It had been a mistake to ask her all those questions. He didn't really want to know. He especially loathed all that talk about mothers. He had said his mother was dead. And she could be for all he knew. Regardless, she was dead in all the ways that mattered. His passion instantly cooled at the memory of her pitying expression. Fuck pity. He didn't need it. He didn't need anything from anyone, least of all her. Liar.

Caleb potentially had a mother out there, and according to the girl, she might still be missing him. Why couldn't he remember her? He felt, somewhere, very distantly, he had once...loved her? But he felt nothing when he thought of her now. It was...unsettling. Breaking free of his frustrating and perplexing thoughts, Caleb refocused his attention on the girl.

He smiled to himself as he looked at her, standing in the grandeur of the oversized, old-world bathroom. In some countries it could be its own home. She stood a few feet away blindfolded and vulnerable. But this was her choice. Her shapely and tremulous form rekindled his softening erection. She couldn't possibly know the effect she had; his little innocent captive. Her hair was absolutely unruly, having been left to dry on its own after their bath. It was as untamed as the girl, and almost as alluring.

Before entering his room she had become increasingly bashful. He suspected the reason. He had released his pleasure inside her, and then she had eaten a large meal and gotten drunk. It didn't take a genius to figure out why she was suddenly talking her way out of his room, when she had worked so hard to get an invitation. She was very cute when she was drunk. But then, she was always cute, inebriated state aside.

But in the end, she'd gone with him. Trusted him to take care of her as he'd promised.

She gasped at the sound of him snapping the table into place, and he wondered what she thought it could possibly be. He nearly groaned when he spied her nipples tautly pressed against the satin of her nightgown, all but entreating him to take them into his mouth and suckle them until her body succumbed to remorseless shudders. He sighed. What the hell was wrong with him? After leaving Tehran he had glutted himself on women. Done everything he had ever fantasized about doing. He'd been with so many women, yet none of them had ever affected him the way she did.

If the first lesson every slave had to learn was to accept that their wishes did not matter, then the first lesson every master had to learn was not to be a slave to their own desires. The logic was simple, to command a slave, you must command yourself.

Over the last three weeks it had become easier to bend his captive to his will, to make her respond in ways Caleb knew she would. Yet the more her body obeyed, the less her mind seemed to play a part. The less he knew of her thoughts, the more he wanted to get inside her in every way possible. But at every turn he remained locked out, denied, rejected-infuriated. His aggression toward her had escalated, but their dynamic remained the same. It had begun to bother him in ways he could not explain.

He should have been satisfied, relieved in fact. Vladek would have no part of her. In her mind, she would remain safe and untouched by him even as her body would not. Still, the thought of Vladek touching her repulsed him.

"Take off the nightgown," Caleb said softly but firmly. He smiled, taking pleasure in her little startled jump at the sound of his voice. She fidgeted, shifting her weight from one hip to the other, trying to find something to do with her hands.

"Um...?" she hesitated. Her voice was nearly lost in the cavernous tiled bathroom. Caleb moved toward her, as stealthily as possible, wanting to enjoy the obvious tension that coursed through her tender frame. He truly was a sick bastard. She panted ever so softly and then sharply sucked in a breath as Caleb put his hand across her belly, gently forcing her back into the breadth of his chest. She was warm, deliciously warm.

"Are you afraid I'm going to hurt you, Kitten?" he whispered into the shell of her ear, "because that's not what I'm interested in, not in the least. I promised not to hurt you, and I won't, not as long as you keep your promise to do whatever I ask." Her breath was forced and ragged and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss her bottom lip, which she presently used as a chew toy. Instead he stepped back and simply repeated, "Take off the nightgown."

The girl took a deep, but shaky breath, searching no doubt for resolve. Caleb felt both wise and devious for allowing her to partake of a shot of tequila after dinner. He was surprised she didn't sway more on her feet given the fact she was blindfolded. With a trembling hand, she slipped the right strap off her shoulder, shortly followed by the left, exposing her beautiful breasts as the nightgown slipped down to her waist. Caleb had to focus on his breathing, barely able to keep himself rooted in place.

Next she attempted to push the nightgown the rest of the way down, but her ample hips wouldn't allow it. He thought it was all so fucking navely sexy. Exhausting the possibility of pushing the fabric down, which would have been more modest, she finally endeavored to pull the fabric over her head. Caleb's body seemed to sway with the motion of her generous breasts.

