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Inside I tremble. If I weren’t holding so tight on to his wrists, I might collapse.
Hie eyes light up as he watches the tops of my breasts flutter.
He slides both hands under my shirt, onto my shoulders. Now I have to let go of his arms. I feel too much like I’m aiding and abetting.
Without moving his arms, he leans in close to breathe a whisper into my ear. “I look forward to tasting you.” And he pulls back to look in my eyes, “All of you.”
My voice judders but I manage to say, “I’m here for Carlo.”
He lets go.
“Well, look at you.”
A low, dirty laugh breaks out of his throat. “Bless your heart. Thinking you’ll have choices to make around here.”
He takes another long, deep sniff, and his eyebrow hooks upward as his head tilts. “Is that the smell of a virgin?” He narrows his eyes. “I wonder.”
My mind spins in a fever as he turns slowly to leave.
I pull his hand to me and bite his pinky, looking in his eyes. His face doesn’t move. But I bite harder until water shows in his eye.
After I let go he looks at me for a second.
“Don’t mention our little moment to Carlo.” His eyes glint. “We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
The door shuts firmly behind him and silence rushes into the room from all sides.
When I start to unpack and put my things into the closets and drawers, I notice the room has a third door. I try it, but it’s locked. As the realization sinks in, it gives me an agitated buzz. Crazy with the idea that Alessio might have locked me in, I rush to the main door.
The handle turns and my breathing recovers. The door opens easily. The spacious, empty corridor seems like a lazy, yawning mockery of my panic. But I look back over my shoulder. There’s another door, next to mine. That must be where the door in my room connects to. I don’t make a sound as I pad along the thick carpet to the door.
There’s movement in the room. Unsure whether to lean and press my ear to the paneled wood door, or to knock, or just spin the handle and barge in, my insides clamp solid.
Then my stomach falls through the floor. I almost melt as I catch Alessio’s lingering scent.
Back in my room, I have to keep busy. I take a shower.
It’s been a long day. Early in the morning, I rose and dressed in black in my anonymous motel room in almost complete darkness, let myself out and padded the few blocks to Gianni’s house. Then the gut-churning deeds. I really was hoping that Paulo was going to handle himself better than he did.
Then Daddy. Damn. I always knew he would throw me under the bus if he thought he had to, but, damn, Daddy. Really? Now? And like this?
I’m thinking of all the other times I thought I wouldn’t trust him again, but this time really does feel different.
Immersing myself in water is the reset I need.
Except, as the suds roll down my chest, I think about that door in my room. And images of him stir. I feel the shadow of his hands where he put them on me. His flesh, laid on my bare skin. Poised, above my aching breasts. My buds harden and sting as the images wash back over me.
The irresistible strength in his wrists. His hard, arrogant certainty.
Twitching and shaking inside as I lather myself, I can’t chase the thoughts of him out of my mind any more than I can chase the imaginings off my soft flesh. Especially in the dark places. Places where I crave for a firm hand. And more.
The melting surface of the slippery bar of soap is a poor substitute. Even though it slips over and around every part of me. And it glides into all of my crevices.
It isn’t hot enough.
Or hard enough.
And it doesn’t pulse.
