This is not real.The thought was very clear and entirely useless.This is not real, this is not happening, this is not Jason.
It was Jason.
He slipped a condom on his hard cock, and slapped her ruthlessly on both her ass cheeks. She winced in pain, and cried out like an injured puppy.
His big hands took hold of her hips, and with one push, he plowed into her. The girl bit her own lips and whimpered with each thrust.
“Fuck, Jason, yes, yes, call me your dirty whore.”
Jason started cursing as he kept slamming into her.
“How does this feel, you little whore?”
The girl’s ass kept bouncing with each thrust of his.
“It feels so good. Fuck me, fuck me harder. Fuck me until I’m a mess.”
I was shaking. I realized I was shaking the way you shook when you were very cold, that deep, involuntary tremor that starts in your core. I pressed harder against the wall. The note had fallen from my fingers somewhere. I hadn’t noticed.
She looked like a ragdoll as he kept pounding into her with a relentlessness that was methodical and complete, and she came with a high, sharp cry, and I watched Jason shiver and I knew he had also come.
As soon as he was done, Jason turned his head.
For a moment he didn’t register what he was seeing. I watched it happen — the lag, the confusion, and then the blood draining from his face in a single, awful moment as he understood.
He pushed away from her. “Camila—” His voice came out wrecked. “Camila. Oh god. It’s not—”
He was moving toward me, naked, with his cock still a bit hard, his face a devastation of panic and something that looked horribly like grief.
I looked past him at the woman on the bed.
She had made no move to cover herself. She lay on her back, completely naked, her hands still bound, her legs still slightly parted. She had long poker straight black hair, and a beautiful angular face. She kept her big, pretty eyes focussed on me, and all I could see in them was hatred.
Pure hatred and disgust. Towards me.
She had a smirk on her face, which gave way to a slight, calculated smile, as if telling me:He likes fucking me more than he likes fucking you.
The flight instinct came suddenly and completely.
I turned. I found the door. I ran out.
Behind me I could hear Jason saying my name —Camila, Camila, please, Camila listen— his voice getting louder as he followed me into the corridor, but my legs were moving really fast now and I could not make them stop. I ran fast and then I ran faster and the tears came without warning, streaming down my face in hot, silent rivers, and I kept running.
The last thing I heard, before the corridor turned and the music faded and the sounds of the waking ship swallowed everything else, was Jason.
“Camila.”
My name in his mouth, the way he’d said it a thousand times.
I kept running.
CHAPTER 7
JASON
I found my shirt on the floor and pulled it on with hands that wouldn’t cooperate.
Buttons. I couldn’t manage the buttons. I gave up after two and grabbed my trousers, my belt, my jacket, and dressed with the frantic, graceless urgency of a man who understood that every second he spent in this room was another second Camila was running.