His cock could not possibly be any harder. He grabbed it and adjusted it into yet another position that didn't leave it so painfully twisted. "Stop," he said huskily. "Just leave it the way it is." He walked over to her and effortlessly hoisted her into his arms and laid her flat on the table he had prepared. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, but Caleb wasn't surprised when she instinctively went to cover her exposed breasts. He wanted to stay her hands, to correct her behavior, but he let her have her seductive modesty. Especially since her soft little sobs, barely audible over the rush of the water in the bathtub, let him know that tears undoubtedly hid behind the fur lined blindfold. Warm, salty, delicious tears that he suddenly wanted to feel against his lips.

"Turn over, Kitten."

"What are you going to do?" she gasped.

When she hesitated he added, "I promise not to hurt you." She seemed sated with that and slowly turned onto her stomach. She cried out when Caleb reached for the nightgown and pulled it up to her waist. All at once she scrambled to get up, but he quickly used the weight of his body to pin her still. "This is for your own good, no pain."

Caleb listened to the fear in her voice and though it made him the slightest bit heady, he felt somewhat uncertain. The truth was he hadn't meant to do what he had done earlier, no matter how much he had enjoyed it. She wasn't his to do with as he pleased. But it was that thought alone that had spurred his anger and his lust to begin with.

She had called him Caleb.

She had yelled out his name: in fear, in anger, in need of him and god help him-it had turned him inside out. He had reached the limits of his desire for her, and in his mind there had been no alternative to cure him than to have her. He'd been made weak, just for a moment, for her. The way her body responded to his touch was simply unheard of, not under the circumstances. But her body was just naturally pliant, electric with its need to be touched. So he had hurt her more than he intended and he felt hesitant of his actions. It was a feeling all together new to him.

"Because of...earlier, you might be hurt. I mean to make it better." Her body tensed all over but, she remained silent. "I need you to pull your knees up to your chest and part your legs for me." The intense blush that rose to Kitten's face eluded description, though crimson was as close as Caleb could guess. His smile on the other hand could be easily categorized as brilliant.

Gingerly, she did as he asked, seemingly grateful for Caleb's help. He had noticed when he insisted on helping her she gave in to him more easily. He allowed her the illusion of her defeated resistance and she assented to his mounting demands. Perhaps she felt she was not doing something vulgar of her own free will, but submitting to something that would be done with her consent or without. She made no protest when he locked her wrists to the table and placed a spreader bar between her knees.

"This will help you to stay still," he explained, knowing it was help she would definitely need. She bucked wildly at the first touch of Caleb's fingers touching lubricant to her shy and no doubt very sore bottom.

The bathroom was soon filled with the sound of her tearful sniffles and humiliated sobs. The light echoes, bouncing off the walls, seemed for a moment to reverberate something inside him. He didn't feel guilt very often and she seemed to have an uncanny ability to bring it out of him. The feeling was...alien, unpleasant, and aggravating as hell.

"That's enough! You're crying more out of embarrassment than anything else. Stop. Crying." The sound of his voice filled the room and the girl stilled, obviously frightened. Caleb sighed. "Here, this'll help." Caleb placed a small amount of lubricant onto his finger and gently seized her clit between his thumb and forefinger. She shuddered, paralyzed by his touch, and he knew she was silently willing him to release her sensitive flesh, which, of course, he would not. "You're okay, Kitten. It's okay," he reassured her gently and began to rub the slippery epicenter of her being. And he was practiced, as well he should be, always careful to not rub too hard, and always careful not to rub too softly. He wasn't that much of a tease. He'd do it just right, to make it up to her.

He watched intently as she pressed her lips together, desperately trying to not let the slightest sound escape her. Yet, slowly, her lips opened and her soft little sobs could be heard. Soon those tiny sobs became whimpers, which in turn became rapid little pants that became elongated gravelly moans. Caleb once again marveled at the responsiveness of her flesh, at the way her deeply pink mouth went just a little slack, her kitten tongue darting out every so often to remoisten the delicate supple tissue of her lips.

She was getting close, she pulled on her restraints, trying to fight off the moment of ultimate release, yet she unconsciously undulated against the back of his fingers searching for what she feared. He backed off just a little, drawing out the moment so he could do what he needed to do. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed the malleable tubing that was required. As he once again brought his beautiful captive to the jagged peaks of ecstasy that had her moaning and crying at the same time, he inserted the tube into her ass. She jerked harshly at the intrusion, but he held her steady. Slowly, thoughtfully, he rubbed her clit until her hands finally unclenched, her knees relaxed, and her breathing became languorous.

