25. Delilah
DELILAH
Days went by. And then weeks. I fell into a sort of routine, stretching, lounging, sleeping, reading, and finding shows to watch on the TV.
Shows I didn’t even know existed. John kept ESPN playing at all times, and I was resigned to my room, sticking my nose in a book I’d rented from the library hoping that one day I could walk through the pages and be transported to some faraway land with dragons and magic while I prepared for whatever mood John would be feeling after the game.
If his team won, I knew he’d want sex. If they lost…
I was looking at the possibility of being his human punching bag.
As the time passed, my body healed and my nervous system settled.
The longer I was away from John, the better I became.
I didn’t jump as much from hearing sounds, and I noticed that I could actually fall asleep and stay asleep, instead of being on edge, wondering what fresh hell awaited me with every second I existed around him.
The masked stranger came in three times a day, always bringing me heaps of food.
All my favorites from when I was a kid. Breakfast burritos.
Steak tacos. Pizza. My god the pizza. It had stuffed crust!
And every morning, he brought a fresh white daisy on my tray, but he never spoke, despite my barrage of questions.
Things I never would have felt safe enough to voice, began coming out of my mouth.
I wanted to see if I could provoke the masked man into some kind of reaction.
Certainly, he’d brought me here for a reason, and I intended to find out what it was, and who he was.
Currently, I was guessing his name.
“Bob?”
He stood arms crossed over his broad chest like my attempts amused him.
“Not Bob, then,” I said, taking another bite of the fried chicken he’d brought me today. It was warm and had a perfect golden, crunchy crust. I’m pretty sure I was getting the sauce I’d dipped it in all over my face, but I didn’t care. It was so good I could have taken a bath in it.
“Chad.”
His shoulders twitched and my eyebrows raised. “Am I getting warmer?”
He stood there still. Watching. Indulging my little game.
“One of these days, Mr. Noname, I am going to break you.”
His head tilted like he’d love to see me try, then turned around to leave.
“Frank!” I yelled out, feeling a dollop of sauce splatter onto my chin. The muscles in his back seemed to ripple with laughter and I felt a low heat unfurl in my gut.
So, okay, physically speaking the masked man was attractive as hell.
His muscles were well defined, and his tall physique did funny things to my body.
Not knowing what he looked like underneath that mask only added to the allure.
Plus, how he smelled like cedar and mint had my heart speeding up every time he got near.
Maybe I was ovulating and that’s why I’d been thrown into some fever dream where I lusted after my captor.
Or I was feeling the effects of Stockholm Syndrome.
Either way, there was a part of me that was curious about him.
More than curious at this point, because when I slept, I dreamt of how he would feel inside me.
How he’d hover above me wearing that mask while he did sinful things to my body.
More than once, I woke up moaning from my intrusive thoughts.
It felt strange to be fantasizing about anyone really.
Especially given the situation. I hadn’t felt this kind of way since I’d crushed on Cain when we were together at Kingston.
With John it was always dread and revulsion.
I never wanted him to touch me, but he did anyway.
When he got what he wanted, it was always centered on his pleasure.
His wants. His desires. Never in the five years that we’d been married had he made me come.
But one look at this masked man let me know he wouldn’t just know how to make me come—he’d revel in it.
He’d make it his whole mission to make sure I ended up quivering on his cock.
Was that what I wanted?
To have this masked stranger who’d kidnapped me fuck me senseless?
A low flutter in my core answered for me, and it sounded like hell yes.