He points to the blanket.
I lie down, watching him stand over me, making me feel so small. He finishes undoing his jeans and lets them fall to the floor. He's not wearing underwear, and now he's completely naked. His legs are thick with muscle, though not as tanned as his upper body.
You're still Vesper, I remind myself.
But am I? I've traded sexual favors for a meal and a blanket. That's not who I am. I clench up, thinking about my family and Carter. Carter who I am betraying by agreeing to this. I should have fought more. Now that I have a little bit of energy from the food, I should fight this raw deal.
The man, completely naked, except for the black balaclava, rests his hard body against mine. His cock presses against me, and I wonder if he's going to penetrate me instead of following our agreement.
“I changed my mind,” I say. “I don't need this stuff.”
He ignores my words. “I gave you a choice and you made it. Just like your boyfriend did that night when he told me to fuck you instead of saving you himself.”
Like a cold rush of water, that memory comes back. I didn't believe that it was true. That Carter would tell an intruder to fuck me instead of taking the hits himself. But I don't know anything anymore. I am weak, weaker than I think. Those chips have already disintegrated in my stomach, and the gnawing hunger returns. A cynicism and mistrust I've never had for anyone overtakes me. Maybe Carter betrayed me that night. Maybe I put my body and life on the line for him and he hadn't done the same for me. And if he didn't fight for me, then why should I feel guilt over this?
I bite my lip as tears roll down my cheeks. Fuck, Vesper, keep it together. But keeping it together requires energy I have to conserve. The man watches me cry. He licks a tear, like my sadness sustains him. “I'm gonna fuck you with my mouth. I'm gonna make you cry, but not like this. I'm gonna make you cry for me.”
He lowers himself along my trembling body, grazing his teeth against my skin, alert to his touch. His skin and mouth is warm and forgiving compared to the harsh concrete. He sucks on my breasts and my hips swivel. I tell myself it's resistance, but it's also like he's pulling some sort of trigger that I can't control.
I open my mouth to object, but instead, short, tense breaths escape. I shake my head no, but he doesn't see; he is entirely fixated on the rest of me—my body, my skin, my taste, my breasts. I am entirely coveted. I realize he's starving too, consumed by hunger so deep that he can't control himself. A hunger he will do anything to sate. He's been watching me. Craving me. The hunger intensifying so that it's all he can think about. Just like starvation, until you've felt it, you can't understand the things you'd do just to get a taste.
He bites my stomach, hard enough for me to flinch. I hold in my whimpers. I don't want to give him a reaction.
“I know so much about you, Vesp,” he breathes into my pelvis as he works his way down. “So many things. But watching you was never enough. Now I'm finally going to be able to taste the flavor of your pussy when you come on my mouth.” His perverse words burn through me like shrapnel.
I reach down to push him away just as his hot mouth hones in on my pussy, but my hand claws on the top of the mask.
“Don't even fucking try it,” he says, pinning my hand down to the side.
I wasn't.
He makes gentle strokes with his tongue, his masked head weaving as he makes good on his promise to taste me.
I writhe around him, fighting the swelling sensation his mouth brings. My mind resisting what my body wishes to grant: Pleasure. Relief. Comfort.
I am still Vesper.
My squirming only makes him work harder, finding my clit with his tongue, massaging it, his lips suctioning softly. It only takes seconds before I am gasping for air, my body contracting every muscle in anticipation for a release. But he stops just seconds before, leaving me breathless and enraged. I had accepted the deal, I had prepared myself for what was to come, and now he was pulling away, leaving me wanting. I am not supposed to want this.
“Tell me you want me to make you come.”
“No,” I protest through clenched teeth.
“Your pussy is flushed and open. I can smell it. Taste it.”
“Fuck you,” I say.
“You want to be a stubborn little bitch, fine by me,” he says, pulling away and kneeling in front of me. “Get up and suck my cock.”
I give him a snarl befitting the animal I have become.
“Sounds like you don't want to eat,” he adds sardonically.
I've come too far in this whole twisted deal to be left empty handed. I know what is to come, but I protest with stillness. He grabs me by my hair, pulling from the roots, onto all fours.