Caleb ignored the insistent press of his cock against his zipper, along with the sharp pang of lust mimicking pain in his belly and focused on soothing his pliant slave. Her cheeks were stained a deep pink beneath the russet color of her skin. It was a blush only orgasm could achieve, and Caleb couldn't resist feeling pride over having put it there. He stroked her back, no longer surprised at the way she arched into his touch. He would miss it. This. Her. Shaking the thought away, he set about talking her through his actions.

She sobbed quietly while he filled her with water, assuring her the pressure in her belly was normal, not to panic, though she did anyway. Her fingers on her right hand curled tightly around his, those on her left balled into a fist against the vinyl of the table. When he sensed she couldn't possibly hold more water inside her he stopped the flow and forced her to push. She cried in earnest then. She begged him not to press against her belly, embarrassment and shame apparent in her frantic pleas and pained expression. Caleb tried his best to keep her still, promising everything was alright, that she had nothing to fear or be ashamed of, but it was futile to try and calm her. Finally, he resorted to pressing her down with his weight. His face next to hers as over and again he filled her with water and emptied her, not ceasing until he was sure nothing more could be gained by subjecting her to his ministrations.

When it was all over, he took the blindfold off and released her bonds so he could sit her up on her knees on the table. To Caleb's astonishment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, refusing to let go. Warmth spread through his limbs wherever her trembling body met his, a feeling as pleasant as letting the sun touch his face.

Unbidden, the memory of her looking up at him on the sidewalk engulfed him. She had been squinting that morning, even as she tried to take him in with her eyes. He had thought her charming, especially when she smiled. He suddenly ached to see her smile up at him like that. Instead, he pressed her back so he might kiss her warm, salty tears from her soft cheeks. She even tasted like sun. Did he prefer her smile or her tears?

Bewildered by his divergent thoughts, he left her to wash her face, instructing her to come into the bedroom when she was finished.

Caleb paced his bedroom slowly. Thinking so many things. Rafiq had informed him transport was in order once they reached Tuxtepec. He had also confirmed their route to Pakistan was free of customs officials and equipped with enough fuel for each leg of the journey. It was all good news, but Caleb had been lackadaisical at best, and outright disgruntled at worst. After twelve years, it suddenly seemed to be happening too quickly. At some point, very soon, he would have to make the girl aware of her fate. He would have to force her to understand that he had made her a whore. Vladek's whore. He couldn't help imagining the look she would give him in that moment. He also knew he would avoid it as long as possible. Three weeks.

Suddenly wondering what kept her so long, Caleb considered reentering the bathroom, but then thought the better of it. It was best to allow her to calm down and come out on her own. He looked about the room. No one would ever truly guess at the wealth and opulence hidden inside. The crown jewel of this dusty Mexican city. The plush carpet imported from Turkey, along with the tapestries. The bed was goose down, the sheets the finest Egyptian cotton, marble fireplace from Italy. The fireplace was probably by far the most excessive item in the room. Caleb was sure it never got cold enough to use it. One side of the room was made entirely of reinforced glass, with a hidden slide door leading out onto a terrace.

Caleb sighed and smiled. She's probably never seen this much opulence in her entire life? Where would Vladek keep her? His stomach twisted.

He heard the handle being turned and faced the door to watch her reaction. He wasn't disappointed when her hands shot up to her mouth, eyes wide, full of wonder.

"Not what you expected?" Caleb teased.

"N-n-no!" she replied, eyes scrutinizing the room. Caleb laughed heartily and helped her farther inside the room. She wandered around, half in a trance, touching her fingers to everything. "Do you live here? How do you afford this place?" she asked, innocent of any treachery. He knew her question had more to do with curiosity than guile.

He abruptly wished this were his home, so he could answer her admiration in the affirmative. He was struck by his sudden desire to impress her. She was hardly worth impressing, a slave, or so he reminded himself. His home in Pakistan was just as remarkable, if not more so. But she would never see it.

Impulsively, he drew her away from the curtains to face him, wanting her close despite his own objections to his boyish behavior. She stilled, as if just now remembering he was there. How dare she forget him, even for a moment. He attempted to refocus her concentration by gently, but firmly, slipping down the straps of her nightgown.

"What are you doing?" she asked timidly. Caleb looked down at her intently, the corners of his mouth giving just the slightest hint of a smile.

