Page 11 of Feral
I stare down into her smudged eyeliner and red, puffy nose.
She's been crying.
Fuck.
“And you seem to know all about me, is that right?” I whisper, my voice coming out hard and sinister in the thick night air.
I can easily touch her but she's not ready yet.
Soon, she will be begging for my touch.
Soon.
“I know enough.” Her voice is low now, almost a whisper.
“Oh, but you don’t have the slightest idea of what a man like me had to do to survive prison.”
I love how her eyes go wide with terror, the realization that I might be more dangerous than she thinks creeping up on her flustered face.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn't I?” I repeat, inching even closer just to rattle her. “I’ve been locked up way too long, little girl.”
The fact that she tries so hard to act tough yet shivers at my proximity sends a jolt of excitement right through me and I continue to stare down at her, taking her in inch by inch. Her tangled mess of hair is sticking to her forehead, damp and dripping, just like I imagine she’d be if she were under me. Her once clean and well-ironed blouse is now wet, just like her pants, clinging to the mouth-watering curves of hers and I swallow hard as images of grabbing those Rubenesque hips and plowing into her again and again flood my mind.
I wonder what color her panties are.
If her pussy is as wet as my cock is hard.
Wishful thinking? Maybe. We'll wait and see.
“Allons,Miss Stone. The gate’s open, I’m sure you’ll get there faster than me,” I croak, and without another word I reach for my cane, letting her walk away from me.
She mumbles unintelligible things under her breath as she storms off toward the house and a few minutes later I’m surprised to find her standing by the front door.
Waiting.
I forgot to turn the lights on inside when I left and the place looks deserted. Walking up to her, I can’t help but look her up and down, grinning.
“What?” she shouts. “Oh, don’t look so smug, for God’s sake! Just direct me to the shower. I can't find my way in this darkness!”
I hold her stare and have to school my features from showing any kind of emotion. There's recognition behind those emerald eyes. And fear. And something else, too. Something I can’t put my finger on. I wait a moment more, then I slowly walk inside, her on my heel.
“This is a nightmare,” she whispers when I finally turn on the lights.
“I beg to differ, Miss Stone. The bathroom is down the hall to your right.”
“I hope you at least have hot water. I am going to need psychotherapy after this!” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
I let her be and make my way to the kitchen to brew her some tea. Sighing, I open my packet of smokes, pulling out the last one and lighting it. Taking a deep drag, I let the tobacco go down before I blow it out.
Almost half an hour later she emerges and my breath catches in my throat when I see her clad in a worn-out towel that barely contains her salacious curves.
“Got any clothes that fit?”
I didn’t mean to, I swear.Having her here, with me, my mind has become a jumble of incoherent thoughts. So much so, that I’d forgotten she’d need fresh clothes to wear after her little night swim.
“Sure,” I say, trying my best to look unaffected by her. “Give me a sec.”
