“No. We need to get out of this area once you use your card. Wouldn’t want your husband finding us. Maybe we can stop the next city over.” I suddenly decide I don’t want to push her panties aside to get inside her again. I don’t want her wearing them at all. “Maybe you don’t need any. You can go bare for me.” My eyes move down her body, which trembles with renewed anger.
And I love it.
She tugs me away from the checkout line, cheeks flaming hot, her voice a harsh whisper. “What happened in the car isnothappening again. We’re not doing this. And we’re definitely not going further. It’s bad enough that I let you do what you did, and I’ll have to live with that guilt, but I’m not adding to it.”
“Sweet bunny,” I coo, “you think you have a choice regarding what I do to you? How adorable.” I brush a hand against her cheek, and she rips away from my touch. Her lips tighten and her bravado deflates in front of my eyes. “You shouldn’t have let me feel you coming around my fingers, because now I want more. No, Ineedmore. So when I tell you that you aren’t going to wear panties or that you’re going to wear that little skirt, you’re going to listen. I’ll make you feel better than your husband ever did.”
Her eyes darken. She doesn’t realize just how long it’s been since I’ve felt the soft warmth of a woman beneath me. She doesn’t understand how obsessed I am with the thought of touching her again. It’s an obsession that started once I felt her, once I reveled in the warm rush as she came against my hand. She had tried to run, just like a scared little rabbit. But I would tame her.
* * *
“I’m going to shower,”she says with a glance toward the bathroom. Yet another room that isn’t up to my little rabbit’s standards.
“Get undressed in here,” I tell her with a smirk.
She clutches her clothes to her body, shaking her head in a stiff motion. I consider forcing her to strip in front of me, but her eyes well with tears. I tighten my lips. I have no idea what’s wrong with that girl, but I’ll find out.
“Go on, rabbit.” I wave her off. I won’t force her to tell me what she’s been through...yet. Some people come out stronger when you force them to confront their pain, but others break. She seems like she’d break. She isn’t strong enough to confront it on her own, and I’m not the person to make her stronger.
* * *
Selena
I breathe heavilyagainst the cracked faux marble countertop in the bathroom. The lights flicker above my head with a low hum that grows louder with every passing moment. I’ve been so afraid he’ll force me to undress, but not because of the infidelity. I fear seeing his expression as he becomes aware of the bruises on my body. I don’t want to see the look of pity on his face.
Whenever someone catches a glimpse of my marks, they get that same look, but they don’t do a goddamn thing about it. They probably think I did something to deserve it.
Bryce is a saint, and I’m the pitiful sinner.
I take a deep breath and lock the door before removing my blouse. Each unfastened button reveals more of the fresh purple bruises on my chest and stomach. When I slip the sleeves off, my eyes find the older bruise encasing my wrist. I remember the fight that caused the deep pinkish-purple mark. I remember every stupid fight. How could I forget when the proof of each one marks my skin? I touch the one on my stomach.I wasn’t home in time to make him dinner.I graze my chest.He forced me to fuck him because he had a bad day at work.I grip my bruised wrist.I took too long to get ready last week.
I slip my slacks off, exposing a mixture of old and new bruises on my thighs. A near-perfect handprint decorates my inner thigh, almost reaching my crotch. I shudder when I remember how he fucked me to give me that mark. I flinch as I touch the yellowish bruise above my knee, where he kicked me when I was already down.
When I’m dressed, I feel like a normal wife. When I’m naked, I understand why I’m not more upset about sleeping in this scuzzy motel room instead of beneath the expensive sheets embroidered with golden threads. Those expensive sheets mean lying beside Bryce. The man out there, Lex, is on the run from something awful, and I still felt safer in bed with him last night than I ever had with my husband.
And that’s fucked.
I turn on the faucet in the tub. Brown water rushes out as the pipes rattle behind the wall. It finally runs clear, albeit cold, but I get in anyway. Standing naked in the disgusting bathroom just makes me feel dirtier by the moment.
My eyes lock ahead as I clean myself, focusing on a crack that races up the wall across from me. Mold straddles it and follows its path.
A knock at the door breaks me from my trance. “I’m almost done,” I call out.
When I get out of the shower, the leggings and the long-sleeved shirt I got at the store wait for me on the counter. I narrow my eyes. I’m certain I locked that door. I pick through my discarded clothes on the floor and discover that my panties have vanished.
Fucker.
“How’d you get in?” I ask as I step out of the bathroom, motioning toward the clothes I put on. He just shrugs. “And where’s my underwear?” I ask.
A fierce sexual frustration shines in his eyes at the sight of me. I hate that he looks at me like that, in a way my own husband never has. I hate that I like when he bites his lower lip as he openly scans my body.
“I told you. I don’t want you wearing any.” His gaze leaves me and turns to the television. He knows just how to draw me into wanting his attention, wanting to be more interesting than the grainy picture on the old TV. But not so interesting that he might want to touch me.
I open my mouth to argue, but the words stick under my tongue. I close my lips, thinking better of what I want to say.
Lex’s eyes leap to mine when he sees my wordless response, and the breath catches in my throat at the intensity of his stare. His expression becomes feral and animalistic, and I know I should tread lightly.
“You want your panties, rabbit?” he asks.