Page 27 of Stolen By the Enemy

Then, all of a sudden, we’re in my room. It sounds like we’re back at the wedding, and I’m finishing that striptease I tried to start before he whipped out his gun.

This time, I push him up against the door and strip him before dropping my dress to the floor.

I kiss his neck, and then all the way down his torso and to his stomach, stopping just before his pelvis.

His hard cock jabs my chest while I’m bent down. I tease him for a little bit longer, before pulling him to the bed and bending over in front of him.

I don’t need to say anything for him to understand, and he pushes himself into me, doing me doggy style until I come and he follows after me just seconds later.

When I wake up five hours later, the day has arrived, and I’m wet with sweat. I might be wet with pleasure as well, but it’s so hot I can barely tell the difference.

I throw the sheets off me and get out of bed. The dream felt so real.

I look around to make sure Marco isn’t in the house, but disappointingly, he’s not.

I shower, dress in clothing today, and make myself a quick breakfast to eat in the living room in front of the large windows.

The beach looks gorgeous, and I wish I had the freedom to go out and enjoy it. Marco still doesn’t seem to trust me enough, though.

He’s more interested in his deal than in us having any real conversations. I thought that us having sex would help with the trust, but he was distant for most of it, almost like he was having sex with a stranger.

I suppose I am a bit of a stranger, but my ego would like to think that sex with me made him feel something—anything.

***

I’ve moved the living room furniture around a bit so that I can do a workout on the floor.

I didn’t bring any workout clothes, so I’m again in my bra and shorts.

This time I’m not doing anything for Marco. I’m only seeking to help my own aching muscles.

I do a simple circuit of squats, planks, and stretching. I usually go jogging at home, or join a Pilates class. I used to go with Emelia to classes until she started sleeping with my brother.

Here I’m limited with regard to space, but this little routine is at least keeping me moving.

The feeling of my heart rate increasing and sweat building up on my forehead is good, especially considering Marco left me craving more of him and then never came back.

As I’m finishing up, there’s a quick knock on the door, and then I hear it open. I stop and listen for footsteps to try and figure out if I’m in danger or not.

Marco hasn’t knocked before—he just walks in, sometimes sneaking up on me. Plus, I haven’t seen him in like three days, although he’s popped in through the cameras once or twice, so I doubt this is him.

But no one else is supposed to know that I’m here. I look at the living room door and see a young Mexican man standing there.

Between fight or flight, my brain chooses to freeze, and we end up just staring at each other for a few minutes.

But suddenly, I realize that he’s looking at me standing before him in my bra, so I reach over and grab the T-shirt that I left on the coffee table.

“Uh, sorry, ma’am. I have a delivery.” Calling me ma’am seems unnecessary.

I’m sure I see a hint of a blush on his olive skin, which must be from walking in on me half-dressed. I’m probably blushing brightly myself.

“A delivery?” I ask him, looking at the box in his hand. Immediately my mind jumps to the most dramatic option—a bomb!

But that’s a bit of a ludicrous option. It’s probably something harmless. Maybe Marco has decided on an outfit he wants me to wear.

I kind of wish it was a puppy, to keep me company, but I doubt he’d agree to that.

“Yes.” The messenger boy nods enthusiastically.

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