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Rebecca
Healing is a bitch. After the ordeal I have just been through, though, I should be happy I’m healing as well as I am. What is a bitch is that Alexander still won’t touch me. Nothing besides a brisk kiss to the lips, or a brush of his hand on my shoulder, or the stroke of a finger down my cheek. That’s all I’ve been getting. And I’m dying from not being loved by him. Especially when I know how darn good it feels. Is there something wrong with me? After all, I was recently raped and abused at the hands of a monster.
When we came home from the hospital, I was brought directly into Alexander’s room, and during that first day while I slept, all my clothing and other items I had in my bedroom had been brought down. His room was nowourroom. Alexander had slept with me every night, careful not to touch, not wanting to hurt me. I would reach out to him, wanting to be closer and held in his strong arms, but instead he would kiss my forehead and roll out of bed. He’d leave, telling me he had forgotten to do something and needed to get it done before calling it a night. And in the end, he wouldn’t come to bed until I was already asleep.
But no more. Today marks two weeks since everything with Richard Lexington happened. Which means, it’s go time. Even Murray the nurse, told Alexander that in two weeks’ time we could be physical. I slip out of the extremely comfortable king-sized bed and make my way into the bathroom. I turn the water on to warm whilst I strip from the comfy clothes I’ve been wearing. When I am completely naked, I examine myself in the mirror and appreciate the skill of those who stitched me up. The fading bruises will disappear, and the cuts that are now knitted together, although still very pink, will heal in time. Alexander and I have been rubbing a special oil over my scars for a couple of days, now that the wounds are closed. It’s meant to help fade the marks. I don’t know how effective it is, but I agreed to give anything a try. I may never be able to wear a bikini again without people staring at my body, but all these scars tell a story. They tell the story of how I survived what some women never do.
I step into the warm water and revel at how it feels sluicing over my body. I can’t have the water as hot as I would like to as it still stings too badly. Even at lukewarm, the sensitive areas of healing flesh scream in pain, especially around my ribcage as the water bites into my skin. I clamp down on my bottom lip and accept the pain. It helps me to know that I am here, and I survived. Once I have finished, I hop out and wrap one of the oversized towels around me and my mind goes back to my time spent in the hospital.
When I spoke to the MI6 Agents including Agent Jones and Agent Smith the day after I was rescued, I discovered that I had only been with Richard for three and a half hours. Not very long at all really. And yet he hadn’t wasted any time getting stuck into it. Perhaps in the back of his mind he somehow suspected that someone might come to get me. The interview went for around an hour and I had to describe in detail everything that happened to me that I could remember in my lucid moments with him. I hated having to relive all that I had experienced but I knew that the more information they had, the better it would be, as more evidence meant more chance of a conviction against the other players to bring the sex trafficking ring down. Even though Richard was dead, they could still use what had happened to me as evidence, an example of what other women would have experienced during their time in captivity that they can use in their hunt to convict the others involved.. A pattern would emerge from those of us who had experienced the deviant nature of Richard Lexington III. I tried not to look to Alexander as he was pacing beside me, but occasionally he would stop when I described a particularly horrible part like the metal-tipped whip, or the switchblade, and his eyes looked like he was holding back a murderous rage.
Once I had finished retelling every detail, he came back to my side and took my hand in his, stroking the back of it constantly. Like you would to calm a small child. I hated it and yet at the same time, accepted the contact from him. Agent Jones and Agent Smith left after writing a lot of notes and finished recording my statement. Alexander followed them out and spoke to them for around half an hour, after which we left and went home.
We haven’t heard from MI6 since, and I read in one of the newspapers Thelma brought me one morning with my breakfast, about Richard Lexington’s death, along with all the sordid details of the international sex trafficking ring he was involved in. Thanks to our help, they had been able to bring it to its knees and a few of the other men who had been arrested gave more names in exchange for shorter sentences. They freed around eighty women and young girls from multiple locations across the UK. Luckily, Alexander and I weren’t mentioned in the article. I don’t think I could have handled the details of my abduction and abuse splashed all over the English papers.
