Saving Aurora

Chapter 13

Aurora

"How was that?” the man asks smugly, resting his forehead on

mine as his warm breath tickles my nose.

“Okay,” I answer breathlessly. I am not about to give him

the satisfaction of knowing how, beyond the initial feelings of

uncomfortableness, s*x with him had been amazing—the stuff of fantasies.

“Oh, Princess, I think we both know it was better than that,” he chuckles,

rolling us onto our sides and holding our connection in place. “You were fucking

amazing.”

The hand behind my head pulls me into a gentle, thorough kiss. I open my

mouth in invitation; the taste of this man is becoming an addiction. Wrapping my

arm around his neck, I pull myself closer, wanting to feel the connection with

him all over again, just as his c**k is slipping out from between my legs.

I did not know what I expected from this man, but him as a cuddler after sex

never crossed my mind. I had assumed, wrongly, when we finished, he would

pull out roughly, jump off the bed, and leave.

There had been no time for me to fantasize about what it could be like

between us if things were different, but this is what I would have dreamed up.

Being with this man was pretty much perfect.

“Let’s go get cleaned up,” he says, breaking the kiss and pulling his head

back to meet my eyes.

We both slowly rise from the bed. The man takes hold of my hand as we make our way to the bathroom.

“They never give you enough f*****g towels,” he mutters in annoyance,

opening the shower door and turning it on. “Stay in here.”

The man leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Wrapping my

arms around my chest for warmth, I move over toward the door and try and

listen. He’s picked up the phone and is speaking f*****g Mandarin into it.

He slams it down onto its receiver, and I quickly scurry over toward the

closed toilet seat and sit down, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“Let’s get you into the shower,” he says, walking back into the bathroom.

Unfolding myself, I take his offered hand and walk into the steaming hot water.

Once inside, I shiver as it hits my chilled skin.

The man pulls me against his chest and rubs my back gently. “Are you

warming up?”

“Yes,” I answer, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting myself enjoy

the warmth and comfort of being in his arms. I can hate myself later for it, right

now I’m going to take full advantage of the man I have in front of me. That

includes giving into the gentle, sweet side that keeps appearing.

“Good.” He steps away and grabs the bar of soap. “Let’s get you cleaned up.

Spread your legs, Princess.”

Biting my lip, I widen my stance. This is the man who has touched, tasted,

watched, and f****d me, but for some insane reason, I feel nervous—shy.

“Good girl,” he whispers, crouching down in front of me and roughly

beginning to run his soapy hands up and down my legs. I grab onto his shoulders

to steady myself. There is no seduction in his touch when he reaches the apex of

my thighs and runs a hand between my legs.

Once he’s satisfied with my cleanliness, he stands and begins cleaning

himself. The words offering to do it for him are on my lips, but I can’t seem to

bring myself to utter them. That seems a step beyond into utter madness. I

should want nothing to do with this man, not be fantasizing about stroking his

cock and balls, feeling the weight of them in my hand. f*****g insanity. I shake

my head and begin rinsing my hair while I wait for him to finish.

“Now, it’s time for a warm bath,” the man says, stepping out of the shower and turning on the bath’s taps.

How many times are we going to shower and bathe? I don’t think I have ever

been this clean!

“Get in,” he tells me, taking my hand and helping me step over the ledge of

the tub. “Sit and relax. The hot water will be good for your cunt.”

“Okay,” I say, sinking deeper into the water, letting the warmth cover and

relax me. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. The warm water feels

good against my tender skin.

I hear a loud knock on the bathroom door, and I jump. My heart begins

beating faster, and I reach up to grab his hand. This man’s presence is no longer

frightening, but reassuring.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” he growls, crouching down and kissing my temple

gently. “They’re just here to strip the bed and deliver more towels.”

“Sir?” I breathe out.

“You’re not getting rid of me,” he states, fisting the back of my hair and

pulling me into a rough, possessive kiss. “Stay in here until they leave.”

He rises and leaves the bathroom, his loud, demanding voice carrying

through the door.

I sink back and let the hot water slowly envelop me as the tub continues to

fill. For the first time since the man entered the room this evening, I truly let my

mind wander, trying to puzzle out his conflicting behavior.

On the one hand, he’s sweet and gentle, on the other, he’s gruff and coarse.

He scares me, but I’m not afraid of him. I know he would never physically hurt

me. Yet his gruffness and anger can be unsettling at times.

Then there is the s*x. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I

willingly slept with this man, that I asked him to have s*x with me. Not only

that, but that I enjoyed nearly every second of it. Despite my initial nervousness,

having him watch me masturbate was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done. I

still can’t believe I went along with it. Or how much it turned me on.

There is movement coming from the other room, followed by the low

murmur of voices; it is punctuated by the man’s impatient response, all of which

I cannot understand. Sinking lower into the tub, I tune out my surroundings and focus on what just occurred between the man and me.

