When he pulls away, carefully testing my balance after letting my leg down, my lips tingle and the skin on my chin burns from his stubble. Disoriented and taken aback by what just happened, I don’t trust my legs to carry my weight. I lean against the wall for purchase as he straightens my T-shirt. I’ve all but forgotten about my sore ankle.
Framing my face, he brushes strands of hair from my temples with this thumbs. “I can’t let my guard down here, not even for a second. Understand?”
I do. The town can be dangerous. With my blond hair, I stand out. I’m a target for kidnapping and rape. Just like poaching, human trafficking is a reality.
“You have to stay at my side, baby doll.”
I nod. I’m not ignorant or naïve. He just sometimes makes me forget about everything I should remember. He has the magic ability to make me think with my heart instead of my head, and that scares me more than being his prisoner. A prisoner always has the hope of escaping, but once I’ve given my heart it’ll be forever. I’m my father’s daughter. When he fell in love with my mom, she rejected him at first. He said he fought as hard for her as he did because he knew there would never be another. It was either her or live alone for the rest of his life.
Ian adjusts his hard-on and shoots another glance toward the road before taking my hand.
I hold back. “What about you?” I’m dying to trace the outline of the broad head of his cock with my tongue. He’s perfect in every way, but his manhood is the most perfect part of him. He’s straight and beautifully proportioned, just long enough not to make me gag and thick enough to stretch me deliciously without hurting.
His lips tilt in the corner. “I’m good.”
He doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve just come in my panties at the cost of him suffering from blue balls.
We carry on down the main street like what took place in the alley hasn’t happened, but the swell of his chest is a little more pronounced, as if he’s proud of making me come. Instead of letting him drag me inside the general store, I carry on toward the pharmacy.
A bell chimes when I push open the door. The odors of eucalyptus and valerian hang in the small space. Shelves line the walls from the floor to the ceiling. The produce vary from hair oil and straighteners to insect repellents. Most of the boxes are covered in dust, looking like they’ve expired a couple of years ago. Jars full of dried herbs stand on the counter. The one next to the cash register is filled with jelly worms that are sold at ten cents per piece.
A man wearing a white, short-sleeved, crimplene shirt with square pockets on both sides looks up from a cash register book. His round eyes widen behind his black-rimmed glasses.
“Can I help you?” he asks, glancing between Ian and me.
I lean in. “I’d like the morning-after pill, please.”
He shoots an uncertain look at Ian. I peer over my shoulder to gauge the reason for the man’s reaction, but Ian is standing stoically with his arms crossed.
The man clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him.
He shuffles his feet. “I’m afraid we don’t stock that.”
Shit. “Do you know where else I can try?”
“Uh.” He pushes his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “Nowhere around here.”
I turn back to Ian. “You have a clinic on your property.”
“They administer the birth control shot,” he says.
“Surely they must have some damn morning-after pills in case of an emergency.”
His tone is firm. “No.”
I refuse to give up. “You said you flew in medicine. You got my chronic medication from Johannesburg.”
“That took time.”
I narrow my eyes. “How much time?”
“Long enough not to matter any longer by the time it arrives,” he says with meaning.
The endorphins from my orgasm vanish and my happy glow with them. “When exactly did you order my heart medication? You kidnapped me the day after I called you. If it takes as long as you claim, you planned on bringing me here long before you kidnapped me.” I cross my arms, mirroring his stance. “Either that or you’re lying about how long it takes to fly in the pills.”
Despite the pharmacist, who’s nervously following our conversation, Ian maintains his calm. “Told you, baby doll, I wanted to see you again, and I like to be prepared.”
No. When he dropped me off after our night at the Kloof, he was saying goodbye. He’s lying, but I can’t fathom why. He can’t seriously hope I’ll fall pregnant. Most guys run a mile at the mere thought that a girl may try to catch them. He won’t sabotage himself like that.