Page 7 of Lost and Bound
My front felt icy cold, from the chill of the air and blood loss, but my back was toasty warm, the huge, solid body behind and under me radiating heat. His arms felt good, bands of warmth around me. I could feel his heartbeat, hammering hard but starting to slow.
I could smell his arousal, his lust, his satisfaction. He nuzzled into my throat, lazily rasping his tongue over the closing wound. It stung a little, but it also felt like my skin regenerated faster as he licked me.
At last his grip loosened, and he rolled me off his lap and onto the pallet beside him. I thumped down like a sack of potatoes, flopped on my side with my legs still tangled with his. He extricated himself and rose with a clinking of chain, and then I was alone, cold and numb. I heard him moving around, his rasping breaths, and then the quick slap of skin on skin. I tried to turn my head enough to see, and then thought better of it, letting my face rest against the rough fabric beneath me and allowing my eyes to slide closed again.
He was almost certainly jerking off, and I didn’t want to see that.
Part of me did. The part of me that hadn’t had any human contact except for the rough handling of the guards, pulling me from my cell, beating me when I fought—and the warlocks who’d taken my blood and injected me and performed rituals in between, as I lay numb and half-conscious on their examining table.
The guards had never forced me, used my body. Maybe they weren’t allowed, or maybe they simply had no interest. That was a mercy.
And the…man, or whatever he was, who’d just nearly torn out my throat…well, it should feel like a mercy that he was taking care of his own needs without forcing himself on me. Itwasa mercy, and the relief nearly overwhelmed me.
But part of me still wanted to watch. To see another person’s pleasure. To have a glimpse of some kind of sexuality outside of my own nearly nonexistent libido. Outside of my own fucked-up mind.
He let out a low, raspy groan, and the scent of semen wafted over me.
It smelled like he smelled, sharp and cold and hot and rich, only more so.
I inhaled deeply, hating myself for it. I hated myself even more when my cock gave a feeble stir, the first sign of life it’d displayed in months.
The tap squeaked, and water splashed in the sink. My mouth felt like I’d swallowed a sand dune.
He loomed over me, and his fingers nudged my chin. “Open up.”
I cracked my eyes open. He had his cupped hands held up to my mouth, full of water, which dripped down onto the pallet next to my face.
Too dazed and thirsty to really feel the humiliation of it, I opened my mouth and slurped the water from his hands as he tipped them, some of it running over my chin and trickling down my neck. I licked the last few drops from his palm, his skin hot and rough under my tongue.
And then I fell back down and passed the hell out.
***
When my eyes opened, slowly and grittily, it was still daylight. Half a peanut butter sandwich sat on the edge of the pallet a few inches from my face. My stomach growled at the sight and smell of it, even though I’d have cut off an arm for something hot to eat—but that would’ve required bowls and utensils and crap the guards would’ve needed to deal with later. Sandwiches were easier for them than even shitty prison slop would’ve been.
I levered myself up, painfully pushing up on my arms until I could turn and lean back against the wall.
He sat beside me in the same position. We were shoulder to shoulder—or at least, shoulder to bulging bicep. I picked up the sandwich a little warily, even though I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
“You saved me food.” I couldn’t quite bring myself to turn my head and look at him.
He grunted. “Eat it before I change my mind.”
I stuffed half of it in my mouth, and the rest disappeared within seconds. It tasted fucking amazing, even though it was crappy peanut butter on stale bread. Fuckers. You’d think that with all the other shit we had to endure in here, they could at least spring for the nutty peanut butter and a jar of jelly, for fuck’s sake.
And that half sandwich was about a tenth what I needed to keep up with my body’s caloric requirements. I didn’t know howhewas surviving on what passed for full rations here, let alone half. No wonder his ribs stuck out.
No wonder I didn’t have any fight left in me after all.
The meaning of the half sandwich finally filtered into my sluggish brain, and I froze.
“They only gave us one sandwich,” I said, sounding like a fucking moron.
“That’s right.”
“They’re expecting you to kill me. Maybe they thought I was already dead, lying there.”
I felt his slight shrug against my shoulder. “They didn’t bother to check either way.”
