Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Chapter 20
Raya
How can I want what he’s demanding of me and want to refuse it at the same time?
I lick my lips as I stare down at the silicone penis but then I have to lift my eyes back up to him. I regret telling him not to touch himself because at least if he was, he’d be a little distracted with his own pleasure instead of analyzing every movement of my body.
“Get it ready,” he urges, and I don’t have to guess what he means. I close my eyes as I touch myself, noticing the change in his pattern of breathing. I slit my eyes open to see what he’s doing. His hands are tangled in the sheets. His grip so tight, his knuckles are white. And I know he’s hurting, not touching himself. I know it’s what he wants. It’s what he wanted in the shower and nothing has changed.
Slickness coats my fingers as I tease and toy. I avoid my clit because even as deranged as this is, I can’t deny how much I want it. What would his hands feel like on my skin? I keep going back to that thought over and over, day after day. And I want to fight it. I want to refuse to think about it. I don’t want my head imagining such things. It makes me just as sick and twisted as he is.
But the blame is no longer there, the excuses that would normally run through my head as I mentally pointed the fingers at my parents. I could have been more rebellious. I could have fought against their rules. I could have been unconcerned about the chance of news outlets getting a picture of me going wild, but I didn’t. I think it’s time to stop blaming everyone else for everything I feel like I’ve missed out on in life.
He doesn’t let me refuse. Or maybe he does with the threats in his voice. The warnings he gives me with his eyes because that’s all it takes to get me into motion. I touch myself longer than I need to, wondering if this is the time that I should stand up for myself, but I don’t open my mouth to complain. I think refusing to do it would be worse with the way that my body is demanding I bend to his will.
I want it. There’s no denying it, I realize, as I pull my fingers free and look down at the black toy standing there. It’s as if the thing is reaching up to me. It’s proud and unflagging. I can only imagine how good it’s gonna feel. I spread my legs as I reach for the bedpost and I fight the urge once again to tell him that it’s okay if he touches himself while I do that.
It would be a confession I’m not ready to make despite his ability to read those desires on my face without me uttering a word. His own arousal leaks from the tip of his penis and I take a little pride in that. I take pride in the fact that I’m able to turn him on enough to make him weak.
My tongue sneaks out, licking at my lips again, and that pleases him as well as he watches my mouth. The power I feel in this situation right now is divine, but I know it will be short lived. I know that if I waste any more time, I’m gonna force his hand. He’ll either command me with words or he’ll command me with his hands. I don’t know which one would be better or worse. I don’t know which one I desire the most. And maybe it’s a combination of the two.
Maybe he could tell me to do it and when I refuse, he’ll make me. God, what would his hands feel like on my shoulders as he pushed me down on that toy. A tingle races up my spine. My eyelids go half-mast and that control I was so happy with now feels like a loss of control. My need for him is a weakness.
And I have to wonder if it’s him or the situation. If it were another man, would this be different? If I weren’t a captive in his house? If I were at Jackson’s parents’ place, playing out this same scenario, would I still feel the way I do right now?
My nose scrunches up as I picture it, and the answer is a simple no, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t want Jackson’s hands on me. I could hardly stand the brush of his lips on the back of my hand the night that I was taken. I can still feel the sense of relief that he took a phone call and walked away even after what happened next.