Caitlin
Paolo pulls out and cleans up. He cuts the zip tie that fastened my wrists to the headboard, but leaves the one holding my wrists together intact, as well as the one on my ankles. And like last night, he’s careful not to let me see where he puts the scissors.
We settle into the same position as last night, with his arm firmly around my waist—another form of b*****e. A very pleasurable form.
“What if I wanted to face you while I sleep?” I ask with mock innocence.
He doesn’t take the bait. No answer.
I listen to the sound of his breath in the darkness. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He gives a light scoff. “No.”
“Wife?”
“No.” Now he sounds annoyed.
I already noticed he doesn’t wear a ring and there's no signs of a female presence in his house, but you never know. I didn’t find
