“I’m…” She starts but doesn’t finish as she slams head-first into pleasure. Her hand stops moving on my cock, and her body arches into mine as she pushes up onto her tiptoes just as her pussy starts clenching around my finger. I’m so fucking turned on, so fucking in need of release that I shatter right along with her. Lightning bolts of pleasure zing through me, heading straight into my aching balls, and like a teenager touching pussy for the first time, I come undone, ripping at the seams.
Sticky ropes of semen erupt from the head of my cock and land against Dove’s thigh, marking her. Heat rips across my skin, my heart thundering in my chest, and all I can feel is her in my arms, falling apart, her pussy creaming against my hand.
After a moment, I ease out of her and smile when my eyes catch on my release that’s dripping down her thigh. I’m tempted to tell her I don’t usually go off that easy but decide not to. She’s not experienced enough to care, and when the time for me to take her comes, I’ll make sure I give her the best fucking performance ever.
“Thank you.” I press a soft kiss to the crown of her forehead, waiting for us both to catch our breath.
She gives me a half-smile, her eyes heavy with post orgasm pleasure. “I didn’t do anything.”
Shutting off the water, I turn back toward her. “Yes, you did. You trusted me enough to let me be a part of something special, so yes, you did do something.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t, not really.”
I help her dry off and then slip into a pair of grey sweatpants. She hurries into the closet and comes out wearing a nightgown. Her eyes are trained to the floor, almost like she’s afraid to look at me. Worry knots in my gut.
She’s so quiet. I don’t know what I thought would happen afterward, but I didn’t think she would withdrawal so much. Maybe I did hurt her, and she just doesn’t want to tell me. I watched her face the entire time and felt her fall apart, but maybe I had misjudged something.
I hate feeling this way when it comes to her and refuse to bite my tongue. I have to know if I did something…
“Is everything okay?” I ask when we go to lie down for bed.
She nods but doesn’t make eye contact with me. “Everything is fine. I just feel… weird, like I did something wrong. Like letting you touch me was bad.”
“It wasn’t bad—” I start to explain but am cut off before I can finish.
“Can we just go to bed? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Desperation coats each word, and though I want to push her to explain to me what’s going on in her head, there will be other times I can do that. I don’t want to fight and ruin the moment we shared, so I shut off the light and crawl into bed beside her. There is a foot of space between us, which seems strange now, after how close we were in the shower.
“Goodnight, Dove,” I say.
“Night,” she whispers back.
It isn’t long before she falls asleep, her soft snores filling the quiet room. However, like all the nights of my life, I can’t sleep and instead stare at her, watching as she finds blissful sleep.
17
The days start to blend together. Time isn’t a variable when there is no clock or sunlight. Each day the walls seem to close in on me a little bit more. Sleeping, reading, and eating are what my life consists of now. At least Max isn’t bothered by the isolation. He’s still his purring self. I, on the other hand, have cabin fever.
I do my best to stay away from Zane, but it’s a lot harder than you think. Shoved into a box, I’m forced to interact with only him, a man that has me completely baffled. Being here makes me feel lonely. There is no sun, no animals, minus Max, and nothing to do. I miss my normal, boring life more and more every day. I miss talking to people, conversation. I’m longing for that human contact you can only get outside these walls. I never realized how important that is to me, the connection to other people.
I’m in a constant battle of trying to stay away from him and trying to seek him out. So far, my brain has won, and I’ve managed to keep my physical urges in check, but I know damn well that that’s not going to last much longer.
Ever since that night in the shower, my body tingles all over whenever our eyes meet. Stupidly, I replay what we did over and over again in my mind. His thick finger entering me, owning me. The way I spiraled out of control. How he held me through the pleasure, finishing right along with me.
Repeating to myself over and over again that he’s the enemy, would be easier if my body felt the same way I did. All this confusion does is give me a never-ending headache.
I still don’t know why I went into the bathroom that day. It was like my mind shut down, and my body took over. I heard the shower running, and I swear I was just going to take a quick peek. Curiosity and all. I thought to myself, it would be only fair to watch him since he watched me for so long. But then I saw him jerking off in the shower, his hand wrapped around his cock. It was mesmerizing. Even after he saw me, I didn’t care. There were blocks of concrete tied to my feet, stopping me from going anywhere.
Stupid. I was stupid for letting him touch me. Stupid for craving his touch. Paging through the book, I pretend to be reading while Max snuggles into my side.
I’ve discovered another layer of the extensiveness that is Zane’s obsession with me. It’s like he knows everything, and I mean everything. It’s not simple things like your favorite color or food. It’s what I’m allergic to, the surgeries I’ve had, my work hours, and therapy schedule.
He knows things that others would never notice. Like when I touch my scar…
I try not to think about the other things he knows… like my time in foster care or that night. I feel a sliver of triumph because no matter how much he knows, he can’t know about that night. He might have read the police report, but he doesn’t know what really happened because I never told a soul.
Every once in a while, he’ll share something about himself, but those moments are far, and few between and none of those things are of great significance. They’re mundane things, like how he loves Italian food but hates Chinese.
I don’t ask him about working with the mob, mostly because I’m afraid of what he’ll tell me. Then again, it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to think the worst of him. It would certainly make it easier for me to hate him.
I still haven’t pieced the puzzle together on where I fit into things. I don’t know where and how his obsession with me began. All I know is Zane is determined to keep me here and protect me from whatever evil he feels is lurking in the outside world. Because of his kindness and the feelings he has for me, my hate and fear are becoming harder and harder to maintain.
It’s impossible for me to make myself hate someone who refuses to hurt me. Yes, he’s my captor, but he doesn’t act like it. He treats me like a lover, he’s been waiting for his whole life. Like a rare piece of glass, I’m fragile to him. Beautiful. To be put on a shelf and gazed upon. I’m none of those things though. Or at least I don’t want to be.
I’m hyper-aware of his presence, and I hate it. I hate that I’m drawn to him. That my nipples harden and my core burns when he’s near.