lust when he’d caught a glimpse of her nether parts. His pants still bulged over his cock, and she forced her eyes to the floor. She nodded.
      “I didn’t injure your beautiful skin, Adara. You will likely bear my marks in time, but that spanking was merely to make a point, if an important one.”
    Okay then. He was so fucking arrogant, thinking he could read her mind. Well, he had, but as for marking her later—the contract spoke against irreversible physical harm.
    “You will beg me for my marks, Adara. At least some of them.”
    Double arrogant. And she needed to work on how expressive her face was—carefully bland obviously wasn’t cutting it. Sammy had given her some insight, but this Thorn overwhelmed her. She bit her tongue, literally, and steadfastly stared at the floor.
    “Pull the hood up and come.” Was there a hint of exasperation in his tone? Hopefully. Not that she wanted to give him an excuse to hit her again, okay, discipline her, but damn it—she wasn’t a doormat. She covered her head and went.
    ****
    Using his profiler, Thorn had checked to ensure the cargo was loaded then scooped up Adara’s discarded pieces of apparel, stuffing them into her case. He doubted she realized it had been offloaded and set in the room while he greeted her. He would check her possessions before releasing them for her use, especially her profiler. Her contact with the outside would be curtailed until she accepted her future with them.
    The object of his true affection—hades—his obsession, stalked from the bathroom ahead of him to stand by the outside door. The loose fitting garment woven from the chaff of their crop engulfed her petite frame, although shifted suggestively across the thrust of breast and round of her