Page 77 of Hard to Judge

The metal pings off several things and settles far away from me to my left. He says nothing. Silence presses in on my eardrums until it becomes too loud. The presence of the door behind me seems to double, hulking like a monster in the forest.

My chin quivers. “Now what?”

“If you find me within a minute, I’ll give you an orgasm before I tie you to the cross and cut you.”

“No!” I try to catch the outburst in my hands, but it’s no use. It bleeds out around my fingers. It sounds unhinged.

“Time starts now.” His voice is quiet this time, singing over my skin.

Tormented by the decision in front of me, I waste precious seconds frozen in fear. Seek him out for a bit of relief or run away from the inevitable?

I step forward, arms swinging wildly in front of me. The clop of my heels gives away my location with every stilted shuffle.

Cold air saws in and out of my lungs, yet sweat beads on my chest and lower back.

“Please,” I beg, arms seeking.

My hand hits something hard. It tips and crashes. The sound of metal skitters across the floor. They sound small and thin.

I squat. My fingers seek the source of the sounds. Thin cold metal meets my fingertips. One. Then another. Then another.

Scalpels.

I cover my mouth and try my best to muffle my scream. Sweat burns my useless eyes. I swipe at my hair and throw myself away from the pile.

Warm, bare flesh meets my hands. An abdomen, chiseled and still.

“Hota?” My hands scramble up his torso, over his pecs, and loop around his neck. I pull him to me and crawl up his pants-covered legs. “Hota?”

His arms come around me, holding me close.

I sob into his neck, hating my weakness and loving the safety of his arms.

“Stop,” he barks the command.

Somehow, my body listens, zipping my lips and jerking upright in his arms.

His hand tangles in my hair. He wrenches my face forward and crashes his mouth into mine. I take the invasion, partingmy lips and letting him inside my mouth. A piece of me wishes I could fit him inside my body. So I could walk around with his confidence, his skill. So I wouldn’t be scared anymore.

Too soon, he pulls me back and peels me from his body. He walks me sideways and backward toward the scalpels.

“Wait. Wait!” I stop my steps. His hands tighten on my arms. Without missing a beat, he drags me. My heels scrape on the ground. Panic in my brain grasps at something, anything to stop him. “You…you owe me an orgasm first.”

That news doesn’t even slow him down. I’m lifted off my feet entirely.

“Shoes off.”

Despite everything, I listen, kicking them away.

My feet land on a small platform. The opening in the back of my shirt allows my skin to meet a cold, unforgiving surface. I wince, my mind reeling.

He lifts my arms until they’re outstretched like I’m begging for a hug.

“Don’t move.” His breath is hot on my neck.

I swallow a whimper. His hands ease their biting hold. I try to force myself to inhale.

A strap grazes my left wrist.

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