She bucks hard against my forearms and I pin her hips to the mattress, but she still grinds on my face. I love it.
“Randall—” Her voice is desperate for me to stop, but she doesn’t want me to stop. Even as she begs, her fingers are in my hair, pressing my face into her pussy. “RANDALL!”
***
I wake up, my eyes flying open and staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving as I gasp for air.
For a while, I lie there, waiting for the cobwebs of sleep to fade from my mind as I catch my breath, then I sit up, which is when I feel the bulge between my legs.
Fuck. I’m hard as a rock.
Usually, it’s a normal reaction, a consequence of waking up, but this time, I know it’s not. It’s the consequence of that dream I had, that dream of Sabrina. We were doing squats together in the gym and she let me see her scars. She said that she would get fired if we did anything, and I buried my mouth against her clit and she let me. She loved it. She needed it.
Just remembering that dream makes me harder, my erection throbbing.
Why? Why did I dream of eating her out?
No. I know the answer to that one. It’s because I fell asleep wanting to. The real question is: Why did I have to wake up before I came?
Even more importantly, what do I do now? Do I go to the bathroom and relieve myself or calm myself down?
The former is tempting, especially with the feeling of having sex with Sabrina still fresh in my mind, but I decide on the latter since I’m suddenly feeling thirsty.
After a few minutes, I get out of my room to head downstairs to the kitchen. On the way, I stop, though, hearing strange sounds from Sabrina’s room.
Are those moans? Is she having a naughty dream, too?
Curious, I press my ear against her bedroom door, only to frown as I realize the sounds aren’t moans. They’re sobs. They’re frightened sobs, which only confirm my theory that she must have gone through something painful before she came here.
She may be smiling and laughing but she’s hiding something – a burden she doesn’t want to share, a memory she doesn’t want to relive, a scar bigger than the ones on her back.
What nightmare did you go through, Sabrina?
Haunted
Sabrina
I walk through the gardens, yawning. Somehow, I couldn’t go back to sleep after having another nightmare.
That nightmare.
The one where I’m locked in a room inside Vince’s house, a room with no doors or windows or any piece of furniture, and I can’t escape no matter how much I try to smash the walls or claw at them.
Just when I’ve had a happy day, just when something’s gone right, just when I feel like I’m finally putting the pieces of myself back together, the nightmare comes back.
No matter what I do, I just can’t shake it off.
But of course, I can’t. After all, that nightmare isn’t over. The fear is real. Right now, I’m safe and at peace here with David and Randall but any moment, that could shatter. Any moment, Vince can find me and drag me back to his mansion. And who knows? Maybe this time, he really will lock me up in a room that has no doors or windows.
Why does he want to have me and keep me so badly when he doesn’t care about me? I don’t know.
I know that when I was staying at Carol’s house, I did some research on him, and I found two intriguing news articles: Vince’s mother reportedly beat him up when he was a kid, and there was another woman who claimed Vince locked her up and abused her. She escaped just like me, but a few months later, she was found dead. She hanged herself.
This tells me two things: I’m not the only woman Vince has tried to toy with, and Vince is mentally unstable. No sane person would do what he did to me.
I should report him to the police. If I had a guarantee that it would put him in jail, I would have already done it. But I don’t. I don’t have any proof of what he did. I escaped with nothing. It’s my word against his and I don’t stand a chance. Vince is filthy rich with a lot of friends in high places.
No. If I go to the police, I might as well be handing myself back to Vince.
I can only hide from him.
So I’ll stay within these high walls, hoping that he will never find me. Because if he does, I’d rather die than go back to that hellhole.
Seeing the bed of roses, I stop, bending over to smell one.
This morning, Randall gave me a bunch of freshly picked roses. He didn’t say why. He just said that he hoped I had a great day.
That was sweet of him. Considering the nightmare I had, I could sure use a great day, maybe one even better than yesterday.
It’s a good thing that it’s illegal for Randall and I to be together. If it was possible—I’d waste a lot of my time fantasizing about him.
I look up at the sky, smiling as I remember the conversations David and I shared, both before and after dinner. For once, he finally opened up to me even though I have one challenge left to accomplish. For once, I felt like we could really see each other, that I could really reach him.
He’s starting to trust me. All that’s left is for him to like me.
Just then, Zombie comes up to me and I kneel to pet him. “See. Your master isn’t so bad. I think I’m finally getting to understand him.”
Zombie sits down.
“We’re going to help him become a better, happier boy, won’t we?”
I keep petting his soft, black fur, only stopping when I hear footsteps approaching. I stand up and moments later, I see Lucy.
“Lucy,” I greet her.
“Thank goodness I’ve found you, Sabrina,” she says, putting her hands on her knees as she catches her breath.
I go to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She straightens up. “There’s just someone to see you.”
“To see me?”
I feel confused. Who would want to see me? Besides, I thought Stargazers didn’t allow its nannies to have guests.
“She said her name is Carol Fisher. I asked Tess if she could see you, since Mr. Brewster seems to be busy and Tess said it’s fine since she was the one who sent you here.”
“Yes, she is.” I nod. “She’s the head of the agency I belong to.”
“Oh.”
Still, I wonder why she’s here. Is it routine for her to check on new nannies during their first week? Maybe. I didn’t ask. At any rate, I should go see her. I mustn’t keep her waiting.
“Where is she?” I ask Lucy as I head back to the house, starting to sprint.
“In the library.”
***
“Sabrina!” Carol places her arms around me after I enter the library.
“Carol,” I greet her, hugging her back. “It’s good to see you again.”
The first time I saw Carol again, two months ago, I barely recognized her, yet I just had to spend a little time with her to know that she’s still every bit the Carol I knew back in middle school – competitive but caring, motherly if not protective, only older, taller, more beautiful and richer.
We sit on the couch.
“Tell me, how are things?” Carol asks.
So, she is here to check on me.
“Good,” I tell her. “The child is finally warming up to me, and Mr. Brewster is very kind.”
“I see.”
She frowns, falling silent.