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I don’t stop him from touching me because I don’t want to stop him. I want to know what he intends to do with me. Being here, trapped in a web, it doesn’t feel like real life. It doesn’t feel like this counts.
I’ve been keeping myself single for a long time now. I’ve not wanted to date since I got the scars that will never leave me, since I became more vulnerable than I was before. It’s one thing to be a woman in the world, it’s something else to be one with marks that make men think I’m worth less. I know I’m pretty. And I know that to some men, my leg and my walking stick and the marks on my body make me more like prey than a romantic option.
“Tell me what happened to you,” he says.
“Tell me what happened toyou,” I reply. “You’re extraordinary.”
“Extraordinary,” he repeats. “What a kind word. Now. Tell me what happened to you.”
“I was shot by a man who didn’t want to go to jail.”
“Then what happened?”
“He went to jail.”
Order smirks. It’s the first time I have seen him express something close to a smile. It’s sexy. He has very white, slightly pointed teeth. He looks like he isn’t often amused, and is quite surprised to find himself amused.
“I meant what happened to you, not the idiot who had the nerve to shoot you.”
“I went to hospital and came out with a limp.”
“You don’t like to talk about it,” he concludes.
“No. I don’t. It was the worst time of my life so far and it’s not something I choose to dwell on, especially with strangers.”
He nods, understanding. “And yet I find myself so very curious about you.”
“Because you’re one of those guys who thinks crippled chicks are hot.”
“Well, that’s a surprisingly offensive take on yourself,” he says, one of his hands tapping my ass in a light swat.
“You called me broken.”
This is a very intimate conversation with a stranger, but it’s also a very intense, and deep one. There’s meaning here, and that’s hotter than anything. So many of my conversations with the male sex are shallow attempts at interaction. Order clearly doesn’t do shallow.
“I do not think I am going to be able to let you go,” he murmurs to himself. “You know too much, and have seen too much.”
“Not really. I know there’s a six-armed man and a guy with wings. That’s not exactly aware of anything. Nobody would ever believe me if I told them. Your risk of exposure here is low.”
“That’s what Justice has been trying to convince me of, but I am not so convinced.”
“Sally and I want to stop the murders. That’s it.”
His hands are rubbing my ass now, back and forth in a soothing motion. I should tell him to stop. Wait. Why should I tell him to stop? It’s some kind of moral reaction, some puritanical impulse that insists pleasure must be wrong if you haven’t marched yourself down an aisle first.
I don’t want him to stop. I want him to keep going. I want this secret rendezvous to be worth it. It’s a reckless impulse, but I want to give into it. I let my thighs part, and I let him move in between my legs. His uppermost hands cup my face, while the right middle hand moves his sunglasses away and all eight eyes inspect my features.
“You are beautiful,” he says.
I feel myself blush against his cool palm.
Then I feel my hips ride forward against him. His lower two hands have pulled me forward and my crotch is now grinding against his. I am dry humping a sexy monster who does not feel any shame at the notion of taking me captive. The head of his clothed cock is nudging against my legging-clad clit and little waves of surreptitious pleasure are starting to ripple through me.
I bite my lower lip and try to keep the pleasure from showing on my face. I don’t want him to know how much I like this. I definitely don’t want him to know how badly I need it. I haven’t gotten laid in over a year. The first time I let my boyfriend at the time see me after the incident, he recoiled. He tried to cover for it, but I saw the look on his face. I saw the revulsion and disgust he experienced when he looked at me because I was now so much less than perfect. Our relationship ended less than two weeks later without any further attempts at intimacy.
Order is a creature who walks the line between grotesque and beautiful. It is so easy to get lost in his eyes and melt into his touch. And there is so much touch. Two hands on my ass, another two hands caressing my midsection, including my breasts.
His mouth descends on mine. He kisses me firmly and commandingly, taking control of my tongue as much as the rest of my body.