How it had felt to touch him, to have him watch me, taste me, touch me, fuck

me. How it had felt when he came inside of me. I push aside the fact that he

wasn’t wearing a condom and all those life altering repercussions. Instead, I

focus on his body collapsing against mine with spent pleasure, and the

knowledge that I had done that to him. There’s an odd power in knowing I did

that to him. That he enjoyed s*x as much as I did. He’s not a man to say things

he doesn’t mean, so when he says he thought it was amazing I have to believe

him.

I wonder if he would take me with him, help me escape. Or at least come

back to see me.

Suddenly the doorknob turns and begins to swing open. I wrap my knees

against my chest, shielding my naked body. The man’s angry voice sounds and

the intruder backs out quickly. I release the breath I hadn’t known I’d been

holding in.

The shiver that runs through me has nothing to do with the cold and

everything to do with the men outside the bathroom door.

Straining my ears, I can hear the others depart the room and the man’s heavy

footsteps striding toward the bathroom.

“It’s just me,” he says loudly, knocking once before pushing the door open.

Looking up as he enters, I see his face is set into a scowl. His eyebrows are

scrunched up into a thick angry line. His fists tighten around the towels he is

holding.

“Relax, they’re gone,” he says in a low growl, which has me pushing back

further into the corner of the tub. I no longer fear this man physically, but my

whole body is a live wire of nerves. I can’t help but be set on edge by the angry

and annoyed vibe he is projecting.

I watch as he turns toward the vanity and begins pulling open the draws and

rifling through them, clearly looking for something.

“What are you looking for?” I find myself asking.

“A f*****g hairbrush,” he mutters tersely.

Letting myself relax under the effects of the hot water, I reach up and touch the mess that is my hair. Although clean thanks to my frequent showers, it’s a

mass of unruly tangles.

“I could use one,” I tell him, trying to finger comb it as best as possible.

“This cheap plastic comb will have to do.”

The man walks toward the tub with a folded towel and the comb in his hand.

He turns off the water, then surprises me by putting the towel down on the floor

by the edge and kneeling down onto it.

“Turn around,” he states firmly, holding up the comb.

“Thank you, I can do it.” I reach out to grab the comb from his hand. I may

not have a super sensitive head, but I don’t want him angrily pulling and tugging

through my snarls.

“I’ll do it,” he says again. “Just turn around and relax.”

“Fine.” I huff, knowing I won’t win an argument with this man. Turning my

body so my hair is over the side of the tub, I brace myself.

The man gathers my hair in his large hands and splits it into two equal

sections. Taking one section, he starts at the bottom and begins to comb through

it expertly.

“How’d you learn to do this?” I ask incredulously.

“I used to have long hair.”

Surprised, I quickly twist my body to face him. “Really?”

“It was a long time ago,” he says with a grin. “I was an unkempt college

student.”

Placing his hand on the crown of my head, he redirects me back into

position.

“Why did you cut it?” I can’t help but be intrigued, wondering what he

looked like with long, dark, and no doubt wavy hair.

The man hesitates before answering. “Someone suggested that it would be

better if I looked more corporate.”

“Sounds like something my dad would say,” I scoff; my dad hadn’t liked it

when I dyed my hair purple in junior high school.

The man continues to gently comb my hair, lulling me into a peacefully

relaxed state.

“How’s your cunt feeling?” he asks, breaking the silence as he continues his

methodical combing of my hair.

“Umm … ” I mutter, inexplicably embarrassed, considering all that we had

shared.

He leans forward and slips one of his hands into the water, running it down

my stomach and gently cupping my p***y. I quickly grab his wrist, attempting to

restrain him.

“Sir.”

“Is the hot water helping any?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully.

“Good.” He kisses my neck, sending an unwanted shock of pleasure through

my body. He lazily pets me for several moments before removing his hand and

continuing to comb through my tangles.

Once he’s satisfied with the state of my hair, he stands and shakes out the

towel he was kneeling on. Waiting.

I slowly unfold myself and stand up in the tub.

“Let’s get you dried off.” The man steps forward and wraps the towel tightly

around my body. Taking my arm, he helps me step out of the tub before grabbing

another towel and beginning to run it roughly along my shoulders, warming me.

“Was there any lotion?”

“What?”

“Lotion.”

If it weren’t for the humidity, I would be a scratching, flaky mess already.

“But you’re clean, why would you put lotion on now?” the man asks,

genuinely confused.

“So my skin doesn’t dry out.”

“I saw some in the top drawer,” he says, pointing toward the vanity before

adding, “I’m going to make sure the bed is ready.”

Before I can say anything in reply, the man has left the bathroom, and I can

hear him moving around the bedroom.

I quickly find the lotion, a cheap generic hotel brand, and begin lathering my

arms and legs with it.

“Time for bed,” he says, walking back into the bathroom.

“Sir.”

How could I possibly tell him that I don’t want to have s*x again? I have no

doubt he’d honor my request, but then he might leave. And I’d be back locked

up in the stuffy closet again, alone.

Alone and waiting for the next unknown man to pay for me. The truth I don’t

dare admit to myself is, I like this man. He may be gruff and demanding, but he

is also considerate, intelligent, and has a hidden kindness that I have been lucky

enough to see on several occasions. “Sir,” I begin again, taking a shuddering

breath and whispering, “I’m still sore.”

