Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
With the circumstances as they are, I won’t deny some of the thoughts rushing around in my mind are of him.
Not as the enemy. Not as a captor I need to outwit.
But, more…PG-13.
No. R. Definitely R but maybe not X.
Not yet.
I’ve heard of Stockholm Syndrome, but come on, it’s only been hours. I’m pretty sure that psychological bend needs way more time and some deep brain games. But, I have always been an overachiever, so possibly I’m just skipping to the good parts.
One of the many reasons I was laser-focused on being the best at my academics, was I wasn’t very good at the other stuff about kids and social life. I didn’t care much for playground games. I hated the petty, two-faced drama that went on in almost every class and grade. I wanted to talk about facts and purpose. I wanted to set goals and compete in the achievement of them.
That’s not what most other kids wanted. Friendships were few and far between and didn’t seem to feel things the same as my peers. I cared for my family, sure, but attachments to anyone else at anything other than a superficial level eluded me.
Nothing has changed. I’m twenty and I’ve never had a date. No kisses. No groping in the back of a car or heavy breathing in a closet at a party.
I’ve never even been to a party outside of family stuff.
And, I was fine with all of that. But, there this new little…gathering inside me when I look at this massive orc. It’s an odd, unfamiliar sensation like you get when you are getting the stomach flu. That little twinge in your belly, that makes you think, uh-oh, is that? Could it be?
Then, a few hours later you are either puking your guts out, or you’ve forgotten all about that little glitch down low.
Well, it’s been hours and the glitch is still there, I’m not puking and it’s still got my attention. So, something is changing, and I’m way confused.
And…yes, turned the hell on.
There, I said it.
There’s the scent of roasting meat and burning wood that’s got me drooling as I push onto my tiptoes to see Oran poking at something on the fire. From that first moment I saw him, it’s like time stopped. I hate being down in here, but I like being in this space with him. Unable to leave with the hovering of a peacefulness I can’t remember feeling in so long.
He’s my captor, but he’s giving off a heavy protector vibe as well and the twitch down below is also a little clutch in my chest and I don’t even want to talk about what my nipples have been doing.
“I have food for you. It will be ready soon.” Oran stands at the edge, his eyes flick to mine, then scan down my body making me wince under their intensity.
I lick my lips, the gnawing in my belly rising with the delicious scent of the food. “Okay, I’m hungry.”
“I give you my food, not what they left for you. Dry bread and water.”
Why would he tell me that? Does he want me to think he’s on my side somehow? The good cop thing again?
“Thank you. I could use some water to wash up.” I say, holding my hands palms out for him to see.
“I will bring you a bucket of water.”
I wonder if he notices my hands are trembling. His body is tense and in some magical way, his twisted face is masculine and attractive. His forehead is set in a permanent furrow but there’s a low red flicker in his eyes I didn’t see before and don’t even get me started on his abs and his chest. I could tap dance on those plates of muscle, and he would barely feel it I’m sure.
Warmth trickles between my legs then a surge of guilt sweeps it away. If I’m down here, what’s happening with my grandfather? Are they there with him? Holding him hostage as well? Is he hurt? And, yeah, my brother is an ass but what’s happening with him? If I do manage to escape, then what? I get home to nothing and no one? Then, I’m on the run, I couldn’t stay there, they would just come back for me. Sure, there’s still some law in this part of the country and they need to legally own the property, but if my grandfather doesn’t do what they ask…
“Water.” Oran breaks me from the panic loop as he crouches down at the pit edge and lowers a wooden bucket. This is as close as we’ve been since I arrived.
Emotions overwhelm me for no concrete reason. I’m woozy, floaty-feeling as the muscles in his forearm ripple, deep circular twisted scarring I didn’t notice before covering his arms and chest. His focus is on me as I take the bucket, my hands on the bottom as he holds the handle by a single, thick finger.