
A man in a black suit and a red tie steps in. The door shuts behind him.
My eyes glide over his body and his glide over mine. His face too is hidden behind a mask.
He’s tall and his hair is thick and dark, just like his voice when he says, “Hello Kitten …”
I’m struck in awe at the sound of his voice. It’s real. It’s him.
That same shiver runs up and down my spine as he approaches me slowly.
In a split second, images of violence flash through my mind. All the possible things that could happen. All the things he could do to me.
We’re alone, in a hotel room, and neither of us know each other by name.
He could do anything he wanted.
Take me. Use me. Lock me up.
Kill me.
And no one would ever know it was him.
It’s the perfect setting for the perfect crime.
And yet I’m not afraid of him.
I’m only afraid of my own reactions to what’s about to go down.
Meeting him was the only thing I wanted … and now that it’s finally happening I wonder if it’ll be enough. If I can satiate my needs without crossing the line.
He comes even closer. I don’t move an inch. I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared, or if it’s because my body feels as if it’s made out of rocks and ice.
I shudder when he stands across from the bed, leans against the dresser, and casually slides his eyes from the tips of my toes hidden in black heels all the way up to my high pony tail without any shame.
His tongue dips out to wet his lips, and for a second there I wish he licked mine instead.
He cocks his head. “So … this is what you want.”
I nod and part my lips to say something, but nothing springs to mind. Nothing important … except for the fact that I want him to fuck me raw.

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Hi there! I’m a mom and wife by day (and night), aspiring writer (in my dreams), and an avid reader (every day of the week). This is my little corner of the web to post about ALL things books. I live in Copenhagen, but I am a Canadian girl (born and raised) at heart.
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