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“That’s it, Evelyn,” Forwal murmurs. “Come now. Come.” He keeps rubbing my body, keeps touching me, and I feel like my entire body explodes with pleasure. I shake, and my vision goes dark. Everything about my world fades away but contentment. Everything vanishes but peace.
Everything disappears except the knowledge that Forwal carried me to this place and he knew exactly what he was doing.
Every goes away but the understanding that I am totally, completely his.
He holds my life in his hands. He can make it hell or he can make it what it is now: pure bliss, pure happiness.
Exhausted, I collapse forward on the bed, but he’s not done with me yet. He’s not finished. Forwal rakes his nails down my sides and over my hips. Then he settles his hands on my bottom and pulls me back toward him. I feel him nudging at my entrance. I feel him pressing there. I’m wet: completely soaked. I’m drenched.
“This will hurt,” he warns, and then he thrusts inside me.
I try not to cry. I try not to tear up or to make noises, but despite the previous pleasure, this intrusion is painful. Forwal holds still, allowing me to get used to his size.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, and he strokes my hair softly. He reaches forward and brushes his fingers over my cheek. They’re wet with my tears, wet with my pain. “Everything is going to be fine, Evelyn.”
After a moment, I become accustomed to him, to the way he fills me. Then he begins to move slowly, carefully inside of me. It’s not uncomfortable anymore. In fact, it feels nice, normal.
And after another minute, it starts to feel really, really good.
It starts to feel incredible.
When Forwal comes, he releases inside of me with a groan. He pulls my hair when he comes, forcing my head back, forcing me to watch him as he orgasms. His own eyes close, but mine are open, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite as exotic or arousing as the look on his face at that moment.
Peace.
It’s a look of peace.
And it’s a look I put on his face.
I did that.
And this feeling is completely wonderful.
Chapter 6
When we’re finished, Forwal climbs into bed and pulls me close to him. We sleep curled up together in his bedroom like lovers instead of strangers. I suppose that’s what we are now: lovers. It’s an unusual feeling, but it’s good.
The next day, he helps me out of bed and hands me a clean dress.
“What’s this?”
“You need clothes,” he says, as if this should have been obvious.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and slide the dress over my head. “What about shoes?” He’s wearing shoes, and my feet feel cold.
“Not for you,” he says.
“Afraid I’ll run away?” I say it with a smile, a little smirk, but he doesn’t think it’s funny. Forwal’s eyes darken and he glares at me. My stomach feels tight and suddenly, I feel like I’ve messed up. I chide myself inwardly. I need to be better than this. I need to remember my place. I need to remember who I am.
Forwal is not my friend.
He is my abductor.
Last night was amazing. It was fantastic, really, and it felt incredible. It felt like I was flying. I’ve never felt that way before and I crave it. I’ve had a taste for what he can offer me and although I’ve given up my old life, I wonder if that’s really such a bad thing.
Instantly, I feel terrible for thinking this.
I should be missing my father, crying for him.
