Page 42 of Beautifully Wounded

“You know what will happen if you fuck this up?”

“I don’t get fast tracked in?” he asks, sounding really fucking sure.

“Actually, it’ll mean you never get in. It’ll mean that before the night has ended, you’ll be out on the street, on your own, never permitted to step foot inside these walls again.”

He gulps. “Never?”

I lean forward, coming nose to nose with him. “Fucking never.”

“I won’t let you down.” He assures me, so I point to my fucking door.

“Aside from me, no one in or out. Time starts now.”

He gives me a mocking salute and takes up his post just outside my door as I ignore him and re-enter to go over the rules one more fucking time with my angel.

11

Temptation is evil. I’ve been taught that all my life, and I know from experience how true it can be, yet I war with myself over the desire to go against Ringo’s wishes and make a call on his phone. How easy it would be to just dial the number I’ve had memorised for years. To make the call and speak to the girl who is my very best friend, even if I’m not hers.

Instead, I lay on the bed, trying to block out the thumping music from outside the door and window and pretend I don’t hear all the giggling and squealing women who sound like they are having the time of their lives.

With my gaze cast to the screen of the phone, I reread the same sentence in the eBook I read only moments ago, and finally make it to the next paragraph before chanting from outside distracts me.

“Ugh,” I sneer, dropping the phone to the bed and rolling off to hurry over to the window.

I can’t help myself. I want to see what’s going on.

Slowly, and gently, I pull back the thin scrap of fabric they call a curtain, just enough to peer out to the party happening beyond.

There has to be close to fifty people out there. The men outnumber the women, but I don’t think that matters by the way they all seem to share the females.

My heart picks up pace in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or nervousness causing it. I try to spot Ringo in the crowd, but I can’t see him anywhere, and a jarring thought hits me.

Is he in another room with a woman… having sex?

I shake my head at the thought, because it’s simply none of my business or my concern. What he does is up to him. He’s only my babysitter, after all. Or perhaps captor?

Ugh. I have no idea what he is exactly, and it irks me that I even care.

He was aroused earlier. I saw it. The very hard bulge in his jeans. I tried not to look, but when I pretended to look at the sex toy he and I were discussing, which now seems so strange that I even had that conversation, instead of focusing my gaze on the vagina thingy, I stared at his hard junk straining against his jeans.

He wouldn’t have known I was doing it with the angle my head was in, but it sure helped to add that embarrassing heat to my cheeks.

The funny thing is, it’s been such a long time since I even remotely considered a penis to be something of interest. Part of mehad it in my head that perhaps it was safer for me to be a lesbian, even if I don’t really like the idea of being intimate with a woman. It just seemed like a safer option, and I had thought that if I could get away from Daniel and my family, then perhaps I’d cut my hair off and simply hang around with females for the rest of my life.

I bite my lip as I remember watching Ringo slide his finger inside the hole of his toy. The sound of it sucking his digit caused a flutter between my legs, not for the first time since being in his company.

Which is weird, right?

He’s like, so old. My reaction must have to do with my newfound freedom, or at least partial freedom. I may be locked in this seedy motel with a biker gang, but I feel freer than I have in so long, it almost makes me happy.

Deciding that watching the chaos outside the room is more interesting than reading right now, I move to flick off all the lights and drag one of the flimsy dining chairs to the window where I draw the curtain back just enough that I can see out, but not so much that it will be obvious to those out there that someone is inside here watching.

At least, I hope not.

The same flutter between my legs returns when I see a heavily inked man with a short beard tear off his shirt and start kissing one of the women. She instantly wraps her arms around him before he lifts her, and her legs do the same.

As they kiss, he walks them over to a table where he lays her out and starts removing her clothes. I can feel my cheeks flare hotter at the sight of her bare flesh and the way she arches her back off the table. It sends her boobs higher. The goldenlight from the courtyard, which must have once been where cars parked, is just bright enough to show me a glimpse of her hard nipples before the man starts sucking on them.

---