I tug on my nipple, timing each movement with a purposeful sweep over the bud between my thighs. I’m panting as my climax inches toward me. It’s an arduous task, and even as the end’s in sight, I can’t quite get there.
Desperate, I plunge my middle finger into my pussy, and as I withdraw, I add my pointer finger. The stretch is instant, and my legs begin to quiver.
If only someone was watching me, desperately wanting what they can’t have. If only I could be this strong, this confident, in front of a man—his strong, callused hands fisted at his sides—or around his cock—as he watches me fuck myself with authority. I’d sink my teeth into the hard cords of his tattooed shoulder as he panted in my ear and I rode his leg until I came.
Instead, I ride my hand, head tipped back now, lost to the fantasy. I raise a foot, putting it on a board of the stall in front of me, opening myself wider to take my fingers. The cold water, although still pelting my back, doesn’t register as I picture the man kneeling in front of me, feasting on my pussy like a starved man—opening me up and licking me dry.
“Fuck,” I moan, dropping my chin to my chest as the orgasm rips through me without warning. My pussy clamps around my fingers, milking the intrusion until I become aware of the icy water racing over my skin once more.
I drop my leg with a sigh, shivering as I turn off the water and race toward my clothes.
I don’t know what I was thinking, but the fear of being seen creeps along my spine now, the urgency to get covered crippling.How could I be so careless?Someone tried to kill me only weeks ago.
Wiping off with my towel, I pull on my clothes—my damp skin making it far more difficult than it should be—and turn to leave.
I scream, dropping my water bottle as I startle at the man leaning against the far wall. I clutch at my chest, making sure my heart still beats before shooting him a murderous glare. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He smirks. “It got pretty noisy out here. I had to make sure you weren’t getting attacked.”
My jaw unhinges.How could I have forgotten Santos was living in the bunk room? Attached to the barn? Only feet away from the outdoor shower?
I look at the showerhead and back to him, shame crawling up my skin like a wildfire. “What did you see?”
His smile falters, but I swear the twinkle in his eyes remains. “Nothing? I just got out here.”
Chewing my lip, I watch him for several moments before nodding. I don’t know if I believe him, but I’m not about to call him a liar, not when it could mean he actually saw me naked, fucking masturbating like a heathen.
Nope. Not opening that can of worms.
“Okay, goodnight then.” I walk past him and out the barn door, not sparing him a second glance.
EIGHTEEN
RAFAEL SANTOS
February 18th, 2025
I stareat her lifeless form a second longer, my heart shattering at what she’s become. What they’ve done to her—what I’ve done to her.
I don’t know how we got here, how I’ve allowed myself to become someone so weak and afraid, I’d allow a woman to be abused in such a way, especially by my own brothers. It’s sickening, and I’ve never hated myself more.
Still, fear grips me, fear for what my brothers will do when they find out I’ve helped her. But more than that, fear that no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough. Am I giving her false hope?
Is she trapped here, same as me?
A board overhead creaks, and I freeze, straining my ears for signs my brothers have returned. I sag in relief when it comes again, accompanied by the wind whistling through the shattered window. I’m a coward, and I know my mother would be so ashamed, she’d never speak to me again.
It’s the thought of her that has me moving.
I splash a handful of water onto the girl’s face, afraid if I touch her, I’ll only hurt her more, stepping over the boundaries we’ve already obliterated with misplaced hatred.
She jolts, the chair wobbling beneath her, and then her dark eyes fly open, sadness and terror pouring from her like a thick fog. I choke on it, my throat tightening at the sight of her.
“Keep quiet,” I croak around the lump forming in my throat, and she groans, her body shivering in the chair. I watch the ropes cutting into her skin for a moment before I begin wiping a wet cloth across her face.
Dale doesn’t so much as squeak, and I realize the fight’s almost left her body—we’ve broken her, destroyed her, and I know it’s the worst thing I’ll ever do. But I want to help her; even if there’s no redemption for me,there has to be hope for her.
I quickly untie her bindings, trying to ignore the raw, ravaged flesh beneath. “We have to hurry. Marco won’t like me cleaning you up.” I bite my tongue. Not trusting my voice, I point at the bucket near her feet, encouraging her to wash up. When her eyes find mine, I expect the unfiltered hatred I know I deserve, but instead, I’m met with a look of gratitude.
