Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I ignored it. And, breathing fast, I stood up.
Immediately, his eyes locked on that flimsy triangle of black material between my legs. I could feel that I had power over him, knew that this was the part where I should taunt and tease him, but…
But I wanted to feel that lust there, right where I lived. I was almost drunk on the idea. He needed to see me. But I needed him to see me even more.
I pushed my panties down my thighs and let them fall around my feet, then stepped out of them. I stood there breathing hard, feeling his eyes rake up my legs in slow motion and settle on my groin. It was dark: could he see?
His eyes widened and then narrowed, glittering. Heat crashed against the damp folds of my pussy lips and rippled outwards through my belly, then coalesced and sank down, becoming an aching void. He can see. Then, if I’d needed confirmation, I saw the shadows at his groin move and change, his cock rising and thickening. The ache became needy.
He leaned forward minutely. I watched his thighs tense, his weight shift onto the balls of his feet: he was about to stand, to march around the fire to me and—
The air went thick and heavy. Something was about to happen and I wanted it. It scared me, how much I wanted it.
Then I remembered Lev and the pain and guilt hit me right in the center of my chest, vicious and jagged. How dare you! Self-hate flooded out like dark blood and I remembered what I was.
I looked quickly away and knelt so that the flames hid me, then wrapped my arms around me to shield me more. And when I tentatively glanced at him again, he’d looked away, too. He’d sensed that he should avert his eyes. The big brute was a gentleman.
We sat silently for a few moments. Then he dug in his pack and pulled out a waterproof bag. He tossed it over to me and I caught it, confused, then looked inside. A dry shirt, pants and socks.
By now, the fire had dried my skin. I pulled on the dry clothes and had to stop myself letting out a moan of delight. They were comically big on me and there was no underwear, but just being warm and dry after so long cold and wet felt amazing. “Thank you,” I muttered.
He just nodded. I waited for him to dress, too, but he didn’t, he just crouched there keeping warm by the fire. It took me a while to realize that he was waiting for his wet clothes to dry. He’d only had one set of spare clothes and he’d given them to me. I swallowed, completely thrown. I knew how to deal with any kind of man...except one who was kind.
“You hungry?” he asked. “Got an MRE in my pack.”
My training told me not to show any weakness to the enemy. But I hadn’t eaten since that morning and after all the swimming and running, I was ravenous. I nodded.
He heated a foil sachet over the fire. By the time it was hot, his clothes had dried enough for him to put them back on and he dressed. We sat side-by-side on a log next to the fire and passed the ration sachet between us. Pasta, in a rich, creamy sauce. What the Americans call Mac N’ Cheese, or at least, it was meant to be.
The man grimaced. “Are yours any better?”
“My what?”
“Rations. Russian ones. You’re military, right? Or you were.”
I poked at the pasta. It was suddenly very quiet, just the crackling of the fire and the soft gurgle of the river. I wasn’t used to talking about myself. I’ve spun a thousand stories, told men I’m an archeologist or a tech executive or a politician’s mistress but none of that would work, here. He knew I was a spy. My only choices were to say nothing or tell the truth.
“Yes,” I told him. “Army. Then military intelligence.” The truth felt strange, coming out of my mouth. I kept my eyes on the Mac N’ Cheese. “The goulash is okay. Better than the pâté.”
“You get pâté?” He rubbed at his beard. “That’s some classy rations.”
I felt my lips twist into a smile. “You haven’t tasted it.” Then I caught myself. What am I doing?! “I’m your prisoner, why are you being like this with me?” I demanded.
“Like what?”
“Nice!”
He just looked at me, those brown-and-amber eyes smoldering, and I knew why.
I felt bad because it wasn’t him I was really angry with, it was me. This was the first conversation I’d had in years where I wasn’t lying, or threatening, or trying to manipulate someone, and...it felt weird. Scary and uncomfortable and disturbing. Hot shame welled up inside me.