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He never came back.
I dried off and dressed in one of his T-shirts. I was so tired that I fell asleep on the huge bed almost immediately. I woke up to find a shopping bag of clothing in varying sizes and a tray of food.
Not, like, prisoner food, either. Good food. Fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fruits, coffee, orange juice—I devoured it, not realizing how hungry I was after the previous day’s ordeal.
So now I’m locked inside this room, wondering why Grisham never came back. I offered him my body and he seemed receptive. At least, his huge erection seemed responsive. But he left and I spent the night alone, painfully aroused, and totally confused about what just happened.
I watch some television, surprised to see my face on the news in a missing person story. I’ve been so wrapped up in what’s happening here, I haven’t really thought of what my family must be thinking. My dad is probably ready to kill someone. He probably will kill someone.
As I go through the clothing in the shopping bag, I realize someone must have gone out and bought all these things. They’re all different sizes, most within a size of my own. There are bralettes and thongs, dresses, jeans, T-shirts ... probably seventeen outfits. Most work, and I settle for a slim T-shirt dress in light pink. I pull my hair into a long braid, happy to have found a pink hair tie in the bathroom, a weird thing to find in a single man’s bedroom, to be honest, but hey.
There is a bookshelf that I scour when I get tired of watching television. Some of the books I find typical for a guy like Grisham, like The Art of War. There are some business and leadership books, also not that surprising. But there are also a couple of romance novels and children’s books. Really weird. I grab one of the romance novels out of curiosity. There’s an oversized chaise lounge near one window, so I curl up there, a soft blanket over my legs, to read.
I become engrossed in the story about a mythical god who falls in love with a human woman. There are so many reasons these two characters shouldn’t be together. For her, he is danger incarnate. For him, she is a weakness. Their passion, though, explodes as they discover every inch of one another’s bodies. The writing is rich and engrossing, the characters recognizable. She’s an inexperienced, awkward woman. He’s a man who fucks furiously, usually without emotion. But they recognize something in one another right away, and by the time they finally touch, she is his and he is hers.
I’ve never read a romance novel before and I find myself blushing furiously, looking away from the pages, almost to ensure no one can see how aroused I am. I’m ready to combust, and it’s not even lunch. Surely I’ll explode before Grisham can return but if, somehow, I don’t, then he willclaim me. Whether he likes it or not.
In the meantime, I read on, reaching down between my legs, feeling the wetness pooled there. I’m just desperate to relieve myself of this heavy ache between my legs, so I rub the tiny knob that hides there, dip the tip of a finger into my welcoming hole. I think about the way Grisham washed me, the way his hands caressed my body, the way it felt when he hands traced this same path. Before I know it, I’m panting, feeling a weak orgasm that only leaves me wanting more.
More with Grisham. Nothing else will do.
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