Relief flashes across her face, and she disappears into the bathroom. I use the opportunity to go downstairs and take a quick rinse in one of the other bathrooms.
Though I showered after today’s job, I want to be extra clean for her.
She’s still showering when I return to the bedroom, so I carefully fold my clothes and leave them on the dresser before getting into bed. I gave myself a quick release with my hand earlier today, but my desire for Sara hasn’t abated, and I know I won’t be able to play this game much longer.
I’m going to take her and make her mine.
If not tonight, then very soon.
Sara’s shower is long, so long that I know she’s using it as a way to avoid me, but I don’t mind. I use the time to empty my mind and cool the residual anger burning inside me. By the time she finally emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, I have the monster under control and can smile at her coolly.
“Come,” I say, patting the bed next to me. I’m trying like hell not to think about how slick and soft her pussy felt yesterday, but it’s impossible. I want to feel that silky wetness wrapped around my cock, want to hear her moan as I drive into her. I want to taste that plush mouth and see her hazel eyes go soft and unfocused as I bring her to her peak again and again.
I want her, and I can’t have her.
Not yet, at least.
She approaches uncertainly, as wary as a wild gazelle, and just as graceful. I want to grab her and drag her into bed, but I remain still, letting her come to me of her own accord. This way, I can pretend that she doesn’t hate me, that seeing me imprisoned or dead wouldn’t give her the greatest joy.
This way, I can imagine that someday, she may choose to be with me.
“Take off that towel and come here,” I order when she pauses half a meter away from the bed, but she doesn’t move, her hands clutching the towel in front of her chest.
“Are we going to sleep? Just sleep?” she asks in an unsteady voice, and I nod, though I’m painfully hard just from seeing her. If I could be sure that I would maintain control throughout, I’d take her tonight, or at least give her another orgasm, but the best I can do is hold her and force myself to go to sleep. Even that will be torture, but I’ll bear it. I won’t force her when she’s expecting me to hurt her; no matter how difficult it is, I won’t live up to her fears.
“Just sleep,” I promise, and hope she can’t hear the raging hunger in my voice. “We’re just going to sleep.”
She hesitates for another second, then steps up to the bed, dropping the wet towel on the floor as she slips under the blanket. All I see is a flash of naked skin, but it’s enough for lust to punch me in the gut. Bracing myself, I pull her against me and bite back a groan as her soft ass nestles against my groin, her skin damp and extra warm from the long shower. She has a beautiful ass, my little doctor, tight and shapely, and my dick throbs with the need to be inside her, to feel those smooth cheeks pressing against my balls as I pound into her, taking her again and again.
Closing my eyes, I inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo and concentrate on controlling my breathing. After a while, I feel the tension in her muscles easing, and I know she’s starting to relax, to believe I won’t assault her despite the hard cock she must feel pressing against her.
Slow and easy, I tell myself as I breathe in and out. Control and focus. Pain means nothing. Discomfort means nothing. It’s a mantra I taught myself during my time in Camp Larko, and it’s true. Pain, hunger, thirst, lust—it’s all chemistry and electrical impulses, a way for the brain to communicate with the body. Wanting Sara won’t kill me, any more than the six months I spent in solitary did when I was fourteen. The torture of unfulfilled desire is nothing compared to the hell of being locked in a room barely big enough to be called a cage, with no one to talk to and nothing to do. It’s nothing compared to the agony of a shiv slashing through your kidney, or a giant fist nearly knocking out your eye.
If I survived juvenile prison in Siberia, I’ll survive not having Sara.
For a little bit longer, at least.
28
Sara
* * *
“How about you, Sara?”
“Huh?” I look up from my plate to stare blankly at Marsha, who must’ve just asked me something.
Andy rolls her eyes. “She’s in la-la land again. Leave her alone, Marsha.”
“Sorry, I’m just distracted,” I say, pushing back a lock of hair that escaped from my ponytail. I’m pretty sure my hair is a crooked mess today, but I keep forgetting to get to a mirror to fix it. In general, all I can think about this morning is that when I go home tonight, he will be waiting for me there.