Page 14 of Finding Limits

“Say my name, Everleigh, I wanna hear it.” He continues to tug himself through his fist, his face distorting like he’s in some kind of pain. “Say my name like it should have been spoken on our wedding night,” he growls desperately.

“Solomon.” I do as I’m told, hoping it’ll make him stop, and when he drops the sponge from his other hand he uses it to grip my shoulder.

His body stiffens as his cock erupts, coating my skin with something warm and sticky as his fingers indent my flesh. He breathes through his nostrils intensely as he watches his mess slip over my skin, then he smiles at me with satisfaction as he reaches over my head and pulls the nightgown back over my body.

“Our secret, little dove.” He presses his finger over my lips before he leaves, taking the bowl and sponge with him.

I close the journal and place it in the drawer of my nightstand when I can’t stand to think about it anymore. I’ve barely gotten started on the horrors that happened to me, and reliving it in my head is hard, but if this is the path to healing then I’ll suffer each step to get to the end. My mouth is dry, and I swear I can taste him on my lips now. So getting out of bed, I pull on a robe and head to the kitchen for some water.

The air is hot and sticky, and the fact I’m already sweating doesn’t help. When I open the door and step into the living area, I expect to find Mitch asleep on the couch. I do not expect him to only be wearing his boxers.

The blanket that should be covering him is in a ball on the floor, and I take the time to admire him while he sleeps.

I’ve never seen a man without his clothes on before. And, although I can tell from the shirts he wears that Mitch is built well, they do not do him justice.

His shoulders and arms are muscular and strong, evidence, like his rough hands, that he works hard. I step closer and tilt my head as I examine the light dusting of gray hair that covers his chest and how it trails down to his torso, which is just as taut and solid as the rest of him.

The black boxers he wears are tight, and when I see what they’re concealing bulging from under them, I quickly focus my eyes back up his body. There's a scar, or something like it on the left side of his chest, and I wonder how he got it as I watch it rise and fall steadily.

He looks so peaceful. It must feel good to sleep without being haunted by your past. It's been so long since I was taken to that bunker I can’t remember what good dreams are like.

What I do remember is how nice it felt to touch him earlier, how all my fears are gradually starting to fade away when I’m with him. I want to feel that warmth again. I want to touch him and feel his heart beating under that chest.

Slowly, without my full permission, my fingers reach out, trembling as they slide through the hair on his chest and stroke over the letters that are scarred into his skin.

“What the fuck?” He snaps awake and grabs my wrist tight. Sitting up, and searching around the room for any threat, before looking at me in confusion.

“Everleigh?” He’s still clutching at my wrist while he regulates his breathing.

“You okay? Ya hear somethin’?” I shake my head back at him, trying to find a reasonable explanation in my head as to why I would be here touching him while he sleeps.

“You scared me.” He laughs to himself, then looking down he realizes that he’s still got a grip on me and quickly releases. “Shit, I’m sorry, did I hurt ya?”

“No,” I whisper, feeling my cheeks get warmer and my pulse rise.

“You have another bad dream?” he checks with that sweet concern in his dark brown eyes.

“No, I’m fine. I was just… I… I saw the blanket on the floor, I was going to cover you back over.” I smile helplessly. It’s not a complete lie, the thought had crossed my mind before I got distracted.

“That’s sweet of ya, darlin’, but it’s hot as balls in here.” He looks back down between our bodies and when I realize that my hand is still resting on his chest, I swallow thickly. I can feel his heart beating fast and when I lift my eyes back up to his and he smiles, my own heart picks up to match his rhythm.

“Water.” The word blurts out from nowhere. He frowns and I stand up to try and get a hold of myself. “I came out here for water and I… Do you want some water?” I ask him, hearing the nerves in my voice. I can’t believe I let curiosity get the better of me, and even worse, I got caught out.

“Water would be great, but you sit down. I’ll get it.” He moves past me and heads toward the kitchen while I slide my hands through my hair and try to steady my breathing.

“So, you havin’ trouble sleepin’?” He hands me a glass of water with ice, before taking a seat on the couch beside me. We’ve never sat this close before, our shoulders are almost touching and the fact that he has nothing on from the waist up makes it feel even stranger.

“A little. I’m sorry I woke you.” I take a sip before reaching forward to place it on the coffee table.

“Nah, you're alright.” He settles his glass down next to mine and rests back.

“You wanna talk about whatever it is? I ain’t no shrink but I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to hear it, and I sure don’t want to tell you it.” I smile sadly because just the thought of explaining to Mitch what I endured back at the village makes me burn in shame. I may not know much about the real world, but the more time I spend in it, the more I realize how crazy that place was. It makes me question how we were all so convinced that such an evil man could lead us on the right path.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll always be here.”

“Always?” I check, wondering how long I can expect this man to put his life on hold for me.

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