Page 70 of Beautifully Wounded

I can’t even begin to explain how good it is to be chatting with Lexi again. The fact that she was the one that arranged my kidnapping, even after everything I did to her, speaks volumes about the person she is.

She assures me Ringo is what she calls ‘good people’, and something she said to me via chat really resonated with me.

He may be a criminal, but he doesn’t lie about who he is. It’s the people that lie and do the most heinous things that are the real monsters.

That really hit hard, because I realised it was one thing I already appreciated about Ringo. He didn’t try to pretend he was this good guy. He didn’t try to coax me into going with him by lying about who he was. He knew I wouldn’t have gone with him either way, so he told me exactly who he was, took me, and was unapologetic about it.

Why can’t more people be like that?

Why can’t I be like that?

I want to be. I really do, but with everything that’s happened, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to reveal things to the people that know me.

That’s why I need to leave. Go far away and start over somewhere new. Build a new life and embrace the questionable decisions I’ve made.

At some point during my text chatting with Lexi, Ringo’s long, even breathing draws my attention, and I notice he’s fallen asleep.

I find myself watching him. The way his normally hard expression has softened. The way his toned abdomen is noticeable through the fabric of his grey tee as he takes each breath. And I really can’t stop looking at his crotch, especially now, as it seems to grow before my eyes underneath the denim.

My eyes dart back to his face, but he’s still asleep, and I almost wish I could see inside his head to reach his dreams.

Who is he dreaming about? What is he doing? How does he feel?

Stop it, Abbey.

I mentally scold myself, my head way too deep in the gutter today for my own good.

I contemplate sneaking into the bathroom to touch myself just to scare the ache away, but think better of it and shift my gaze to the ceiling as I go over in my head what Tahli told me earlier.

She told me that Mum and Dad went to the police, and that when the police wanted to ask Tahli and Maggie questions, our parents wouldn’t allow it.

When I chatted with Lexi, she said the police had come to question her a couple of times, my parents apparently adamant that if it was a ruse, I’d be hiding at Lexi’s house.

Ringo shifts on the bed next to me, a moan of sorts slipping from his lips as he palms his penis from the outside of his jeans.

It’s a cock, Abbey. Say it. Cock.

Ugh.

As his hand moves away, I can see the very clear, firm outline of his hardness, and the ache between my legs grows.

I shouldn’t do what I do next, but arousal I’m not used to having is controlling me, and I place the phone down and discreetly ease my hand under the hoodie on the opposite side from Ringo, moving to press my fingers between my legs over my bike shorts.

Unlike this morning, there is no invisible bucket of ice water, only enraging heat as I part my legs a little, my eyes cast on Ringo’s large bulge as I try to picture what it looks like in my head.

Long, thick, straining with veins, and… a foreskin.

Wait what?

Ugh. No. Stop.

My brain is being a bitch. There’s no way Ringo has a foreskin. Not like Daniel.

A wave of nausea rolls through me at the reminder of what his penis looks like, and a vile shiver runs down my spine.

Taking in a deep breath, I glance at Ringo’s face again and press my fingers to my needy bud through the fabric of my leggings.

What if he woke up right now and dove his face between my legs?

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