Do Me a Favor
Necessary to live.
She’s unlike any other.
Mine.
On its way into her sex, my finger meets a barrier, but I’m thrusting it too hard to stop in time and I feel the gentle tear—and the sensation paralyzes me. What was that? She can’t be…a virgin? This girl is a virgin?
When she cries out, I swear the heart has been ripped from my chest.
No. It can’t be. Didn’t Baker tell me she’s a harlot? I can’t recall my brother’s words over the catastrophic roaring in my ears. What have I done?
I look down and find blood trickling down my middle finger and withdraw it with a hoarse sound, gathering her trembling body up into my arms as quickly as possible. “Posy. No, ballerina. Oh my God.” I stand up with her in my arms and turn in circles, no idea what to do. Should I bring her to the hospital? “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Put me down,” she says through chattering teeth.
A miserable wail leaves me, rattling the cage of my skull. “Anything but that.”
“Down! Now!” she shouts, twisting hard and elbowing her way out of my hold, running to the far side of the room as soon as her feet touch the floor, moving fluidly, like the ballerina that she is. Away from me. While I stand in place, shattering. She jerks up the top of the leotard to cover her breasts, but her underwear and tights are shredded, so all she can do is use one of the see-through panels of her tutu to cover her bare pussy, holding it in place with her right hand. “You’re a monster.”
I nod and bury my head in my hands, knowing I deserve that. “So I’ve been told. It’s never been more obvious than it is right now.” It hurts to swallow. What have I done? “All women lie.” I hold up my fingers. “But blood doesn’t lie. I’m sorry, Posy. Please let me…make you better. I don’t know how, but I’ll figure it out.”
When I take a step in her direction, she holds up a hand, stopping me. “Don’t come any closer. Please.”
“What can I do?” I shout at her, tearing at my scalp.
“Let me leave.”
Unthinkable. I might as well throw myself in front of a semi-truck. “No. No.”
Several seconds of silence tick by as she considers me. “Then you can tell me what happened to make you think all women are liars. You can tell me why you’re in this place.”
Three
Posy
Smith is incredibly strong. His strength is almost inhuman.
But I’m very fast. Nimble.
I might be able to make it past him toward the door, but I would never get all of those locks disengaged in time. And I might as well admit it. There is a part of me that doesn’t want to leave just yet. I’m too curious about this man and what has driven him to live in this isolated hell. What has given him false beliefs in members of the opposite sex—enough to put hatred in his eyes when he first looked at me?
He's in pain. A wounded animal.
I don’t know how to simply turn my back.
I’ll talk to him. I’ll find out what I need to know. And once I lull him into a false sense of security, I’ll figure out a way to incapacitate him long enough to get out the door.
That plan allows me to take a deep breath.
Having a course of action makes it easier to convince myself that I’m not attracted to him. That I don’t find his eyes arresting and his warrior’s body appealing.
Because that would just be crazy.
Do I have an accelerated case of Stockholm syndrome or something?
“I will tell you whatever it is you want to know. Just please sit down.” He sidesteps to a small, round table, which is surrounded by three mismatched chairs. He pulls one of them out and gestures for me to sit, his expression guarded, but hopeful. “I can’t concentrate when I’m worried about you running away.”
My pulse kicks up at the thought of getting close to him again. Close enough to be manhandled and mauled. There was a moment on the bed when he kissed me and light flooded my head. I’m trying not to think about how much that single touch of his mouth made me ache. Made me throb. He was going to force me. “You’re not allowed to touch me.”