Chapter 5
Naomi
I’ve been lying wide awake, straining to hear if the guys have decided on my fate.
From the sounds of it, Ace stormed out about an hour ago and hasn’t returned yet.
My stomach rumbles, and I try to remember when I last ate.
I realize it was hours ago, before I went out on my bike—before my life fell apart.
I contemplate calling out to the guys, but pride holds me back.
With a sigh, I sit up and turn on the bedside light.
Sleep is evading me, and I need a distraction from the gnawing hunger.
The room offers little in the way of entertainment.
The closet is empty save for a few empty hangers and spare bedding.
It’s clear that this room is for guests.
I wonder what the men’s rooms are like and whether they’re equally utilitarian.
Who are these men? What do they want from me?
I find it hard to believe that they would spend such a huge amount of money just to rescue me, simply because it was the right thing to do.
They must surely want something in return.
And yet I find myself believing Gage, trusting him, even though we’ve only just met.
I also can’t deny that I find all three of the men attractive. If I’m being honest, it’s thrown me off balance, as I rarely meet any guys I find appealing in real life. It’s one of the reasons why I’m still a virgin.
A quiet knock at the door pulls me from my reverie. “Who is it?” I ask, hoping it’s not Ace, come to drag me back to the Rusted Scythes.
To my relief, it isn’t. “It’s Gage, I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some food. Can I come in?”
I appreciate his thoughtfulness, both in bringing me food and in pretending I have a say in his coming in here or not. “Yes, you can.” I smooth out the creased pajamas I’m wearing, tucking my hair behind my ears, wishing I looked less childish, less vulnerable.
Gage walks in, his steps measured and slow as if he’s worried about frightening me. “Sorry, it’s nothing fancy,” he says, offering me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“No. It’s great, thanks,” I reply, taking the plate and perching on the edge of the bed, devouring the sandwich.
It’s one of my favorites. “My brother used to make these for me all the time when I was a kid. It was one of the few things he could make without fucking it up.” I smile at the memories of his culinary mishaps as he tried to feed us. “I soon took over mealtimes.”
“So, you enjoy cooking then?” Gage asks, hesitating before sitting next to me on the bed after a wordless exchange, seeming genuinely interested in learning more about me.
I shrug, finishing my mouthful before replying. “I wouldn’t say I enjoy it so much as it’s a chore I’m competent at. Truth be told, I often forget to eat if I’m in the middle of something.”
He processes this, tucking the information away. “What do you enjoy?”
It almost feels like we’re just two people getting to know each other, like we’re on a first date—if I wasn’t technically his prisoner, that is. “Riding my bike, painting, history, and astrology, lots of stuff.”
I expect him to ask about my bike, seeing as it’s one thing we have in common, but instead he asks, “You paint?”
I nod, feeling more relaxed. “Yes, mostly murals. I’d like to be a tattoo artist someday,” I find myself admitting.
Gage’s eyes light up with interest. “That’s awesome, I’d be happy to be your guinea pig to test on.”
I chuckle. “I don’t know about that, I’d ruin your art with my novice attempts.”
“Not at all, I’ve got some shockers that you can’t see,” he says with a smile.
“Prove it,” I find myself saying, smiling back despite myself.
I only realize how it sounds when Gage looks both surprised and pleased as he lifts his t-shirt to reveal his washboard abs and a tribal tattoo along his side, a style that’s a bit dated but by no means ugly. My breath catches at the arousal that seeing his body sparks within me, and I blush.
“I’ve seen worse,” I respond. “Case in point, this disaster I did myself,” I say, pulling up my pajama pant leg to show him the tattoo on my knee.
He tilts his head to the side, puzzling over it. “I’m not sure I know what I’m looking at…”
I laugh, and he grins, pleased to hear it. “Exactly.”
“Aren’t you gonna tell me?”
“Nope,” I tease, laughing again as he mock pouts.
We amicably chat about tattoos and bikes.
Gage is easy to talk to, and I find myself forgetting for a while the horrendous situation that landed me here.
But inevitably, the conversation ends up circling back to my brother and how he got caught up with the Rusted Scythes, and I became a commodity to pay off his debts. Gage listens sympathetically.
“I can’t help feeling as though my being a damn virgin made this all ten times worse,” I say.
