CHAPTER 30
Everything was completely wrong.
She should have known it wouldn’t be easy.
But up until now everything had been going so splendidly, and she forgot how broken she was.
For the first time in twelve years, her body was an instrument of pleasure and not shame.
But it couldn’t last. She had been floating in the glorious aftermath of pleasure when she extended the invitation.
But the reality of his possession punctured through the golden haze, and she plummeted from the glorious summit.
Straight into hell.
His breath on her ear, the heat of his body, the strength of his arms. Everything that had given her pleasure a few moments ago now terrified her.
His member, hard and violent, was invading her.
No. That wasn’t true. This was Michael, her beloved.
Her beloved who was invading her body. The monster of her fears whispered in her ear.
No. He was welcome. She had invited him.
She wanted him. Do you really? Are you enjoying this right now? Shut up! Shut up!
Her mental screams fought to drown out the voice of panic.
She could do this. If she could submit to the pasha, whom she loathed, she could do it with Michael, whom she loved.
She just had to stay still for a few moments, let him achieve his climax.
It was only fair after he had pleasured her so thoroughly.
He thrust deeper and a pained whimper escaped her this time, unable to control it.
She bit her lip, closing her eyes to avoid his gaze.
“That’s it, my love. Come for me. Come on my cock.”
He thought her whimper was a sign of pleasure? She couldn’t be any further from orgasm. She was as far from it as the east was from the west.
“You feel so good, Josie. So wet and tight. I could almost come right now. But don’t worry, I’m going to wait for you. I want to feel your hot little cunny spasming around me. Milking me dry as you come.”
Oh, God. He planned to wait for her? No, no, no, no.
She couldn’t do this anymore. With the pasha, she need not participate.
He cared nothing for her pleasure, so it was easy to retreat from the moment in her mind.
But Michael cared. He wanted her present.
Required her participation, her pleasure.
And she wanted him gone. But she couldn’t reject him.
It would hurt his feelings. After he had been so tender, so understanding.
But if you can’t say no, aren’t you still a prisoner? She could say no. And he would stop. But she didn’t want to offend him, or—God forbid—let him see how broken she was. A reminder of her past.
Unless… she could fake it. As close as he was to achieving his pleasure, that would surely send him over the edge.
She hated the idea of lying to Michael, but it was for the best. She was good at faking it.
She had learned well in the harem and had honed it into an art when she realized it made the abhorred encounters briefer.
She just needed to moan and make the other necessary noises, scrunch her eyes, whimper, squeeze her inner muscles.
Actually, the expressions of enjoyment were very similar to those of distress.
She increased the pitch, not knowing where the cries of distress ended and those of counterfeit pleasure started.
She rocked her hips, meeting his thrusts with almost violent ones of her own.
Then she contracted her internal muscles in the final crescendo.
Now he would finish and it would all be over. And he need never find out.
Michael had gone quiet. He didn’t join her in her fake orgasm. His rhythm slowed and then stalled completely. When she dared open her eyes, he was studying her with a bewildered expression.
“What the hell was that?”
“I-I came? Like you told me to.” She heard the hesitation in her own voice. He was suspicious, and she was not convincing anyone.
He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “No, you didn’t.” Then after two more heartbeats… “Fuck!”
Suddenly he was gone. Flopping onto his back, he threw an arm across his face.
The relief she felt that it was all over was short lived.
Shame, fear, and horror gripped her in an almost violent sob.
Why hadn’t he believed it? The pasha always bought her act.
She had thought she was so good at it. This was a disaster.
She peered at Michael, who still was not moving.
“Are you angry?”
He lifted his arm and ran his hands over his face, turning sideways to look at her. “Angry? No. At least not with you.”
“I’m sorry.” The tears were flowing freely now. She hadn’t cried like this in years. It was as if a dam had broken inside her and unending sorrow was flooding her. She couldn’t stop them.
“Don’t cry, little fairy.”
The endearment he used to call her, that she hadn’t heard in so many years before today and had felt so wonderful earlier, now only made her sob harder.
Fat, ugly sobs that left her gasping for air.
The brush of his thumb over her cheeks wiped away the moisture, only to be replenished instantly.
But she didn’t want to be touched right now.
Especially not when they were both naked.
Her body curled in on itself and she turned away from him.
If only she could disappear. Vanish into nothingness and avoid this moment of pain and humiliation…
The mattress undulated as Michael jumped from the bed.
She heard him moving around the room. Was he leaving?
But a moment later he pressed a soft cloth to her hands and she realized he had retrieved her shift from the floor and offered it to her.
She grabbed it with trembling fingers and he immediately turned and disappeared into the dressing room.
That was it, then. He was so disgusted he couldn’t stand another moment in her presence.
She awkwardly donned her shift and then curled up in the bed once more.
The sobs were subsiding, but pervasive desolation soaked her soul.
She had ruined everything. Had destroyed the moment that was supposed to be a joyful and loving reunion.
But Michael returned after a few moments, dressed in his shirt and trousers, her thick dressing gown in his hands. Without a word he wrapped it around her. How did he know this was precisely what she needed? She needed as many layers as she could possibly wear to cover her body. Her shame.
After she was enfolded in the lush fabric of the robe, covered from neck to toes, he sat again on the bed.
“Can I hold you now? I only want to comfort you. I can’t bear to see you crying.”
She nodded, hesitant but willing to try because she suspected he needed this almost more than her.
She steeled herself to tolerate his embrace, but as soon as his arms came around her, warm, comforting, safe, the sense of well-being that enveloped her was as unexpected as it was life giving.
She had never experienced an embrace like this.
An embrace that gave unconditional refuge without demanding anything in return.
She clung to him, her sobs slowly subsiding to the occasional hiccup. When Josie could trust her voice, she asked, “What are you thinking? You must be very disappointed.”
“I am. But not for the reason you are thinking.”
“Oh? Is it not because you were denied your pleasure? Because you thought you could recapture what we had before and have instead discovered that I’m nothing but a shadow of my former self? A hollow, broken—”
“Stop. It’s none of that. What disappoints me, what tears at my soul, really, is that you thought you had to pretend with me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see any other way.”
“First of all, cease apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for. Second, you could have simply told me what you were feeling or ordered me to stop. I would have. Even without explanations.”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” She burrowed deeper into his chest, inhaling his aroma of forest, leather, and soap, allowing it to soothe her ravaged soul.
“You don’t have to worry about my feelings, love.”
“It wasn’t you I was rejecting.”
His arms around her tightened and he nuzzled the top of her head, but it was comforting, rather than frightening.
“I understand. Did you know that sometimes soldiers experience emotional injuries after battle?” At her small shake of the head against his chest, he went on.
“Doctors call it ‘soldier's heart’, because it produces chest pains, tremors, and palpitations. Some soldiers, even if they survive with their bodies intact, their minds are broken, and that can manifest in sudden and unexpected ways, with outbursts of panic, disorientation. You are like a soldier who has survived a great battle, Josie. I suspect the emotional damage is extensive. But I believe with patience and support, you can overcome it. And I’ll be here to hold you and help you in any way I can.”
His voice, deep, steady, matter-of-fact and kind but without pity, soothed her fears. “But I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
“You are not. Josie, can you look at me?” When she raised her moist eyes to look at him, he went on. “Being with you, in whatever capacity, is a pleasure and an honor, never a burden.”
“You can’t mean that. You can’t enjoy being with a woman so damaged that she can’t even…” She trailed off, unable to even mention the word sex.
“But I do. Do you think the only pleasure I derive from you is of a sexual nature?”