Broken Girl(53)

“I’m not going to hurt you, beautiful girl.”

I don’t want to say anything more.

But I do.

“I’m scared.”

“You’re just vulnerable. Let go.”

I try to trust where it never has existed. Everything in my body is fighting against what my heart wants. I want to feel pleasure, beyond the pain of my childhood. I want to trust and feel worthy. I want to be healed by this man, and find my freedom.

“I don’t know how to let go. Please Mister, I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper.

The cold breeze creeps across my flesh. I’m burning up inside and freezing on the outside. My body gambles against everything my mind remembers. I’m a prisoner, a possession; I’m a captive with no free will.

Mister’s energy consumes the room. I rely upon my skin to react to his demands. His breath tangles with my messy black hair.

“You can, and you will, trust me. I’m going to give you everything you’ve ever wanted tonight. Do you understand me?”

I nod.

He lets out a heavy breath.

“Yes,” I answer knowing he wants words instead of gestures.

“Good, because I’m going to replace every last scar other men have left within you when I’m done.”

I break. His words pierce me and take me far beyond the seedy streets of my past, present and future.

Was he for real? Was it the truth? It was impossible. Not my life, not the demons that swirled in my body. It has been too many men, too much pain.

“I wish it was that easy.” The words flying from my mouth were unraveled and without forethought.

“I’m going to make it easy. Let go, Rosebud, let me in.”

I’m senseless. Everything I’ve ever let define me, everything I am cracks at his words.

Was it that easy? Was he the one I’d been looking for most of my life?

The tension in my back and up through my neck breaks free. Mister answers the tingling in my clit and the ache pulsing in the depths between my legs with his hot, wet, tongue and his long thick fingers. I thrust my head back into the mattress. I’m unable to see, and yet I see everything.

“Please, make me forget,” I moan.

His hot breath rumbles across the swollen pleats of my clit, while his long fingers erase the marks of all the f*cks who came before him. I drive my hips against his speeding fingers aching to feel his hands heal the marks left in my soul.

He catches me between his teeth and sucks so perfectly, as if he just can’t get enough of me. I’m vibrating and humming. He releases my clit with a pop at the same time he stops his fingers from f*cking me. This beautiful man is leaving me reeling. The blazingly chilly air hijacks my body from the top of my head down to the bottom of my feet.

Time is bending my trust, breaking me before he brushes the back of his fingers against my lips. His touch startles me at first, but tracing his fingers on the outside curve of my lower lip soothes me.

“What if I can’t trust?” I ask in a hushed whisper.

“You can.” He drags his fingers along the outline of my jaw and down across my collarbone.

“What if it’s not in me?” I’m still blindfolded and feet tangled in the sheet.

“You have everything you’ll ever need, right here.” The tips of his fingers circle between my breasts. My heart reaches for his touch as it leaps and crashes against my chest.

“You don’t understand, Mister, I need to have a sense of control.”

“Rosebud, control is an illusion, it’s a decision to trust a certain outcome. All you have to do is trust me and you’ll have all the control you need.”

I want his words to soothe me, and his calm, direct voice to caress the strength within me cowering at letting go of my scars. I want to trust him. I crave to taste the freedom he wants to give me. I want him to save me from a future tucked under cracked sidewalks, cold gutters, and from ever having to f*ck another man for a penance. I try and convince myself that he wants to keep me off the streets.

He drags his thumb up across the crevice of my lips before he slides it into my mouth. I roll my tongue and suck on his thumb as he pushes it deeper into my mouth.

“I know what you want to do to me. I can feel it,” he moans under his breath.

Pulling his thumb from my mouth, instantaneously I feel desperate and vacant. I need to take him. It’s unexplainable, intangible, the desire I have to please him.

“Let me suck your dick, Mister. I want to make you come, please let me finally show you what I can do for you.”

My eyes still covered, my legs still bound, and all I get from him is a long, breathy sigh.

The last three days, he’s only pleased me. Sure he came, he f*cked me, ate my * like a champ, but he still hasn’t let me take him.

“I’m starting to take it personal. Why won’t you let me give you head? Is this your sick way of controlling me?”

“Is that what you think?” he snaps.

“Well, maybe. Anytime I try, you stop me and pull me back up. Do I disgust you?” I ask, my voice breaks to a quiver and my eyes are still blanketed in darkness. I pull in a deep shuddering breath while every ounce of confidence drains from my soul. He’s succeeded in tangling me up in his game of cat and mouse.

His whereabouts, lost to me for a couple of seconds before he removes the scarf covering my eyes.