“Come here.”
I don’t budge.
“Come. Here,” he repeats.
I relent and step forward, stopping a few inches in front of him. I crane my neck to look up at him and he touches my cheek. “Why do you run off?” he asks, his voice low and soft, his eyes fighting to close.
Shrugging, I lean against the warmth of his hand. “I don’t know, really. I’m constantly feeling like I have to run away … like being someplace else will somehow make me feel better. It never does, though, and I usually end up just crying or getting mad at myself. I don’t know how else to explain it other than my brain and my heart feel lost.”
He stares into my eyes for a few moments and I know that he understands. Finally, someone understands. “We’ll even you out and you’ll feel better.” He leans down and kisses me. “Come into the bedroom with me. I need to measure you.”
I let him lead me to the bedroom, but I’m confused. “Measure me?” I question. “For what?”
He pulls the T-shirt over my head, as if it’s just the most natural thing to be doing. I step out of my panties, hanging on to him for balance.
“I’m going to buy you something,” he finally says.
Well, that piques my interest. What could he buy me that I would need to be measured naked for? I recall reading about a psycho that kidnapped a woman and kept her in a box under his bed for weeks, taking her out only to abuse her. A flash of fear rips through me at the thought of that happening to me.
He goes to his dresser and comes back with a cloth tape measure, and begins to measure my height, my chest, my waist, my hips—almost every part of my body. He types it all into a note program on his phone.
“Okay, you’ve really got my mind going. What are you going to get me?”
He slides his hand between my thighs. “It’s a secret.” His finger presses up between my already moist lips. “It will take about a week to get here once I order it.” He slowly slides his finger in and out of me and bends down to kiss my neck, sucking the base of my throat. I lean back, stretching my neck to feel more of his mouth on me. His teeth graze my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
“Spread your legs for me,” he whispers, and I obey, spreading my feet farther apart. I run my hands up his arms and grip his shoulders as he pushes two fingers inside me. He pulls my hair, stretching my neck back even more, and ravishes my flesh with his lips and tongue. “Take your hands off me and put them behind your back.”
My heart sinks a little. I like touching him and feeling his muscles. I love how strong and solid he feels.
“I’ll fall over,” I protest.
He bites my lip. “I won’t let you fall. Ever.”
I drop my hands and clasp them together behind me at my lower back.
“Good girl.” He puts his arm around me and holds me against him while he finger-fucks me with his other hand, pistoning in and out while his thumb rubs circles over my clit. My legs quake and weaken as he brings me close to orgasm. His fingers are like magic, knowing exactly where and how to touch me. I can’t stop my body from grinding against him. I have to focus on keeping my hands behind me, and not grabbing onto him.