Gage considers his words carefully before speaking. “It certainly made you more valuable in their eyes. But maybe that saved your brother’s life? Your chastity.”
I snort. “Chastity? You say that like I’m a nun. Celibate for some noble reason.”
“Well, why are you?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly. “A virgin, I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but it’s not common at your age.”
Again, I surprise myself by opening up and telling the truth.
“The one and only guy I ever tried to date in high school spread a rumor that I had sex with him and was a slut. Everyone believed him, and my life was made a misery. Since then, I only seem to meet assholes who are after one thing. Result is, I’ve not exactly had much faith in men.
Plus I haven’t met anyone I’ve liked enough to want to sleep with.
But it’s not like I’ve been treasuring it or saving myself or anything like that,” I quickly add.
Suddenly, an idea occurs to me. “One of the reasons the Rusted Scythes want me back is that I’m valuable as a virgin, and they likely don’t think you will have sex with me; they probably knew you were paying to rescue me, and that’s why they were so strict about returning me.”
He looks at me, trying to follow my line of reasoning. “It’s possible, yes.”
“Well, what if I wasn’t a virgin anymore?”
He studies me, and I stare right back at him.
When the penny drops of what I’m suggesting, he shakes his head.
“No. No way.” His words hit me like a slap, the bitter sting of disappointment.
But then he clarifies. “You don’t need to feel like you have to do that.
You shouldn’t be forced into doing that, and if the only reason you’re doing it is because you don’t want them to hunt you down. I can’t…”
He’s so kind, so earnest, that it makes me want my first time to be with him even more. “If I’m to be sent back to those monsters and forced into being a sex slave, at the very least, I want my first time to be with someone good and kind.”
Sadness, followed by fierce determination, crosses his face. “You won’t go back there. I won’t let that happen.”
“Regardless, my being a virgin is an unnecessary danger to us all,” I point out. He can’t argue with that, but he still looks as if he’s going to argue with me. “God. If you don’t find me attractive and don’t want to, just say it,” I snap, feeling embarrassed for having suggested it.
“No, it’s not that, believe me. You’re beautiful, Naomi,” he says, with such conviction that I actually feel it.
I lean closer to him, so close I can smell his minty breath. “So, kiss me,” I challenge in a whisper.
His resolve crumples in a gentle exhale as my lips touch his, light as a feather. He kisses me, gently at first, as if I might break, but when I return the kiss with heat, it grows deeper and more passionate. I move to straddle him, pulling off my shirt and throwing it onto the floor.
He groans at the sight of my pert breasts, pink nipples hard with arousal. “Naomi.”
God, I’ve never been more turned on.
I grind against him, feeling his cock harden through the pants, and I rub myself against him, desperate for more.
My tongue delves into his mouth, dancing with his.
His strong hands grip my waist, setting my skin on fire, as he kisses my neck.
I arch my back, crying out as his mouth captures my nipple, his tongue circling it and sending ripples of pleasure throughout me.
I’ve masturbated, imagined what sex would be like, but in all my imaginings, I never envisioned this hunger, this need that would be awakened in me.
I claw at his shirt, tugging at it, and he breaks contact, leaving my slick nipples hardening as the air hits them, helping me to remove it.
I run my fingers down the firm contours of his body, lingering over the smattering of hair on his chest. His mouth captures mine again, kissing me passionately.
I want him. I want him now.
I fiddle with his belt, trying to undo it, but he stills me, his hand taking mine. “Not so fast.”
“Please, don’t stop. I want this,” I urge breathlessly.
He kisses me. “So do I, more than you know,” he says, looking into my eyes. His pupils are wide, his eyes dark with a lust that mirrors my own. “But if I’m gonna be your first, I’m gonna make sure it’s a damn good first time.”
His words undo me; the last vestiges of reservations melt away.
He wraps one arm around my waist, standing and lifting me with ease before laying me down on the bed.
I wriggle out of my pajama pants, leaving me in just my panties.
A simple cotton pair, black with pink polka dots.
I wish they were sexier, but he looks at me with such hunger, I hardly care.
He stands before me, and I’m able to get a better look at him.
His body is sculpted from hours spent at the gym, his toned arms strong from hours on the road.
He unbuckles his belt, his pants dropping to the floor to reveal the impressive bulge beneath his shorts.