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I stared at his feet and torso, unable to lift my head high enough to see his face. Nothing happened as I waited for him to move, leaving me free to do whatever I wanted.
What the fuck was going on?
My hackles rose. Why was this man giving me control? Allowing me to choose what I wanted to pick up and use. And allowing me to be the one to do it.
He hadn’t touched me or even moved to get close to me.
Why was he letting me choose?
It was either genuine or manipulative, and I didn’t know which option scared me more.
The pain made me groan as I reached for the meds. Every tiny movement hurt. But I managed to get my hand on a small sealed pouch containing two pills.
With considerable effort, I tried to tear it open, but it wouldn’t budge.
The man stepped forward, and I recoiled.
His foot hovered for a moment, as if he were deciding whether to take another step.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
I hesitated, waiting for him to lose patience and act without permission or scream at me for not answering. But nothing happened.
If I said no, would anything happen? Would he walk away? Or would he remind me that he'd paid for my time and body and could do whatever he wanted with me?
His shoes were immaculate. Black laces, perfect shine, almost as if they were brand new. I waited for him to move.
He didn't.
I set the pouch on the floor, testing whether he would try to touch me or open the medication.
He still didn’t move.
“Yes,” I croaked. “You can help me.”
He took three commanding steps forward, grabbed the package, ripped it open, set it back down where I had put it, then retreated once more.
I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating the pain as I placed my palms on the concrete and pushed myself into a sitting position.
Every movement was agony, but I managed it.
I grasped the package, poured the pills into my hand, tossed them into my mouth, and washed them down with the water he had provided. All the while, I stared at him, now getting a perfect view of his muscular body wrapped in a suit.
He wore a black half mask, leaving his lips and pale skin visible. His dark blond hair was styled to perfection, not a single strand out of place.
“Did you rent me today?” I asked before taking another sip of water.
“Yes.” His voice was rough but unnaturally sexy, like I’d imagined Thor, the God of Thunder, would sound.
“To bring me medicine?”
“Yes.”
“And not try to touch me?”
“Yes.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
The door clicked shut, and I watched the shadows on the other side sway, waiting for something to happen. For the other shoe to drop.