“My poor princess,” the man says, fisting the hair at the back of my head and

imprisoning me while he leans in and gives me a surprisingly gentle kiss. “You’ll

feel better in the morning.”

“In the morning?” I ask confused, slightly dazed.

“Yes, let’s go to bed.” He takes my hand, and we walk quickly into the

bedroom. But not before he picks up his watch and clothing on the way out,

tucking them under his arm and gripping my hand with his free one.

The bed has been completely stripped and remade, the covers turned down as

if waiting for us to get in. I notice the remnants of our dinner have been

removed, and the man’s jacket is now draped neatly over one of the chairs.

Stopping at the side of the bed, the man pulls off the towel from around my

body and guides me toward the edge of the bed, patting my ass lightly and

saying, “Get in.”

Quickly, I scurry under the covers and pull them up underneath my chin.

The man neatly adds his clothes to mine before he walks over to the light

switch and flicks it off, shrouding us in almost darkness. I shiver and grip the

blankets tightly as he moves to shut the curtains on the window.

“Please don’t,” I whisper in a panic, not wanting to be in the complete

darkness. “Can we leave them open?”

He looks over at me, his brow furrowed as his hand releases the curtain.

“Whatever you want, Princess.”

Walking around the other side of the bed, he places his watch on the bedside

table before dropping his towel and crawling in next to me, naked.

I roll over onto my side, facing him, and pull the blankets up over my

shoulder, clutching them tightly in front of me.

“God, this mattress is horrible,” he groans, laying down and pulling the

blankets up over his waist, leaving his chest bare. “How can they possibly expect

people to sleep?”

“I don’t think they expect you to sleep,” I say quietly. The man chuckles

beside me and rolls onto his side facing me. He inches toward the middle of the

bed, and I instinctively scoot backward, away from him.

“If you move over any more, you’ll fall off the bed,” he warns, reaching out

an arm and drawing me back into the middle of the bed with him.

I freeze as we come nose to nose; his eyes are crinkled with humor and are

hiding behind the most annoyingly long dark eyelashes I’ve ever seen.

“Do you snore?” the man asks, settling his arm more comfortably around my

waist and closing his eyes.

“Yes,” I find myself lying as I control the urge to snuggle closer to the man’s

chest.

Closing my eyes, it doesn’t take long for me to be lulled to sleep by the

warmth and security of this man’s presence.

The night air is cool on my face. I shiver as we walk down the cobblestone

sidewalks, my heels clicking with every step. There are others with me, people I

know, my friends from high school. But I can’t see their faces in the darkness.

Low lit street lamps light the way as we continue to walk further into the

darkness. There’s a balloon of excitement inside of me that grows bigger with

each step. I can hear my laughter ringing in the air.

Suddenly the pulsing lights of the club are surrounding me, filling me with

unnatural energy. There is movement everywhere. And the sound of music

reverberates in my chest. I feel euphoric as my senses are overwhelmed, and all I

can do is give into the sensations. Falling into a rhythm, I move along with the

other bodies as we become one writhing organism.

A sudden silence and a blast of cold air hits me. I’m outside again. A

concrete wall a mass in front of me. Turning to the left, I start walking toward

the lights of the street. I was told to come this way. Why, I am unsure.

A hand grabs me from behind and covers my mouth, while another arm

bands across my chest, holding me prisoner. I twist, thrash, and struggle to break

free.

“No!” I can hear my own muffled cry, and I continue to kick and twist my

body as hard as I can.

“Lily, stop.” I hear the man’s voice from far off in the distance as my

attacker continues to drag me back further into the darkness—away from the

light.

“Wake up,” the man’s hard voice snaps angrily. My attacker freezes, and

suddenly I’m opening my eyes.

My heart is racing, and I have an instinct to fight against his firm grasp. His

hard, naked, body surrounds me and I can’t escape, pinned down onto the bed.

He is covering me like a weighted blanket, while the bedding has fallen off from

where we had been tucked in. Coming back to reality, I blink up into the

shadows of the man’s concerned face—his dark eyebrows furrowed into a thick

line.

“I’ve got you,” he says with a low growl.

I am safe from everyone save him. I grab onto his arms and melt into his

warmth—clinging to the only solid thing I have felt for longer than I can

remember, wedging myself under his body and further into his arms. This man is

real, and he is here. Although the voice in my head whispers, For now.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I whisper, wrapping an arm around his narrow waist as a shiver runs

through my body. “Just a nightmare.”

“Tell me what happened, Princess.” His low voice rumbles against me as he

gently strokes my hair and holds me tightly.

“It was nothing,” I mutter.

“It didn’t seem like nothing to me,” he replies, pulling back only far enough

to kiss my forehead before tucking me back safely into his arms. “Was it about

the kidnapping?”

I nod my head against his chest, still shaking as the remnants of the dream

slowly dissipate. Taking a deep breath, I attempt to cleanse myself from the

feelings, the memories. All I want to do is forget what happened, to live in the

present. Enjoy this man for as long as possible.