Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Daniel has taken me to a nice apartment. Not great by American standards, but cleaner than the brothel, and private. It’s only me and him, and I immediately think he’s going to pounce on me as soon as we get inside. That’s okay; I’m ready for that and I’m fine with having sex with this man as long as it gets me to safety. Pleasing one man in bed would be child’s play after what I’ve been through.
But Daniel is . . . nice. He lets me shower in his bathroom and gives me clean clothes to wear. Nothing slutty, just clothes of his own. It’s clear that he wasn’t intending to bring me back with him, which lends credence to his story about taking me to the embassy. This man, this nice man, meant what he said. He was really going to drop me off at the embassy and go on with his life. He wasn’t going to use me for sex even if he was attracted to me.
And this confuses me. My new reality is that men want a quick fuck. I don’t know how to deal with people that are nice for the sake of being nice. Not anymore. I dress in the clothes he’s given me and sit down to eat the food he’s made. And I’m bitchy. I can’t help it. Hiding behind a shitty attitude is all I’ve got anymore.
But he’s trying to make me comfortable. He’s not looking at my body, even though it’s clearly outlined in the thin undershirt I’m wearing without a bra or panties underneath. He’s even made me dinner and poured a glass of milk. And he starts to leave to get me clothing. Or bread. Something.
“Eat. I’ll be right back,” he says.
My mind flips out. I’m being abandoned again. I want to scream, but I jerk to my feet instead, and spill everything. My plate shatters at my feet, and it looks like I feel, all broken and piecemeal.
And I lose my shit.
I start crying uncontrollably. Everything feels like it’s crashing on me at once. Tonight I escaped the brothel, but now the embassy is lost to me. Freedom was so close and yanked away again. And this man is trying to be nice to me, but he wants to fuck me. I don’t know what to think anymore.
So I sob.
Like a hero in some fairy tale, Daniel grabs me in his arms and carries me to the couch. This only makes me cry harder because if he threw me down and started fucking me, I’d expect that. I’d know how to handle that. But he’s petting my hair and whispering soothing things to me.
And I. Cannot. Deal.
Great, wracking sobs escape my body. My hands curl in his shirt and I lean against him, crying my heart out. I’m so scared and lost. And even though this man is holding me, I feel completely and utterly alone.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he murmurs as he strokes my hair. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll take you back to the embassy in the morning, and you’ll be on a plane home in a few days. I promise.”
His mention of the embassy only makes me cry harder. If I go there, Mr. Freeze will find me. He’ll check my teeth, order me “gentled” for a bit longer, and when I’m totally broken . . . what then? I have visions of him sculpting me into the perfect woman he wants . . . and then, I don’t know, pulling my skin off and wearing it as a hood. He may want a blow job from a pretty slave girl, but I no longer have optimism as a fallback.
My hands slide around Daniel, and I hug him as he strokes my back. It occurs to me that I’m practically in his lap. I want to pull away and take another shower, but a different thought flickers in my mind; this time, when I press my cheek against his neck, it’s to hide the fact that my tears are drying up.
Daniel has weapons.
I move my hands to his waist, still weeping and sniffing, and delicately try to feel for his gun. There’s one taken apart on the table nearby, but Daniel seems like the type that would have one at the ready at all times. He must have another one on him. It’s become my goal to find it.
So I sniffle and burrow against him, noticing the tent rising at the front of his pants. He’s trying to be comforting, but his body is responding all the same. I pretend not to notice it, even as I let my breast brush against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I say in a wobbly voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He gives a brief chuckle. “You kidding me?” His fingers stroke my damp cheek and I do my best not to recoil from his touch. All touches seem to lead to rough, horrible sex lately. “You’ve been through hell and came out the other side. I think you’re allowed a cry-fest. Try not to slobber on me too much.”