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It’s full night, and I’m screaming my way through another vibrator-induced orgasm when the rain starts.
It gets stronger and stronger over the next hour, pouring down with increasing strength. It’s alsoloudon the roof of the cabin.
“Please. Help me.Please,” I scream on the next one. Jameson presses his hand flat to the small of my back and holds me in place, his mouth close to my ear.
“That’s how I like you to beg. Good girl. Scream it out. You’re doing so well. I want to fuck you until you can’t scream anymore. Yes—good. Ask me for more.”
I try, out of a ridiculous hope that it’ll make things better.
“Fuck, I know. You wish you were rubbing that perfect, wet pussy over my thick cock instead. It would feel so much better. You can have it. All you have to do is ask. All you have to do is beg. Open your mouth and beg me for my cock.”
It should not be possible to come any harder, but I do.
He keeps his big, warm hand on my back until it’s over and I collapse onto the arm of the couch. I’ll faint if I have to have another. I will. That would be a mercy.
Jameson sets the timer.
He takes a seat on the couch. It takes ten minutes to unlock my muscles, so I don’t move. Jameson fiddles with his phone. The lights in the cabin lower, then lower again. They’re more like night-lights now.
The rain is a constantshhhhhhhhhon the cabin roof.
Jameson sets his phone down and leans back.
I rest my forehead on the arm of the couch.
A peal of thunder rolls out over the lake, and Jameson takes a deep breath.
I pick up my head, fully on alert.
His head has dropped back, he’s facing away, and the slow rise of his shoulders says…
My kidnapper’s asleep.
I don’t move a muscle.
Except for the shaking I have no control over.
He keeps breathing, deep and even.
Oh, myGod. I knew he was tired. Iknewit. He was doing slow blinks the second the rain started. Did I get kidnapped because this man doesn’t own a white noise machine? Is he criminally sleep-deprived?
His arms relax, and his phone slides down and lands against his leg.
There are sixty-eight minutes left on the timer.
I’ve never been more wrung out and more awake at the same time. The rain patters on the roof.This is it. This is it. This is it.
I hop down off the arm of the couch like I’m dismounting the aerial hoop. My legs are jelly, but I pull it off, my feet meeting the floor soundlessly.
My bag. I need my bag.
He took it into the kitchen with him. I tiptoe into the kitchen and hold my breath. If Snowball makes a racket, I’m screwed.
Snowball is snowball-ing in the corner of his cage. My bag hangs from a hook over by the door. I lift it to the floor and reach in for my leotard. It’s the only item of clothing that makes sense. I have no time to spare. I can’t spend a second rooting through Jameson’s dresser, and his clothes are too big. They’d slow me down.
I step into the leotard, using the counter for balance. My thighs ache. Everything aches. But when I get it on over my shoulders, I forget about the soreness. I forget about everything except exploding off that hoop.
I’m going to spread my wings and fly into the night. Sweet anticipation pushes my exhaustion away.
