Page 70 of Truth or Dare

“What is it, baby? What?”

“I...”

“Angel?”

“I can’t, I can’t.”

“Can’t what? What’s wrong?”

“Please. Hurry.”

He looked at me like I was crazy.

“Please, please.” I clutched at his fly and tried to get it open.

He grabbed my hand. “Angel? What can I do?”

He knew I was having a panic attack and wanted to help.

“I need, I need…” I was in hysterics. “Hold me down. Take me.” I was whimpering, hyperventilating, clawing at his pants but I had absolutely no sense of coordination.

He said “Shh” and then he caught my wrists and he held them over my head, then pinned them with one hand. His other hand went down the front of the pajama pants and he started to rub my clit.

“Tell me, order me, please.”

“Open up, baby. Stay still.” His voice was commanding, perfect, just what I needed.

My legs spread wide. My breathing slowed down and I closed my eyes. “Tighter, please. Please?” I breathed desperately and his hand tightened on my wrists.

“Don’t move,” he said in a low, husky voice.

I exhaled long and slow and then I started feeling warm again. I started feeling normal again. The sensation between my legs began to build. I started to moan. It took a while and he didn’t stop, didn’t give up, and then I was there.

“Thank you, Master,” I whimpered as I started coming. I came hard, so hard I let out a scream and the sensations went on and on and on even after he let go of my wrists and his hand left my pants.

I shuddered with aftershocks for a minute and then as I started to feel steady again, I realized he was sitting on the edge of the bed watching me. I couldn’t read his expression.

I curled into a small ball against him and put my head on his lap, then looked up to his gorgeous face.

“I’m sorry.”

His hand caressed my hair and he swallowed hard. He looked shaken.

There was a long moment of looking into one another’s eyes and I swear it was like he could see deep inside. I felt naked. Not naked of clothing but stripped completely bare. He lay beside me and pulled me to him and I nuzzled in and inhaled his scent, tried to memorize how he smelled, how he felt. As if I needed to remember it, in case I never felt it again.

Now he knows. He knows how broken I am.

“Hungry?” he finally asked in a soft voice.

I nodded. He got up and then reached for the silver bag and put it in a drawer of the bedside table and then he left the room. I sat up and took a few breaths with my eyes closed and a minute later he was back with a bottle of Coke and two glasses. He put them on his bedside table. Then he left and returned a minute later with two plates of food and sets of chopsticks. He passed me a plate and then un-paused the TV and got in bed and leaned back against the pillows, dropping a handful of soy, mustard, and plum sauce packets between us. I looked at my plate. He’d gotten all the dishes I’d requested.

He started to eat so I did, too. I was careful to not look at him, but I felt a tense vibe coming from him. It was angry. Really angry.

“Don’t like the eggrolls?” he asked softly, not angrily.

I was scooping the insides out.

“Uh, I like the shells. I don’t like what they put in them.” I started scooping my fried rice into my emptied shell.

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