MARY
What the hell is happening? It doesn’t hurt. Not in terms of how I’ve come to understand pain over the years. There’s heat in my ass and fire running through my veins. This is embarrassing as hell, and the last thing I expected him to do to me.
I’m shocked, but not as angry as I should be. When he first called me little girl, pure anger flashed through me. To my ears it sounded derisive and dismissive, as if I wasn’t strong enough or good enough to be here with him.
Then he made me feel his strength. Then I got to feel what I always wanted, his strong arms wrapped around me - maybe not how I thought I wanted it, maybe not entirely how I do want it, but being held over his lap and talked to in those low, masculine tones triggers the needs I push away, the needs that made me so angry when he first began to encroach on them and now are starting to flower within me.
“You’re going to do as you’re told,” he murmurs, his palm rubbing over my heated cheeks. “You’re going to get some sleep, little girl. You’re going to lie down, get comfortable, and get some rest.”
His voice is deep and soft and calm. There’s no anger in what he’s doing to me, even though I could easily accuse him of brutality and the worst kind of domination. He is dominant. I don’t think he knows any other way to be. But he knows how to handle it, and me, and in spite of my stinging bottom I’m… impressed. Impressed and aroused.
With just a handful of swats, he’s completely addled my brain. I’ve gone from wanting to scream in his face to wanting him inside me, and that’s obviously out of the question. The fact that he’s sliding his big hand between my legs is probably incidental. He can’t be doing it on purpose. He wouldn’t…
I feel his fingers drag across the very core of me. There’s a lot of cloth and stuff in the way, the jumpsuit, jeans underneath, underwear under that. It’s a shitload of clothing to be wearing in the desert, but it makes me feel safe. Hides the scars. I could wear less, but I’d feel people’s eyes through the fabric, seeing what I don’t want them to see.
His hand slides back over my bottom and lands with another heavy swat.
“You understand, brat?”
“Yes.” What other answer can I give? He’s got me at his mercy, balanced on the edge of pleasure and pain, panic and relaxation. I could sink into his grip and let him have his way with me, or tumble into anxiety. Even I don’t know what I’m going to do. I haven’t been with a man since the laboratory had me. I planned to never be with one again. I won’t show my scars. I won’t let anyone see what was done to me.
His hand slides back down between my thighs, but not across my pussy. He finds the inside of my leg and holds me there by the upper thigh. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it’s obvious he’s not done with me, and he’s not going to let me up yet.
“Why are you here, Mary?”
“What?”
“I mean why did you come to a place like this? Is this your way of self-destructing?”
I would never have had this discussion if he hadn’t broken down my resistance, taken me off guard, and held me like this. I wouldn’t have been able to. Some small but powerful voice in my head would have told me that I couldn’t. Right now, that voice is silent. I don’t know where it went, but I can speak now.
“I came here to live,” I say softly. “I… I tried to go back and hide. I tried to be normal. But normal felt fake to me. It felt… hollow. I don’t think it’s for me anymore. I don’t think it ever will be.”