Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
True to form, she doesn’t say a word, but she also doesn’t look away. I lie there for a long moment, just basking in the glow of such a powerful orgasm. Doing this in front of her is nothing like doing it to myself in the shower when the urge strikes.
I don’t say a word as I climb off the bed and head into the bathroom. My shower is quick, effective, cool in temperature, due to the flush of heat still on my skin.
The towel is warm as expected when I pull it from the rack and I’m quick to dry my body and go back into the bedroom.
Her eyes track me across the room. They follow me like they always do.
I find that I love her attention but it also confuses me. That reaction I have to her is just one more thing to add to the list of things that surprises me where she’s concerned.
Before Raya, I hated when people looked at me. I hated feeling tracked and observed. I wanted to be a ghost in the shadows, not someone on display.
We’re both silent when I climb back into the bed. I’m the one to reach for the covers, not her, and I hide a smile when I realize that she never pulled the blanket back up over herself during my shower. She also didn’t put the borrowed shirt on last night after I came on her.
“I’m not going to rape you,” I confess. “You don’t have to be afraid of that from me.”
Her eyes watch mine for a long moment and I can tell she’s trying to determine whether I’m lying or not.
“Thank you,” she finally whispers.
Now if only I can keep my word.
Chapter 14
Raya
Not long ago, I shoved down the idea that I was suffering from Stockholm syndrome. But I have to wonder if that was the case. What else would explain the reasoning for feeling more than just a hint of arousal, watching him jack off right beside me, the movement of his hand easily felt because we’re sitting on the same mattress.
I’m losing my mind. I have to be going crazy for my body to be reacting the way that it is. That arousal faded quickly when he went to go shower, so does that make it temporary insanity? Is it the lack of sunlight? The lack of a schedule? The lack of large groups of people having expectations? Is it because he’s the only one I have to focus on? Is it because I’m not having to spread my attention?
I don’t have the answer to any of those questions. But I can’t deny that it turned me on. I dipped my fingers between my legs when I heard the shower turn on. I was wet.
I could tell when he walked back in here that he thought I was just sitting here like a good little girl, and I pray that he never finds out that I climbed off this bed and used the corner of the sheet to clean myself up. I didn’t orgasm. That would be even crazier than being a little turned on at the sight of him but I needed that arousal gone. I wouldn’t put it past the man to challenge me, to demand that I show him.
It has to be coming, right? He can’t be satisfied with just watching me get off. He can’t be okay with just me watching him. He promised he wouldn’t rape me but I can’t allow myself to believe that. There’s going to be more and it makes me want to cry, knowing that the appeal of everything we’ve done is there.
My heart continues to race at the same speed it did when he was pleasuring himself, but now it’s because I’m scared. I’m scared of how it made me feel, of how it forced my body to respond to him. My mind keeps traveling back to his promise. But he doesn’t have to rape me for it to be assault. He doesn’t have to penetrate me for it to be assault. Not even including the abduction, what he’s doing, what he’d just done on the bed beside me, could be punishable by law.
Peeping Toms and men who pull their penises out in public get charged. They face criminal charges for doing such things. But you liked it, my mind forces me to acknowledge. I shake my head, wondering if he knows how much I’m struggling internally right now. Not that he would care. He doesn’t seem like the type of man that would give a shit about anyone else’s feelings, anyone else’s needs, but his own.
I don’t think for a second that he brings me food and water because it’s a benefit to me. I would be hard to manipulate if I were too weak. This isn’t my fault. He’s to blame for this. And if not him, maybe it’s my lack of experience. My body doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, what’s happening, and what’s appropriate, when to get aroused, when to feel desire. My lack of experience can be to blame.