I should be glad. I preferred this state. Normally, I felt nothing when the air caressed my flesh. Nothing but freedom from suffocation. Only this time…this time with his hungry eyes and the pinot noir replacing my blood, I was too hot, too alive, too damn conscious of everything a body could do and everything mine had been forced to endure.
My bruises ached.
My nipples pebbled.
My bones throbbed.
But it was nothing compared to my heart. She enlisted that damn traitorous emotion I thought had died the day I was sold.
Lust.
Damn rotten lust that I wasn’t acquainted with and would never, ever tolerate. It was a sick, sick emotion. It caused men to buy young girls and break them. It turned rationality into insanity. It ended the lives of so many.
Stark fear sprang like a hare as his large hand cupped my hipbone, dragging me forward until his cock bruised my belly.
He groaned long and low.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the snap I knew would come. He’d spoken of giving me time—fixing me not raping me.
I’d begun to trust his promises.
I was stupid.
This was payment for all he’d done for me. I would shut up, shut down, and deal with it. I could handle it. I’d handled worse.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
I merely squeezed my eyes tighter and cocked my chin. I kicked the pooled sheet off my feet, balling my hands.
“Fuck, you’re too brave for your own good.” His fingers curled around my chin, holding me tight, pressing my skull against the mirrors behind me. “Do you have any idea what you do to me standing there so regal and unbroken when your body tells a completely different story?”
I clamped my lips together, ignoring the fresh throb in my tongue.
His mouth skated over mine in a barely there kiss, his breath hot and angry. “I’ve been able to restrain myself up till now, but every second with you, it gets harder and harder.”
With a feral growl, he pushed away, pressing himself against the other side as the doors chimed merrily, announcing our arrival.
The lift swung open.
The corridor was empty.
Elder stepped out. “Get dressed. Meet me on deck seven in half an hour.” Before I could collapse under the colossal weight of just happened, the doors swung closed and trapped me.
Morocco suddenly wasn’t the playground I’d hoped to play in—it was more of an executioner’s holding pen.
For the first time, I craved white because white kept me focused on who I truly was.
I’d begun to forget.
Elder had successfully just reminded me.
I won’t forget again.
YOU FUCKED UP.
You fucked up.
You fucked up.
The ceaseless mantra echoed in my head with every step.
I didn’t know why I’d slipped. Why that moment was the moment Pim drove me insane enough to contemplate taking her in the lift. It went against everything I thought I wanted. But fuck me, having her body wedged against mine had been far too bloody tempting.
I had blue balls from trying to be the perfect host. I layered frustration upon frustration trying to be her councillor, protector, and friend.
Who was I kidding?
I could never be her friend.
I couldn’t even be alone with her without doubting I’d have the power not to touch her.
Marching faster, dust kicked up around my dress shoes (I’d traded my flip-flops) as the sun did its best to turn us into jerky. Pim scurried beside me, never looking at me but exquisitely aware of every move I made.
I didn’t think she even knew she did it. Knew how her body flowed in accordance to how fast I travelled, how it paused if I slowed, how it swayed to the side if I lifted an arm. It was as if strings connected her to me, and I had full control over making her dance.
Had she always been so in tune to others or had her captivity given her a sixth sense? An innate ability to duck an incoming blow or pre-empt a threatening kick?
Either way, she distracted me, which was not a good thing.
I was here to work.
I should’ve left her on the fucking boat.
In the time I’d given her to dress, I’d done my best to get myself under control. It didn’t work. And when I’d met her on deck seven where the ramp rested to reach the dock, I had a headache and was in a sour mood.
It hadn’t improved when Pim arrived in yet another dress far too big for her. The baby blue material hung with navy panels on the contours of her hips—the same hips I’d clutched in the elevator.
On a curvy woman, the darker fabric would make her curves pop into an hourglass figure. On Pim, she just looked like a model that’d stepped off a runway and had forgotten to eat in decades. At least, she’d had the good sense to bring a large white hat that flopped over one side of her face, keeping her protected from the sun.