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Alarm flares in me and I open my mouth and scream. I scream for my captor and then I curse him as terror fills my veins and I try to yank my arm back, try to sneak my wrist through the cuff but it’s been thoroughly secured. Something snaps inside of me and I start thrashing, yanking so hard that the bed shudders but I still can’t get free. I jiggle my body as if that will help but it does nothing to get me loose.
I jerk when Husband shows up in my doorway, barefoot and dressed in only a pair of charcoal sweatpants. His muscles make my throat dry and the way his eyes slide over me make me feel like the sun and the moon have been turned in my direction but I’m furious at him. At the liberties he’s taken.
“Careful,” he mutters with concern. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“What did you do?” I yell and I know that I probably look like a struggling wildcat. “What did you do to me? How could you...?”
“Sch...shush,” he says in a low voice, pulling his finger up to his mouth for me to be quiet. “Had to do it. You walk in your sleep.”
“Lie,” I cry and he throws me a glance. He didn’t do it because I’m sleepwalking. He did it so that I wouldn’t run away. “Don’t you ever do that again!”
My anger toward him is pointless and he’s acting like I’m being childish. Like I need to peacefully take and take whatever he chooses to dish out and do it all with a smile on my lips.
His eyes lower and I realize he’s looking at my lace covered sex. My nightgown has scrunched up around my hips. Embarrassed, I tug it down with my free hand and his gaze sharply goes to mine as if he’s reprimanding me in his head for doing that.
“Did you not sleep well?” he asks in a strange tone and my cheeks heat. I did sleep well but that’s beside the point. The point is that he cuffed me! When he sits down and takes off the cuff, I snatch my arm to my chest and cower up against the bedframe and tingles go up and down my body.
I’d slowly begun to let my guard down a little and then he does something like this to me.
I’m shaking from the shock of waking up like that and I massage my wrist, trying to rub off the tenderness caused by the cuffs. Husband watches with hooded eyes, raw eyes that are soft. Same as they were last night and I jerk, forcing myself to not feel anything for him. But I do. I feel something for him. Even when I wake up in his house and find that he’s done this to me.
“Come here,” he rasps, “I need you to calm down.”
I gasp when he grabs me and pulls me into his lap. I freeze before my legs leisurely flop to the side and hang over his thighs and I feel his bare chest against my back. I’m not wearing a bra and under my nightie, I’m only wearing a pair of flimsy underwear.
My mouth falls open and at first I’m tempted to struggle out of his arms but this feels too good. This feels like home and my emotions are in turmoil. I should fight him, shouldn’t trust him but my body seems to trust him. It leans into his like this is something we’ve done a thousand times before.
He rocks me a little, the way he did when he calmed me down when I had thrown a fit in the hallway. After I had attacked him. It calmed me down then and despite my efforts to not give in, it’s calming me down now too.
Am I really that kind of a girl? One who can be made docile as soon as someone pays attention to me and gives me a few pets?
Old hurt rises up to the surface, feelings of always being disposable, never truly being wanted and like there was always some better model of me somewhere that could take my place.
A better, prettier, sweeter doll.
But in Husband’s arm, those old feelings dissolve. They’re not welcome in his presence, they don’t belong and I feel something expand in my chest and I tentatively stroke my hand down his arm.
“From where do I know you?” I whisper and I feel him tense. I get goosebumps when he brushes my hair away from my nape and slides his lips over my neck, causing a current of arousal to flash in me.
“You tell me, doll face,” he rasps and my eyes flutter, my body desperate for him to keep exploring me with his mouth.
“Have you ever been at the bank where I w...work? Did I ever take out a deposit for you?”
Did I ever see a man like him? One with eyes like his and dark hair like his and that hardened curve to his mouth that only a special someone will be able to soften?
If I did, I can’t remember.
His frustration with me is so obvious that I can almost taste it on my tongue. I’m wrong. We’ve never met at the bank.
“No,” he replies.
I lick my lips. “Then have we ever met at a party? Are you a friend of a friend...?”
“Stop.” His voice is firm but not angry. “You know how I feel about random guesses.”
I stop asking him and I probe my mind, trying to think of someone who reminds me of Husband but I come up with nothing. It irks me. My own powerlessness, my own cluelessness. There’s something I’m forgetting...
Something crucial.
