Page 5 of Raw & Vulnerable

It’s a guilty thrill, thinking of his hands, big and bold. What would they feel like, running down her sides, caressing the soft skin of her breasts, leaving fire in their wake? Fingertips pressing into her hips, leaving indents in her flesh, deep marks to prove he’s there. How would those cruel lips of his twist as he looks down at her from above, his sharp eyes glittering?

He probably doesn’t have sex face to face, she thinks. Too intimate, sweet. He probably flips girls over and plows them from behind, hips pumping, savage, like an animal. Cock hard, thick. Taking what he wants, not caring about who he hurts in the process.

What would his teeth feel like in her neck, scraping across her delicate skin? The feel of his buzzed hair under her fingertips, her nails in his scalp? She imagines what he would sound like, his rusty baritone becoming rough and guttural in her mind, making her shamefully wet.

She wants…she wants to run her hands across his many tattoos, to marvel at the way they stand out starkly against his skin. Midnight black ink, ominous, grotesque, glaring out at her from his flesh. Strangely beautiful in its vicious art. She wants to know how many he has…what’s underneath his clothes?

What’s below his belt?

Minnie imagines what his cock would feel like, hot and heavy. Would his erection fit in her hand or would she need to use both to pleasure him, to watch him toss his head back in abandon? The way his muscles would tighten and flex, glistening with effort. The sounds he would make.

Low, full of hunger.

A criminal. An ex-convict. Minnie is torn between being horrified and sickly fascinated by the fact. Over a decade is a long time to be put away, isn’t it? She can’t stop thinking about the shape of his body, his aggressive swagger, the proud tilt of his head when he’s giving her a dark look.

Hazel eyes, run through with emerald and amber.

He’s proud, a bit arrogant, but she senses it’s in front of a more fragile self-esteem. Men who posture always seem to be hiding something.

Her fingers find her heated flesh and Minnie licks her lips. She circles her clit slowly, liquid fire coiling in her belly as she thinks of a man she has no business thinking about. Not that anyone has to know.

Tension builds, the muscles in her thighs tightening, breath quickening.

Eyes closed, lips parted.

She wonders what he’d look like with midnight gloves skin tight on his hands, tattoos peeking out from under. She thinks of him like that, holding her down, unbuckling his jeans. The way he’d slide his cock into her, how she’d whimper, trying to adjust to the size of him as he grunts, his hips working her open.

Would he call her a good girl or something far more crude?

She wants to be a good girl, because men give good girls rewards, don’t they?

Her nipples, small and tight, peak with arousal. Minnie grasps one of her breasts and imagines it’s his hand instead, groping, kneading, tweaking her pebbled tips. Flashes of heat slide through her body, images of desire. Smokey, forbidden.

She’s wet, aching. She doesn’t need her vibrating bullet to help her along tonight; her body is wired at the thought of him.

The twist of his lips, heated, vicious eyes consuming her body with a glance. Pressure builds, breaking, releasing, the swell of him inside, thickening with every stroke. Filling her, taking her.

Her core clenches tightly, spasming around emptiness as she orgasms, images of complete submission to a dangerous man in her view. Panting, Minnie takes her hand out of her underwear, immediately disgusted with herself.There’s something wrong with me.

She shouldn’t want anything to do with a man like him, not after what happened to her.

I can’t get him out of my head.

Body sated for the time being, she drifts into an uneasy slumber, her mind still wrapped around him.

She’s fifteen. Shy. Sweet. Sitting in her father’s Cadillac Escalade while it idles in the street, parallel parked.

She’s reading, playing with a strand of blonde hair. Her dad and sister are in the store. They said they’d be back soon, it’s rather early in the morning and there shouldn’t be any lines. Minnie just wants to get to the next chapter in her book, oblivious to her surroundings.

Minnie really should have locked the doors.

She’s from the nice side of town, so what does she know?

Her entire life changes in only seconds. A man jumps into the driver’s seat like no one’s business, as if what he’s doing isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Minnie drops her book, sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the huge masked man now occupying her father’s spot. The fabric of his ski-mask has a horrid, nightmarish clown art on it, complete with blood in its grinning teeth. Minnie is frozen, muscles stuck.

Her hands are shaking, numb, her book forgotten on the floor. Her vocal cords are stiff, won’t work.

The car is already running, all that’s left is for him to take the wheel.

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