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She pulls back with a sigh. Looks up at me with every ounce of trust in the world. "I..." She leans into my touch. "I looked at your sketchbook."
What?
"Fuck." She jumps back. Covers her mouth with her hand. "I... Oh God." Her eyes go to the ground. "I'm sorry."
She...
What the fuck?
Time grinds to a halt.
I can feel every brush of the breeze.
Hear every distant footstep.
See every one of her lip quivers.
It's written all over her face.
She saw the drawings of her.
Where the fuck does she get off?
Could be with you. She's still here. That's why she's hinting at all this shit about being ordered around and tied up. She's into it. She wants it. She likes that you're a sick fuck.
Her chest heaves. "I'm sorry. It was wrong. A total invasion of privacy. But... if you want things to be even, we can do that. Look at my journal." Her voice cracks. Her eyes fill with terror. "Anything you want."
No. That isn't what I want. I don't know what the fuck I want. My head is spinning.
She knows how I want her.
And she's here.
She's into it.
My body is screaming for me to pin her to the wall. To push her jeans to her knees and plunge my fingers into her cunt. To growl you want it rough, angel? I'll show you rough.
But my head...
My heart...
"I'm sorry. I just... I want to know what you're thinking and feeling. I want it so badly. That's no excuse, but..."
"How much did you see?"
"Everything."
"And you..." My tongue trips over itself. There's nothing I can ask.
This is the only reasonable explanation for her behavior the last few weeks.
But it doesn't make any fucking sense.
Kay is sweet. Innocent.
She doesn't want it dirty and rough.
She doesn't cross the line like this.
