“Still bleeding?” he asked out of the blue as he lowered back to his knees.
And I just nodded, staring down at him.
He hiked up my dress and instructed me to hold it.
He didn’t comment on the boxers I’d stolen while he was in the shower, refusing to wear the dirty knickers I’d been stripped of yesterday, and he didn’t when dressing me, either. But I lied anyway as he slid them down my legs. . . “Woodrow gave them to me.”
His eyes flicked to mine—a knowing stare.
But I held my ground, swallowing my fear and the building saliva straddling my tongue.
The tissues I’d stuffed into the pouch fell to the floor as the underwear reached my ankles, and I stepped out.
Light bloodstains stared up at me until his giant hand covered them. Crunching the tissues into a ball, he disposed of them in the trash with the throw of his hand.
From his pocket, he pulled out a lace thong. This one new. White. The color of pure innocence. . . such a lie. The man at my feet was as white as could be, and he was the opposite of innocent.
I stepped into the leg holes, but before the underwear reached my thighs, he tapped the checkered trousers covering his knee with the palm of his hand.
“Foot,” he instructed.
Embarrassment was something I rarely felt, so I had no trouble lifting my foot and exposing my most intimate parts to him.
It was a good thing embarrassment wasn’t something I felt, because the next part would have made many girls die of shame.
He pulled one more item from that magic jacket of his—the jacket that appeared to hold the ability to store things like hamster’s cheeks.
A tampon.
I kept my eyes ahead as he dipped between my legs for a better view. The slight pressure from me tensing whenever something was pushed into my body, made me uncomfortable, and as the little yellow applicator pushed it inside me, I found myself clutching his shoulders for a little support.
And he allowed it.
He dropped back, licking his dirty fingers; a smirk on his face. I kept my eyes high, ignoring the actions that swirled something in my stomach. . . something that wasn’t arousal.
I was hopeful not to vomit all over him, but I couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t happen.
The look on his face told me he knew exactly what I was thinking, despite my expression remaining blank.
“Even now, such a prude.” He laughed.
I didn’t wait for him to pull up my underwear, I did it myself, as hard as it was while holding all the ruffles of my dress.
“You make me sick!” I said it without actually being sick.
He didn’t say much as he got to his feet, putting on a mask of his own—different to mine, just covering his eyes—he just gave a warning, “Be good today.”
And then he pulled me from the room.
I still had no idea where we were going as he pushed open the lobby doors and ushered me out. I was disappointed to leave behind the hotel’s fresh scent, as my nostrils were instantly assaulted by the sweaty aroma of a thousand tourists.
The strong sun above placed its warmth on myright cheek and exposed shoulders.
“Where are we going?” I looked up at Hell, seeing the red flush on his cheeks, probably caused by sunburn yesterday, as we bobbed through a sea of people, hand in hand.
But he didn’t answer. . . for a minute. Or ten.
My legs started to ache, and so did my heart, over the loss of muscles that once allowed me to run for miles.
