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My breathing immediately slowed because I could feel the tension in the air, the sudden increase in heat, the implication of his words. Not once had he asked me for anything. Not once had he expected something in exchange for his kindness.
But he’d been keeping receipts…and he wanted to collect.
“I want you.” He was unapologetic about it, extremely candid. Now there was no misunderstanding, not there really had been since he’d first admitted it. There had never been a time when he looked at me like he wanted anything more than a conversation. His eyes didn’t roam over my body the way the other guards did. Most of the time, he didn’t even act like he liked me. But he had a remarkable poker face. Maybe this had been his plan all along, the extended buildup to this moment.
“No.”
His eyes immediately lost their confidence, slowly filling with disappointment.
“I refuse to believe you’ll only help me if I sleep with you. You’ll help me because I deserve to be free. You’ll help me because you know it’s the right thing to do. My answer is no.”
His eyes slowly dropped, resignation coming over his face. It was one of the rare times when he showed something other than his stonelike stoicism or his anger. There was no response to my decision. He didn’t force himself on me. He didn’t leverage my freedom to coerce me. He accepted my answer.
I watched him glide his palms past each other, his head bowed slightly to the floor. “But I’ll sleep with you…because I want to.”
His hands stilled, and his body went rigid. Seconds later, he lifted his chin to look me in the eye again.
It was impossible not to feel a connection to this man. I’d spent my life taking care of other people, and it was the first time I had someone to take care of me, to clean up my messes, to fix all my mistakes. The second his hood had dropped and I saw his face, I had been stunned by what I saw, because he was beautiful. He was the kind of man I could never have in the real world, because he could have someone much more beautiful than me. He would chase after Melanie or someone like her. But in this different reality, we were connected by something deeper than looks. We witnessed things other people couldn’t possibly understand. He was a man who needed more than a pretty face to fulfill his desires. He needed something deeper.
He maintained his stare, his eyes different than before, giving me a look he’d never expressed in the past. It finally possessed emotion, overt reactions that were like words on a page. With deep intensity and masculine desire, he stared at me like there had never been a woman he wanted more than me.
I’d never felt so beautiful. I hadn’t worn makeup, hadn’t even combed my hair, had only worn the most unflattering clothes, but I was somehow the woman he would do anything for.
He continued that piercing look, like my answer was so powerful he didn’t know what to do with himself.
With my eyes on his, I pulled my shirt over my head. My body was slim and tight because of my physicality in the camp. I’d never been so active, so I was in the best shape of my life. But I did have some bruises and scars from my mistreatment.
He looked at me like he didn’t see anything except unblemished skin.
My boobs were firm and my nipples hard because I was instantly cold…and tense. My dark hair fell down my shoulders and over my chest, but I pushed it back so it would hang down my back, so he could look at me.
His eyes remained on my tits, and he released a deep breath, his jaw tightening slightly.
I knew my back was scarred and ugly, so I didn’t turn my back to make him it.
I untied the string to my pants then stood up so I could push them over my hips and let them slide to the floor. My legs were hairy because I hadn’t shaved in over a month. My underwear were the generic ones they issued to us, so they weren’t sexy by any means.
But his breathing increased, like he couldn’t wait to watch me take them off.
My thumbs dug into the waistband and then pulled them down, the bush of hair visible because I couldn’t groom my appearance. We weren’t allowed razors, probably because we would slice our wrists. My hair was curly and dark, covering the sight of my clit and opening.
But he didn’t seem to care in the least.
When my clothes were gone, I sat on the edge of the bed again, my knees pressed together, my hands in my lap, my nipples still hard because I was anxious. His chest would be warm against my body, and the momentary coldness would be replaced by sweat.
