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“I thought you’d be happy to be stuck in here with all of these books.”
“So did I…”
Fuck.
This isn’t the girl I was expecting to meet. There’s no fire in her. No anger. It’s like she’s been drained of all the spice that drives me so wild.
I’m an asshole.
Still, she’s wearing one of the skimpy nightgowns that I’d originally thrown in her closet. It hugs her curves like a fucking lure, riding up her thighs and giving me the most mouth-watering glimpse of her soft, supple skin.
My cock is already getting hard. But the guilt remains. She’s been locked up in here for long enough.
I might want to fuck her more than anything in the world right now, but I also need her to want it.
Maybe some fresh air will help.
“Put on something more modest,” I tell her, already regretting my decision. “We’re going to talk… on the rooftop patio.”
Sophia’s reaction is more delayed than I had hoped for.
It’s like she’s still wiping the sleep from her eyes as my words slowly dawn on her.
“You’re taking me outside?”
“Only if you hurry.”
Her reaction is much more suppressed than I was expecting. Hell, there’s hardly any visible change in her at all—it’s nothing like how she lit up when I mentioned books.
Instead of immediate excitement, there’s only suspicion, and a slow realization that one part of her nightmare might be coming to an end.
“What should I wear?” she asks, gingerly pushing herself off the bed, as she seems to finally accept that I’m not fucking with her.
“Something revealing.”
“I thought you said you wanted me to put something more modest on?”
“I changed my mind.”
That seems to light a little fire under Sophia’s perfect ass.
“Of course,” she says, rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t protest.
I watch her closely as she gets up from bed and wanders over to the closet. When she disappears inside, and I lose sight of her, I get the sudden and very violent urge to slap myself.
What the hell is wrong with me?!
I just spent two days in a shitty little safehouse so that no one would know where she was, now I’m going to take her onto my rooftop?
I might as well be shining a fucking beacon to the whole city.
My fingers curl into fists and my foot starts to angrily tap against the floor. A soft ache pulses in my leg.
No. The rooftop is covered and private. I try to tell myself. The hedges alone are twenty feet high and the tarp that’s splayed out over top of it all is specifically made to scramble any potential spying software. If no one knows where you are now, then no one will after.
Still, this is a risk.
And why am I taking this risk? To make my captive feel better?
