He won’t get to me. He won’t get to me.
I may not have any confidence in this whole thing, but I have confidence in my dysfunctional body.
“You’re telling me you’re dead. Is that it, Aurora?”
“Yes.”
“You think you can waste my time?”
“You made the deal before making sure of all the facts. That’s your fault, not mine.”
“That mouth will land you in trouble.” Jonathan reaches a hand between my thighs and I open them, not presenting any protest whatsoever.
He drags a finger down my dry folds. The contact is neither pleasurable nor painful. It’s just…nothing.
Numb.
That’s what my therapist told me. Apparently, I’ve numbed myself to sex since I was a teen, which, in his words, could’ve been a knee-jerk reaction to sexual assault or rape.
Neither of those happened to me.
Since I never told my therapist about my past, he probably wrote it off as either of those reasons and categorised me in his neat folders as another statistic.
It’s far from that. People like me need a special category dedicated to them.
Jonathan drags his finger up and down, and when he doesn’t get the reaction he’s looking for, he circles my clit. Nothing. Nada.
It doesn’t matter if I do it or if anyone else does. Being wet is a myth I only read about.
Still stroking my clit, he thrusts a finger into my entrance. The resistance is real and I wince in discomfort.
He pulls his finger out but keeps it at my opening like a looming threat. “You are dead. Fascinating.”
Fascinating, seriously? No idea which reaction I expected, but that’s not it.
In the past, as in literally years ago, whenever any of my previous sexual partners touched me and found out that what I told them is actually true, it scratched their male ego.
Some went on with it and just used my body. Others tried everything to be crowned as the one who finally made me wet or susceptible to sexual pleasure. When it didn’t work, they left and never returned. Not that I was ever looking for a relationship.
The way Jonathan finds this fascinating is throwing me off, like everything else about him. I can’t even tell if ‘fascinating’ is his usual sarcastic reaction or if he’s being genuine.
“What happened, wild one?”
“You might want to consider lube. You’ll be able to get inside and –”
Slap.
My heart lunges in my throat as the sound reverberates in the air and soon after, my arse cheek catches fire.
Did he just…spank me?
“When I ask a question, I expect a direct answer, Aurora.”
“W-why did you do that?” I breathe out, my voice jittery and all wrong.
His palm comes on my arse again and I jolt against his lap. My limp hands clench, needing to grab something. Anything.
My only option is his thigh, but I refuse to hold on to him.