“I don’t know if this is the right stuff, but it smelled like you, so I figured it would do.” He dumps my favorite duo of hair products onto the stack of clothes I’m balancing.
Even naked and unsure what the hell is happening, I can’t stop my smile from stretching across my face. He’s pretending he is mad, but it’s all an act. The fact he sniffed shampoo to match it with my scent reveals his cranky demeanor is a ploy. He likes me; he is just confused as to why.
He’s not the only one who is confused. The instant he handed me bottles of fruity shampoo, my desire to kiss him overtook my wish to slap him.
I’m drawn from my wicked thoughts when Dexter says my name. I’m not talking the standard name every doctor in the state has called me the past five years. I’m talking about my Christian name—the one I was given at birth. He called me Megan.
“It is Megan, isn’t it?” Dexter confirms, unsure if my gapped mouth stems from confusion or shock.
Tears blur my vision as I nod. I argued with the doctors for months that my name wasn’t Claudia, but no matter how many times I told them Megan wasn’t “a figment of my imagination” or “one of my multiple personalities,” they never believed me.
I stare into Dexter’s eyes, praying he will see the words I can’t express.My name is Megan Shroud. I am twenty-eight years old. Before I was put to sleep by a scary man with large hands, I resided in a small, rural town over four hundred miles from my true love.I didn’t do the things the doctors said I did. I’ve done other things—many terrible things—but I’m a good person. Well, I was. Now I’m not so sure. The thoughts I’ve had about you the past few weeks can’t be healthy, but it’s better than not having any feelings at all.
In an uncharacteristic way, Dexter curls his hand around my quivering jaw to clear away the moisture slipping down my face. My cheeks burn in shame when I stupidily nuzzle into his embrace. Something flares brightly in his eyes. I don’t know him well enough to identify what it is.
“Would you like me to call you Megan?”
To ensure I don’t lose his touch, I faintly nod.
“Okay. I can do that for you.” His voice is higher than normal, kind of husky.
The unidentifiable spark in his eyes gains intensity when he drags his thumb along my lower lip. The look on his face is foreign, but it rips a fire through my mind, burning up everything I thought was true and leaving nothing but ash in its place.
“Do you want me to kiss you, Megan?”
His velvety tone seduces me so well, I nod without thinking. My heart skids to a stop when his soft and inviting mouth inches toward mine. I should pull away. I should grunt for him to stop. But all I do is remain frozen, in a trance, somewhat excited, somewhat scared.
My last thought is appropriate when our kiss ends up nothing like I expected. Dexter doesn’t devour my mouth in slow, tantalizing licks and sucks. He sinks his teeth into my lower lip, biting it so painfully, blood tingles my taste buds.
Before I can register the shock of being bitten—not just the callousness behind it but the flooding of warmth it caused between my legs—Dexter swipes his purchases off the table, arches me over the wobbly material, spreads my feet to the width of my shoulders with a tap of his boots, then places a firm whack on my ungodly region.
Now I understand why my daddy said vaginas are the reason women turn into whores. Dexter’s slap was painful but in an erotic,I can’t help but meow like a kittyway.
“Don’t ever look at me like you did, Megan. Do you understand? If you ever look at me like that again, I’ll do more than punish you with my hands. I’m the monster hiding in the shadows. The bad man waiting for you in the alley. The reason fathers lock away their daughters. I am not a man you glance at with adoration!”
He slaps the aching slit between my legs another four times, his strikes gaining intensity with each blow. “This is just a taste of what you’ll get if youeverlook at me like that again. I am not your savior, Megan. I’m your worst nightmare!”
After a final whack, he returns me to a standing position, which is virtually impossible with how hard my legs are shaking. Sweat mists my nape when my wide-with-excitement eyes lock with his. That shouldn’t have been enjoyable, but it was. Very much so.
Dexter’s eyes narrow when he spots the thrill in mine. When a furious growl rumbles up his chest, I wipe the animated expression from my face in less than a nanosecond. Nothing can eradicate my inflamed cheeks. I’ve never been touched like that. I don’t mean the roughness of his caress. I mean where he touched me. Only one person has had their hands . . .down there. It was a doctor who wanted to confirm I was pregnant with Nick’s baby.
My mood shifts from happy to anguished faster than I can snap my fingers. I don’t know what that doctor did, but my baby with Nick was never born.
I stop tiptoeing into a dark and lonely place when Dexter says, “While you’re in the shower, take care of that.” His eyes drop to a patch of curly hairs spread across my genital region.
Confusion slashes my features when he shoves a canister of shaving cream into my chest. It is closely followed by the blade he used to undress me. He can’t be serious can he? Why would I shave my pubic hair? It wouldn’t grow there if it wasn’t meant to be there.
“Hurry up, Megan. We haven’t got all day,” Dexter barks when I remain standing at his side, silenced by stupidity. “The quicker you do this, the sooner you’ll see Nick.”
That’s all it takes to get my legs moving.
I race into the bathroom, my steps as spirited as my hope. It’s been years since I’ve seen Nick, but I’m confident the moment I lay my eyes on him, the stupid, irrational thoughts I’ve had about Dexter the past four weeks will vanish in an instant.
I hope.
Maybe.