I look down at my dry body and hang up the towel, before padding into the extra-large walk-in closet that now houses both Alexander’s and my clothing. I make a beeline for the built-in drawers, opening the top one, and quickly finding a black lace teddy, matching thigh-high stockings, and garter belt. I’m not going to give Alexander the option of saying no to me today. He is going to make love to me and help me forget what I have been through and connect us again. Not just body, but soul too.
Once I am dressed, I return to the bathroom and comb my hair, tousling the strands, wanting it to be full of volume. Once satisfied, I apply a full face of makeup, including the sultry smoky eye shadow and bloodred lipstick I was wearing the very first time I saw him. To remind him I was more than an injured woman who had been through an experience I would rather forget.
I return to the bed and pull both the sheets and quilt cover up, place all the pillows on the bed and position myself on top in the middle, before grabbing my phone and dialing Alexander’s number.
He answers on the first ring. “Sweetheart, do you need something?”
“Only your company. I miss you,” I respond.
I hear his exhale on the line. “On my way, sweetheart.” His voice is like honey, before he hangs up. I reach over and turn down the lighting in the room, so it’s not as bright, and settle back against the pillows, waiting for him to come through the door.
The moment he sees me lying on the bed, he slows his gait, his eyes hungrily eating me up as every step brings him closer. “Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he breathes back. His eyes continue to look over every inch of my body, but instead of the careful way he has been assessing my injuries for the past week, this time he is looking at me like a lover does. His eyes dance with desire as they touch every part of me, landing eventually back on my face.
“It’s been two weeks, and I need you inside me. Desperately. I need you to show me how much you love me, Alexander,” I don’t care that I sound needy. It’s the truth.
Alexander leans in, skimming his hand down the lace covering my body. I close my eyes, loving his touch. “It has been two weeks and I want to love you just as badly as you want to love me. But we are going to take this slow. Just like the doctor ordered, okay?” His voice is thick and such a turn on.
My eyes open to gaze directly into his, conveying to him exactly how much I need this. “Make love to me, please,” I beg. His lips move in and press against mine and fireworks go off within me. I reach up and rest my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me, and he comes willingly, his hands caging either side of my body, keeping his full weight from landing on me. My mouth opens and his tongue slides in, massaging my own before he pulls away all too soon and breaks the kiss.
~ Chapter Twenty-Eight ~
Alexander
The last thing I wantto do right now was break this kiss, the first real one we have had since I got her back. But I need to show her exactly how I’m feeling. I pull off my T-shirt and slide out of my jeans, allowing my erection to spring free.
I sit on the bed beside her, my back resting against the many pillows and offer my hand to her. “Come here, sweetheart.” She takes my hand eagerly and throws her leg over to straddle me. My fingers rub over her warmth through the black lace lingerie she is wearing, and I feel the dampness. I slide a finger underneath the fabric and find her sensitive bud quickly, rubbing at it lazily.
“That feels so good, my love,” she moans as I slide one of my other fingers back through her folds and enter her. Another breathy moan escapes her lips as she leans forward against my shoulder. I pump my finger gently for a few moments, loving the way she moves her hips over me. “I need you,” she begs. And I can’t hold out anymore. My finger comes free and unsnaps the teddy, so it unveils her pussy. She grabs at my shaft and lines it up with her entrance and together we slowly become one.
Once she is fully seated on me, I speak for the first time. “I need you to do something for me, sweetheart.”
“Anything, Alexander.” Her hips try to move. But I don’t let her, instead holding her in place, full of me.
“I need you to promise me something,” I coax.
“Anything.”
“Promise me, that you will always remember this moment, right here, right now with me. Promise me you will always remember how good it feels when I’m inside you, how good it feels when I’m taking care of you and what you need. Remember how there is no one else on this planet who can make you feel the way I do when we are loving each other like this.”
“I will. I promise,” she breathes.
