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“How was your reunion?”
“It was nice. Thank you, by the way. I never expected to see her again.”
I don’t mention her father, because I’m not entirely sure how she’ll react when she finds out what I did to him. She may never forgive me, which is something I’ll have to live with, but I couldn’t let his crimes go unpunished.
And besides, I didn’t kill him.
“Let’s get this over with,” she deadpans, walking into the bedroom.
All my past lovers have been overwhelmingly enthusiastic, which makes this experience feel terrible. But it is what it is.
She sits on the bed, crossing her ankles.
A part of me dies inside.
“If you don’t want to do this, you’re welcome to find another Keeper,” I say, wondering if it’s just me who makes her miserable.
“No, we might as well just do it.”
I guess I won’t ask her what she likes, because there’s no point. I pull off my shirt, making a show of flexing my muscles. Not that she notices. I take off the rest of my clothes until I’m standing in only my boxers.
As I approach the bed, she tenses, like she’s expecting me to hit her. Instead, I reach behind her head and pull the elastic from her hair, letting her blonde waves cascade down her back.
She scoots to the middle of the bed because she knows what’s expected of her, and I follow her on, crawling up her body.
Underneath me, she’s tiny, making me want to protect her. And I am. Here, within the Keep, she’s mine and I’ll never let another man hurt her.
I slip my hand under her shirt, feeling the soft flesh of her round hip for the first time. She reacts with a jerk but doesn’t stop me.
As much as I’d love to explore her body with my hands and tongue, it’s not what she wants. She makes that obvious. Getting to the point and getting this over with is the best course of action.
I pull down her black yoga pants revealing pale pink panties, and despite her obvious distaste for me, they’re wet, clinging to her sex like a window decal.
Breathing in the sweet musky smell of her sex, my cock turns into a raging fist. No matter how I envisioned her body, it simply doesn’t compare to what’s beneath me.
“Will it hurt?” Britney whispers, and I look up to see that her arm is covering her eyes.
“Hurt? I’m not…mean. I won’t hurt you.”
“But sex…is it painful?”
I sit back, wondering if maybe she has some kind of issue Christine didn’t catch. “Um, has it been?”
“I’ve never had it before, so how would I know?”
No-fucking-way…
I think back to the day I rescued her from the club in her barely there clothes, shaking like a leaf. Frank was a monster. There’s no way he would have left her unmolested.
Unless she was new. Not days new. Hours.
She never really talked about her time at the club with anyone, even the girls, if the guys have the right of it. I’d assumed it was because what she’d suffered was so traumatic.
And it was, but not for the reason I’d thought. She wasn’t upset that she was raped. She was upset that she had to watch Brooke nearly get mauled by a rager.
Suddenly, things make a lot more sense.
She shifts beneath me ever so slightly. “Let’s just get this over with.”