"You made a deal, Kitten, you stay out of your room, and I get an obedient little pet." He bent slowly and kissed her bottom lip, just as he had desired to do. She sucked it in. "You're going to ruin your lip if you keep that up Kitten." He tilted her chin so he could look at her big brown eyes, not at all marred by the puffiness caused from her crying. "I'm not going to fuck you again if that's what you're worried about." She tried to look away, but he held her gaze steady, if he concentrated, he thought he might be able to hear her pulse. He bent again and kissed the shell of her ear, "I'm just going to be a little selfish."

"What does that mean?" she asked, unsure. Without saying a word Caleb took her hand and walked over to the king size, cherry wood, four poster bed, a bed with many uses and not all of them easily evident.

"I'll show you," Caleb sat himself on the edge of the bed with his reluctant volunteer standing in front of him. The anxiety coursing through her was obvious to his interested eyes. For what seemed an eternity, neither of them said anything. Caleb simply watched, examined, and made mental notes. When he finally spoke, she started. "Just touch me."

"You want me to touch you? Where?" Caleb really enjoyed that about her, the way she seemed both guarded but curious. It hinted at her bravery, her wily and adventurous nature. All of which, she seemed strangely unaware of. Sometimes it was difficult not to see him in her. It was both endearing and disturbing.

"Wherever you'd like," he smiled. Her brows knit together, as if the answer needed further explanation. It didn't. He wanted her to touch him, anywhere, everywhere, so long as he didn't have to force her. Perhaps because he thought if she touched him, of her own free will, he could stop feeling guilty for pushing her earlier. Or perhaps, he only needed to be touched by her. There had been a time when Caleb despised being touched, by anyone, only knowing cruelty, but now, under the right circumstances, he rather liked it.

"And then what? What are you going to do?" She was almost angry now, annoyed. Caleb understood, he supposed. She had no reason to believe he wouldn't take advantage of her. If he was honest, and he was for the most part, he wasn't sure he wouldn't either. Still, he was a man of his word. Rafiq had made sure of at least that much.

"I'll keep my hands right here," he patted the bed on either side of him, "unless you ask me otherwise." His smile became mischievous and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He tried not to laugh outright when she gave a derisive little snort and rolled her eyes. She didn't believe him, not one little bit. Guarded, but curious. The room remained silent for several moments, Caleb appraising her with his steady gaze, while she contemplated what to do or say next.

His heart picked up speed, as did his breathing. Was he actually anxious? It was a palpable aphrodisiac. She bit at her lip repeatedly, her little white teeth digging into the supple flesh. His fingers unconsciously pressed into the bedspread. There were places he wanted her mouth, other places he wouldn't mind the feeling of her little teeth pressing into him.

She cleared her throat, rousing Caleb from his devious thoughts. "So, um, if I don't...then I have to go back to my room right?" The way she posed the question was almost leading. Caleb nodded. He noticed her shoulders drop slightly, as if she were more relaxed. She wanted this. She wanted him. He refused to smile. "Okay. I'll do it. But you have to promise to keep your hands on the bed. You promise?" Caleb couldn't fight the smile any longer, he nodded. She hadn't even asked what he would accept as far as the touching went.

Her face was flushed, but her voice was almost confident. Again Caleb marveled at her facets. Shy one moment, a lioness the next. "Close your eyes. I don't think I can do it otherwise." Caleb laughed, especially when she blushed deeply, but reluctantly, he complied.

It was late, late enough to almost be early depending on how one looked at it. The girl slept peacefully beside him, her bottom pressed against his groin. It amazed him how easily she had fallen asleep, though he supposed he had put her through a lot. He shut his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair, her scent beneath it.

He thought of her curious little fingers burrowing through his wavy blond hair. It had been the first thing she went for. His entire scalp had tingled, the sensation coursing down the back of his neck, along his spine and radiating out toward each of his limbs. One simple touch and he already doubted he'd be able to keep his promise. But he had remained still. He had wanted to know how far she'd go.

He had told himself, also, it was part of her training. To allow her to become accustomed to touching and knowing a man's body. Not all men were like him. They derived more pleasure from receiving than giving, and Caleb had only taught Kitten how to submit to his touch, not how to exact her own sense of control by initiating contact. He had admitted to himself, in that moment, he had avoided teaching her this aspect of what was required of her. It made him somewhat vulnerable, not because he was a slave to touch, nothing as insipid as that. All the slaves he had trained had touched him, frequently. But with them he had always remained detached, clinical, informing them what felt good and what needed work along the way.

