For days I let TJ walking out of here without a word bother me. It wasn’t until I realized that he knew I faked the orgasm that things made a little more sense to me. I hurt his ego. His pride was wounded, and I figured he’d come back, but I haven’t seen him in a week.
There was no way I could tell him that the thought of making love made my skin crawl. It’s not really the thing a guy would appreciate. I couldn’t tap him on the shoulder and beg him to fuck me harder or twist my nipples until I screamed to get me off.
Getting upset is his problem, just like him assuming what I needed. I never asked to be treated with a gentle hand. Hell, on the phone he threatened me, told me that even had I not gone through the shit I did all those years ago that he’d still get me off the same way he did before. I knew it was true the second the words left his mouth. I longed for his rough mouth or the handle of his knife fucking my pussy raw again, but then he barged in, saw my tears, and presumed. Big fucking mistake.
I can’t rest it one hundred percent on his shoulders because I didn’t give him the entire story. It was hard enough confessing what happened, admitting that I came twice the night my virginity was stolen from me isn’t something I could ever voice. What kind of deviant orgasms after being abducted and hurt?
Hurting me when I came was Deo’s favorite pastime. At first the punishment was more like foreplay for me. I relished the biting slaps and clamps all over my body, but after realizing those things actually brought me pleasure, he ramped up the pain until it was unbearable. Even my abductor knew I was fucked up and punished me for it.
“That is not what tonight is about,” I mumble as I turn a bottle of tequila up and gulp the burning liquid. The courage I need doesn’t come fast enough, so I turn it up again. And again.
Grabbing my phone off the counter, I turn to leave my apartment. I normally wouldn’t take it with me for fear of losing it, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with my normal plans tonight, and I may need it to get an Uber back to my apartment.
I almost stumble back when I open my door and see fucking Detective Martin standing on my stoop with her arm raised to knock. She’s not in a uniform, but the bulge of her gun on her hip doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Didn’t I tell you not to show up here?” I shove past her and take the steps two at a time to get to my car. I think better of it when I remember I just took several huge slugs of liquor, and I’m paranoid she smelled it on my breath when I passed her. Getting thrown in jail will derail my plans, so I pull out my phone and click on the Uber app. The party I’m attending tonight is only about a mile away, but there’s no way I’m making that trek in these heels.
Her hand covers my phone before I can go any further.
“McGee asked me to bring you in.”
Just the mention of the asshole detective makes my stomach twist in knots and my pulse rate double.
“What the hell does he want?”
If Detective Martin hears the waver in my voice she doesn’t let on.
“Just has a couple more questions for you. Jump in, I’ll give you a ride.”
“I have my own car.”
“Save your gas.” She turns to her car, not bothering to make sure I follow her. In this instant I hate my upbringing, and the forced respect that was drilled in to me.
Don’t be rude to police, reporters, or people who have money. My mother’s words were drilled into my head as a child, no doubt an echo of what my father had expected of her.
The expensive watch on Deo’s arm was the only reason I didn’t walk away from him immediately on the beach that day. My politician father would’ve tanned my hide if I embarrassed him by insulting a possible constituent. It didn’t matter that we were thousands of miles away from home and Deo’s accent didn’t sound anything like the other men who voted for my father, his training took over. He spoke to me, so I spoke to him. Somehow, he’d managed to get me to walk toward the parking lot without even knowing it. Seconds later I was being tossed in the back of a van and whisked away to almost a year of torture.
Martin clears her throat and snaps me out of my fucked-up trip down memory lane.