Intense

I can see her, flush with exertion, fingers slick from her own juices. Maybe she licks them clean, maybe she simply wipes them off on her already dripping wet and useless panties.

Her nipples are hard under her thin t-shirt and she’s panting, breathing heavily, and thinking about me. She probably wants to know what it feels like for me to fuck her, maybe wants to know as much as I do.

Slowly, the fantasy passes. I get myself together and head down the hall into my own bedroom. I undress quickly and get into the shower, cleaning myself off and trying to clear my head.

It’s too soon to be feeling this way. The idea of being unable to control myself around her is a little frightening. It makes me feel uneasy, to be completely honest with myself. I want to be able to have strict control at all times, but out there in the hallway, I lost the ability to hold back.

All because of her. Aria pushes me just as much as I push her, though she doesn’t realize it. I told myself I wasn’t going to fuck her until she genuinely wants it, and I still feel that way. It’s why I’m only teasing her so far. But I didn’t expect to want to take her body more than I wanted to hold back and play my game.

As the water runs down my body, I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing, but the other way around. I know she’s starting to want it, really and truly want it, and I can’t help but wonder if she is surprised by that. Maybe she didn’t expect to actually want me to take her. She could still be trying to see this as just another game to play.

I don’t know what to think. And it’s not a good feeling. For most of my life, I’ve been in strict control of my situations as best I possibly can. Now, suddenly, with Aria, I feel like I’m losing a bit of that measured control and I don’t like it.

I wash myself under the warm water, thinking of her body in the other room, and wondering how I even got here to begin with.

12

Aria

I barely see him for nearly a week.

After that night with the vibrator, he doesn’t come for two days. I’m bored out of my mind, but I do my best to pass the time. I get permission on the second day from him through Jenkins to go on a short walk every day, but only so long as I’m chaperoned. Jenkins makes one of the housecleaners, a girl named Camilla that barely speaks any English, go with me. That suits me just fine, though, since I don’t want to talk anyway.

On my walk, I go around the block. I have twenty minutes to spend, and I use every minute looking around at the city and stretching my legs. Camilla walks next to me and smiles when we look at each other, but otherwise we’re silent with each other.

It’s actually pretty nice, but I wish it were Ethan with me instead of Camilla. I don’t know why he doesn’t come to see me. After the third day, he comes for dinner, but he doesn’t stay long, and we don’t play any games. We talk about his work and I tell him about my walks, and he agrees to let me have a half hour instead of twenty minutes. Two days after that, he comes for dinner again, and again the next night.

But we don’t play any games, and our conversation is simple, almost boring. He seems more reserved and I don’t understand why. He also seems even more tired, if that’s possible. He’s apologetic, and tries to make it up to me by sending gifts, but I don’t need gifts.

Although I can’t really complain about getting things. He sends beautiful dresses, jewelry, a new laptop, a new cellphone, scarves, gloves, a new coat, and a hundred other little things. It’s all perfect and expensive, and frankly more than I’ve ever gotten on my own, but I’d give it all up if he’d just come to see me more often.

Which is a strange thought. After seven days of this, with only seeing him three times in that week, I find myself getting antsy. I keep having negative thoughts, angry thoughts, and I don’t understand it.

Why do I care if he doesn’t come? That just means my life should be easier. I don’t have to worry about pleasing him if he never comes. But I am worried that I’m not good enough, that I’m not living up to his expectations in some way. He doesn’t say that, of course, but I don’t think he would. He’s a good man.

But I crave his attention. I feel silly about it, but it’s the truth. I crave his attention like a lovesick teenager or something, which only makes me feel much crazier. Maybe I’m sick. I’m not supposed to want the man that bought me at an escort auction. I’m supposed to just make him happy and collect my check when it’s all over.

Instead, I’m angry that he’s not giving me the attention I deserve. I feel like a spoiled brat, but I don’t care about all these gifts. I don’t need any of them.