Up, off with my sports bra. The instant my breasts are free, my nipples get even harder, hypersensitive to the cool air. Subconsciously, I move to cover myself back up. I haven’t felt comfortable in my own skin since my uncle chained me over a mattress. But on the surface, I’m healing, my bruises fading, along with some of the scars.
Alik’s seen me at my worst. It didn’t stop him from fantasizing about me just now. There’s no reason to hesitate about using this same body to torment him.
I prop my butt against the back of the sofa, let my vision go hazy and send my hands to wander, relearning the shape of myself. Up over my stomach, under the subtle curves of my tits. Across the tips. I palm the weight, cupping, squeezing, hoping my expression is broadcasting to Alik just how good I feel.
The apartment is silent except for my ragged breathing. No sound coming from behind Alik’s open office door.
The longer I tease my nipples, the more demanding the throb between my legs gets. I coast my hands downward, slipping them beneath the waistband of my tight shorts, toeing off my sneakers before bending at the hip, pushing the shortsdown in what can’t possibly be a sexy move. But who cares, because now I’m naked and, in my lust-crazed state, I want Alik to see what he’s missing. What he missed the chance to touch when he walked away.
I trail my hands back up my legs, coast them over the tops of my thighs. I am stronger than I was a few weeks ago, my muscles rebounding better than I would’ve guessed. I’ve always been proud of my legs, how long and lean they look, how powerful they are. I let myself relish how they feel beneath my own touch, feeling bolder and bolder as I get closer to my pussy.
During one of my recent sleepless nights, I took care of some personal grooming and I’m maliciously glad of my tightly trimmed hair so that Alik’s cameras can catch the view.
One touch of my sodden flesh and I moan. I can’t remember the last time I’ve done this. Felt how soft and wet I am. How needy.
I skim my folds and sparks jump up my spine. I want more. More than that, I wanthimto want more—more of what he can’t have.
I indulge in a few strokes, lubricating my fingers with my own slickness, but keep the contact light. Enough to make me shiver, but not so much I can’t stop. That voyeuristic asshole doesn’t get to see me satisfied. I want him as on edge as he left me.
I drag my fingers through my slit once more, pulling moisture up and over my clit. I hover there, circling that needy nub once, twice, shuddering at the sensation that unfurls low in my belly. I spread my legs a little wider, giving Alik’s cameras an even more explicit view.
My fingers, my flesh. The dew coating my skin. The lushness he rejected.
Thewomanhe rejected.
I circle my clit again. Have to bite my lip when my stomachclenches in anticipation. I’m getting too close, the threads holding me together fraying. My legs shaking as pleasure builds.
I bite my lip harder. Taste blood. And stop.
I pull my hand away, my fingers glistening. I shove a middle finger in the air, making it clear how wet I am. And exactly how I feel about him right now.
Fuck you.
A curse comes from down the hallway, then the sound of glass breaking. I grin. Mission accomplished.
Leaving my clothes on the floor, I saunter back to my bedroom, letting Alik and his cameras get a good view of my ass before I lock the door behind me. I’m proud of myself, and so keyed up and shaking with the need to come. I fall back on my bed, my hand instantly on my pussy.
I find the bundle of nerves at the top of my slit, stroke it the way I used to. There’s a skitter of sensation, but none of the sparks from moments ago. Head tipped back, eyes closed, I concentrate harder. Draw circles around the super sensitive spot, wait for light to dance behind my eyelids.
I mewl in frustration when the pounding pulse turns into a muted hum. Alone in my room, memories and darkness and doubts start to cram my head. Snippets from the recent past when my body wasn’t mine to use. My skin cools, goosebumps chasing away the fire.
I touch myself harder, more desperately. Want to cry when the precipice gets further away. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. When Alik was on top of me, kissing me, caressing me, he could’ve made me come with one more grind of his hips.
Hell, I could’ve gotten myself off just as easily while taunting him on camera. A few more strokes and I would’ve been soaking my own hand and screaming in release. But now, with Alik rooms away, a locked door between us, I’m failing at something so intrinsically mechanical, so basically human. Nomatter what I do or what fantasy I conjure, I can’t recapture the pleasure. I just lie there, helpless, as it vanishes completely.
Mortified, defeated, I pull my hand from between my legs and curl into a ball on the bed. Stuff a pillow against my mouth and scream.
I curse the world for being unfair.
Curse myself for being such an idiot.
Curse Alik most of all.
I wake up stiff,still naked, and absolutely starving. Early morning light creeps past the curtains. I was so worn out I slept through the whole afternoon and night, clear into the next day.
My stomach is growling before my feet hit the floor. I’m through my morning routine in record time and, hunger trumping embarrassment, am about to leave the bedroom and risk an encounter with Alik when the phone he gave me vibrates with an incoming call.
Speak of the devil. Alik’s name pops up on the screen. I let it ring until voicemail kicks on. We don’t have anything to talk about. He must disagree, because he calls two more times. It’s only when I hear voices outside my bedroom that I grab the phone, heart thumping as he tries again. I accept the call before the first ring is finished.
