Work on her some more

The moment the door clicks shut, she turns to you, her eyes wide and pleading, but you simply place a finger over her lips.

You lead her to the bathroom and begin to fill the tub. To her shock, you don't just leave her there; you stay. You undress her with a clinical, unhurried gentleness that is far more unnerving than any aggressive move could be. You help her into the warm water and begin to wash her, your hands moving slowly over her shoulders and down her back.

It isn't a sexual touch—not yet. It is something deeper. You are being tender, caring for her tired muscles, providing a sense of safety and intimacy that her heart, long hardened by the shinobi life and recent grief, doesn't know how to process.

"This is part of it too," you say, your voice a low hum against the sound of the water. "The care. The feeling of someone looking after you. It’s the most potent **** of all, Kurenai. You'll find that you crave this gentle version of me just as much as the one who breaks you. It makes the addiction complete."

Kurenai leans her head back against the rim of the tub, her eyes fluttering shut. Tears she hasn't shed since Asuma's funeral begin to prick at her eyelids, not because of sadness, but because the emotional overload is too much. You are giving her everything she has been missing, but you are doing it as a captor would—ensuring she can never, ever walk away from the warmth you provide.

"You're cruel," she chokes out, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm a provider," you correct, lifting a sponge to squeeze warm water over her chest. "And you're a very, very hungry woman."