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“I don’t have anything to wear,” I say, not even sure the man is awake.
I’m met with silence, but it’s not like I expected him to offer me something to wear. I’m not exactly a guest here.
I leave the room, heading out to put my clothes in the washer. The powdered laundry detergent doesn’t even have a scent, and all I can do is pray the stains come out as I close the lid and turn it on.
I debate staying in the living room while I wait for my clothes to wash, but the front door seems ominous. I don’t think the man would protect me exactly, but if someone breaks in, he’ll at least defend himself, and that would be a benefit to me.
I creep back into the bedroom, standing near the bed as I try to listen to him breathe. It takes a while for my heart to calm enough that I can hear anything over the pounding of it in my ears. Eventually, his soft, steady breaths can be heard.
Considering that he’s asleep, I glance from the bathroom door back to him. The house lacks so many things, but the bed was surprisingly comfortable last night, despite the way I was trussed up.
I know it’s probably a huge mistake, but as slowly and quietly as I can, I lie down on the bed next to him, freezing more than once in my journey to make sure I don’t wake him up. I tell myself I’ll nap, knowing I’ll hear the washing machine stop because of how loud it must be and how small the house is. I let my eyes flutter closed, wondering how long I’ll lie here awake because I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep.
My eyes grow increasingly harder to keep open, my blinks slowing until I find it impossible to open my eyes at all. I lick at my dry lips, chastising myself for not getting a drink of water as my body grows heavier and heavier.
A noise makes me jerk my eyes open, but I’m not met with the darkness I closed them to. Instead, I’m staring into the very angry eyes of a very wet and naked man.
I keep my eyes locked on him because looking down wouldn’t be wise. I can see in my periphery that he’s hard, his manhood the closest part of his body to mine.
I swallow, wanting to scream for help when he reaches for me. Staying here was the biggest mistake of my life. I knew it would come to this. All men are the same. They’re controlled by their cocks, convincing themselves that everything in the world is theirs for the taking regardless of whether they were given permission or not.
I know better than to swat at his hand as he extends it in my direction. I made that mistake with Alessio once, and the result was extremely painful.
The man reaches for the towel, nearly rolling me onto the floor when he rips it away from my body. He just stares down at me with it hanging from his fingers. I don’t attempt to cover myself, another thing I learned by experience while living with the Severino family. They may not have raped me, but they made it very clear, very early on, that they’d do just about anything else.
He doesn’t take it further. He doesn’t command me to suck him off. He doesn’t reach for me or touch me.
He doesn’t back away either as he continues to stare down at me as he dries himself off. His erection never flags, and I swear he strokes it more than dries it when he gets to that part of his body.
I wait for the splatter, wait for him to shame me by coating me with his cum, knowing this man is no better than Alessio or Marcello, but it doesn’t happen.
When I look up at his face, he seems disgusted, like he could read my mind and hated the thoughts he saw there.
“Get real,” he grumbles as he finally takes a step back. “Don’t hog the fucking towel.”
He doesn’t go back in the bathroom, but he does turn his back in my direction as he finishes drying off before pulling clothes from the tiny closet, leaving the towel in a wet pile on the floor like a savage.
“Don’t forget to put your clothes in the dryer,” he snaps before leaving the room.
I stare at his shadow from the bed as he moves around the kitchen.
I don’t hesitate to climb out of the bed and re-wrap myself in the towel, hating the cool dampness against my skin. It takes me a little longer to leave the room.
He didn’t apologize for the way he treated me, but it’s not like I should expect him to. He may not have hurt me the way I thought he was going to when I woke up to him standing over me with his erection not far from my face, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t planning on it, or that he’s fighting a battle against doing it that he will soon lose.
