The scratches she had given him still faintly ached; Matthew Saxon's old wounds hadn't yet healed, and now he bore fresh marks.
The bright red scratches were glaring, as if reminding him what had just transpired.
Scarlett Yates' last mutterings had only added fuel to the fire, provoking his anger further.
He stood by the bathtub, his face somber, his gaze cold, "Very good, your courage is growing."
She snorted coldly, "That's thanks to you, Young Master."
Her hands were tightly bound, tied behind her back, and soon her limbs were aching and sore.
She cursed inwardly, barbarian, bastard, lustful rogue.
How could there be such a loathsome and hateful man in the world, and she had to encounter him?
Matthew Saxon chuckled coldly, nodded, "Since I have fattened your courage, it's only right that I give you another lesson."
He turned on the bathtub's water...
