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I don’t know why I even ask. It’s stupid. This is my captor. I hate him with all my being… right?
“Tell me,” I say it again. God, maybe I have lost it. Maybe I’ve gone insane.
“I saw you every single morning, coming out of that house in those workout clothes. I had only seen women like you on television, or in movies. I didn’t think they actually existed. But there you were. I wanted you. I was being selfish and a little perverted. I fucked up,” he says.
I sigh angrily and say, “This pussy is off limits. Got it?”
“I hear you loud and clear,” he says, but he sits down next to me and cracks open the bottle of jack.
He reaches into the bag to pull out two glasses, and then reaches underneath the mattress. “There’s a hole down here. Keep everything in there. They won’t find anything. You can trust me on that.”
He pours two glasses of whiskey and hands me one. I could smash this over his head. I could use the broken pieces to slit his throat. But I don’t do it.
I sit and stare, wondering why he’s doing this to me. Why is he trying to be my friend? What does he have to gain?
“Cheers,” he says, holding his glass in the air. I actually clink it against his. Taking a sip, I bask in the sweet relief it gives. Compared to the pain I’ve been feeling lately, this is heaven.
We sit in silence, drinking. He lights a cigarette and opens the top while we smoke. Soon enough, we’re both drunk again, like the other night. Only, the circumstances are so much different.
“I wish I could turn back time,” he says. “And we could have just had fun together. We could have skipped going to the Silent Barn. If only.”
“Yeah,” I say. I lean my head against his shoulder, despite my brain telling me not to. It feels… good. I hate to say it.
He places his hand against my upper thigh, and I instantly jerk up. “What’re you doing?” I ask him.
“I’m sorry, I—” he jumps up and walks toward the stairs. “I’ll leave, sorry. I got a little ahead of myself, I—”
My heart twists the last bit of blood it has left stored.
“Please don’t go,” I say. “I don’t want to be alone. I feel like I have no one.”
“This is all my fault,” he says. “I can’t bear to see you like this. I fucked up, woman. I really fucked up.”
He stumbles a little, but catches himself against the dusty wall.
“Just sit for a minute, okay?” I ask him.
He walks over to the mattress and sits down next to me. I grab his hand and place it back on my thigh.
I gulp hard.
I don’t know what I’m doing. This is against all of my better judgment, but I do it anyway. His fingers lay firm around my skin, and I push his hand further up.
My breath is shaky. I close my eyes and breathe in deeper.
His hand falls firm against my panties, and he presses harder against my lips. He doesn’t say a word. Neither of us do.
We both know how crazy this is, but that doesn’t matter when we’re in the heat of the moment. The only thing that holds weight is our pleasure.
We’ve both suffered. He lost his best friend. I lost my freedom. Circumstances brought us together.
His fingers slip my panties to the side, and I know what’s about to happen.
I’m soaking wet. He’s too hard to handle. I can barely react before he’s on top of me, tongue snaking through my lips, folding over mine.
Wave after wave, I reach up and put my arms around him. He pulls in closer, cupping my breasts with one hand, the other unfolding me from the core.
Our tongues drag across one another, pulling at opposite directions. He thrusts forward, and I grab against his belt, the only thing keeping his pants on right now. I grab the buckle and I feel his hard flesh against my arm.