With her, he wanted...something. And the obscurity of his desires was a distraction he could ill afford. Yet she needed to learn, didn't she? He had to endure it. He didn't have a choice. He had leaned into her touch and she had tightened her grip in his hair. There was a hint of pain, and his cock had leapt at the sensation.

She had roamed his face, her delicate fingertips dancing along his brow, his cheekbones, and his jaw. When she pressed her thumbs across his lips he tensed, thinking she would kiss him. She hadn't. Instead she trailed along his neck and shoulders, even venturing into his shirt by way of the few undone buttons at his throat. He felt her body heat ratchet up a few degrees, the heat of her womb radiating against the inch of space separating her from his straining cock. In the end, he had been the one to put an end to it.

He'd quickly had enough of trying to keep his promise.

He had told her it was enough, to get in bed. His voice had sounded cold, though he felt anything but.

He had secured her left wrist to a gold cord protruding from one of the bedposts. It was thin, but strong, capable of allowing her comfortable sleep without threat of escape. Then he'd gone to take a shower and do something he hadn't needed to do in a very long time. As shiny ribbons of semen spilled across the tile of the shower, he once again asked himself what the fuck he was thinking.

Now he lay in bed next to her, holding her like a lover, smelling her fucking hair and caressing her arm. Worse, he didn't think he could stop. He didn't want to stop. He wound his arm around her waist and pulled her deeper into him. She sighed. The little tart even tilted her head back, her cheek turning onto the fabric of his t-shirt. Did she want him to kiss her? He wasted no time in finding out. He pressed his lips to hers, gently, inquiring. She sighed again, opening her lips, sluggishly, still asleep.

Encouraged, he teased her mouth with the tip of his tongue. He was a masochist. Why else would he torture himself like this? She tasted warm, sweet, to some extent of liquor. A soft moan entered his mouth courtesy of her. Her body turned slightly toward him, her lips now seeking his. He gave her what they both wanted as his tongue ventured gently into her mouth. She was suddenly ravenous. She sucked at his mouth, sloppily, greedily, still asleep. He pulled back and she whimpered, seeking him blindly. He stifled a laugh.

"Mmm, Caleb," she said on a painful sounding sigh. His heart instantly sped up three times. Blood thudded in his ears. She was dreaming of him? Or was she feigning sleep? Did she know he was kissing her, had she willingly reciprocated?

"Yes, Kitten?" he asked, honestly nervous.

"Mmm," she replied. There was a hint of a smile tilting her lips. He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn't. She tried to turn toward him, the cord holding her wrist prevented it. Her brow furrowed, but she didn't wake. Caleb leaned over and let her loose. Instantly she rolled toward him and rested her head on his shoulder. Her newly freed left arm pulled him close. Her left leg pinned his thigh to the mattress. Her hot little pussy pressed against his hip. Was this really fucking happening? Resigned, he placed his left arm around her, the other he rested on his chest, against his still racing heart.

After a while, sleep finally rescued him from his sweet torture.

Chapter Ten.

It was the same dream, the one I'd been having since the day we met. The one I used to eagerly anticipate before hitting my pillow at night. I didn't want to be having it, but I had no choice. I think perhaps my subconscious was determined to go back and look over the facts, find what I'd missed the first time.

I'm hurrying down the sidewalk, trying to get away from the sinister man in the car behind me when I look up and see him. Perhaps it's his easy stride, or the way his gaze sweeps past me instead of over me, but for whatever reason, he seems safe. I throw my arms about his waist and whisper, "Just play along okay."

Beyond the prison of my dream, I feel real sweat trickling down my neck. Obscurely, I'm aware of my tossing and turning, but I can't put together why I feel so uneasy.

He does and I'm surprised when his arms wrap around me. The moment of danger seems to pass very quickly, but for some reason I don't want to let go. I feel safe in these arms, and I've never really felt safe before. And he smells good, he smells the way I imagine a man should smell, like crisp, clean soap, and warm skin, and a light sweat. I think I'm taking too long to let go, so I release him as though he's burned me. Then I stare up and acknowledge the angel in front of me. My knees almost buckle.

Outside the dream, I can hear myself whimper. Part of me knows why I don't want to keep looking at him, but I can't stop it from happening. I dream in third person. I am a spectator.

He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen: that includes puppies, babies, rainbows, sunsets, and sunrises. I can't even call him a man-men don't look this good. His skin is beautifully tanned, as if the sun itself took the time to kiss his skin to perfection. His muscled forearms are dusted with the same golden hair of his head. And his eyes mimic the blue-green of the Caribbean Sea I've only seen on movie posters.

He smiles, and I can't help but smile, too. I'm a puppet. He pulls my strings. His smile reveals his beautiful white teeth, but also his sharp canine on the left side. His teeth aren't perfect, and the small imperfection seems to make him more beautiful.

He's saying something to me, something about another girl, but I refuse to listen.

Off in the distance, I hear a familiar voice, my voice. Inside the dream? Outside the dream? I'm unsure. All I know is that I'm begging for the dream to stop. I didn't find what I was looking for-the thing I missed. I should stop. I should stop before I get to the unbearable part, the part that has nothing to do with memory, but fantasy, desire.

I lean in and tilt my head up. I want him to put those full lips to good use, I won't take no for an answer. When his tongue slides across the seam of my lips I feel things between my legs I have never felt before. I feel an aching sort of fullness and abruptly I can feel my heart beating, not only in my chest, but within those secret folds. I moan behind the kiss, and shortly after I hear him moan, too.

I want to touch him everywhere. I don't care if he takes me right here on the sidewalk, that's how badly I want him. I don't care what my mother will say. For him I'll be a whore. I'm glad I've waited. I'm glad it's him who gets to have me.

His hand has found its way into my hair, and for some reason I sense danger, but I make the feeling go away.

The kiss has turned hungry, ravenous-my lips hurt a little. His hand has become a fist in my hair. The sensation is familiar but distant. I want to keep kissing.

Do I taste beer? It's suddenly all too familiar.

A kiss. A touch.

"Is this what you do when I go to bed, Livvie? You put on your puta clothes and try to seduce your father?"

"He's not my dad!" He's the one to blame. Not me.

"Act like a whore and you'll get treated like one."

I hate you.

Without warning I am hit with an overwhelming sense of grief. Something is horribly wrong. I pull back from the kiss and my eyes go wide with horror.

The same youthful face I'd found beautiful beyond all explanation looks back at me with a menacing expression. His eyes still remind me of the sea, but instead of sunny Caribbean beaches, I now see hideous creatures of the deep lurking in the depths of his gaze. No longer an angel, he is the devil I have always feared.

My eyes flew open and I stared into the nothingness surrounding me. My heart pounded, my tears welled, but despite it all-I was shamefully wet between my legs. Old dread threatened to pull me into fresh hell, and I fought hard to keep it from happening.

Caleb slept peacefully beside me, his arm wrapped around me like a vise. I should've been struggling to get up. But truth be told, the press of his muscular body against my back gave me a feeling of comfort I'd been longing for, for weeks. For years. And besides, it was actually cool in his room. It lacked all the hot stickiness that seemed to permeate throughout my room. My room-that's funny.

I thought about what had happened before, barely able to wrap my mind around the events that transpired. I think if I'd been watching it in a movie or reading it in a book, I'd have thought it was sexy. But to be living it, to be right there in the flesh...I think it was just scary. Mostly. Just thinking about it, my heart pounded even harder and faster in my chest, but it was different than before. Also, I had this heavy, sinking, sort of tingle in my belly. It reminded me of the feeling I used to get as a kid playing hide and go seek in the dark. I didn't want to get caught, but just sitting there, not know whether or not I would be was both exciting and frightening. I had known then it was the rush I enjoyed, not the hiding or the seeking.

Being around Caleb was feeling that all the time. I kept seeing his face, eyes closed, head tilted into my hands, soft masculine flesh beneath my fingers. The whole thing replayed in my mind as a series of flashes, flashes that kept me awake in the dark. I had dreamed of kissing him too, of doing more than kissing him. He was hard against my ass and against all logic I wanted to touch him there. I wanted to see what had been inside me.

When he'd asked me to stop last night, I had been mildly disappointed. Perhaps even hurt, thinking maybe I'd done something wrong. His voice had been harsh, distant at first, but then he'd softened and told me I'd been good, too good. For some crazy reason, in addition to being totally embarrassed, I felt, well, I don't know if relieved is the right word, or even proud, but something like it.

Caleb was a strange person, cruel and inhuman; a monster, yet, at other times, he seemed so capable of something like caring. He made me cry and scream and shake with fear, and nearly a split second later he could make me almost believe he wasn't responsible for any of it. He could hold me and make me feel safe. How was that possible? I guess I'm more gullible than I'd ever thought.