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DON’T HURT ME
I’M A VIRGIN💦
✍️ Chapter Twelve✍️
The sun from the small window illuminates the whole room and instantly as if it’s my alarm, I wake up.
I feel groggy and energy drained, and then the events of what I’ve done yesterday hit me.
I left him. I sigh as I try to imagine what he is doing at the moment.
Probably sleeping. I tell myself. It is after all only six thirty in the morning according to the unkempt clock on the wall.
I can’t help it when I automatically take another whiff of his scent from his t-shirt only to realise that his scent is somehow beginning to fade. I sigh again as I relive the memory of yesterday morning. His arms holding me closely as we made love–well to him it might’ve been just casual s£x, since I had after all been there for that.
I touch my lips absentmindedly as I remember his scorching lips upon my own, and everywhere on my body.
And his tongue. I can almost feel it licking and nipping at my neck; moving down to my collarbone; trailing between my bre@st and teasing and sucking. I can almost feel that same tongue down to my navel; to that line of my pelvis, between my thighs.
I shiver and squirm suggestively, already feeling my insides moist up.
I should stop this. It won’t do me good. I am the one who left him. There is no point in trying to torture myself with these explicit thoughts.
Last night I promised myself to clear my thoughts of Jeremy. Now I’m not doing myself any good by bringing these memories up. I remind myself the first step I have to do, and that is job hunting.
For a third time this morning I sigh once again. I have a feeling that there’s a lot of sighing to come, at that thought I sigh.
I remove Jeremy’s clothes from my body and then fold them in a neat pile before placing them on the bottom drawer which is empty due to my limited clothing.
Before I place them in the drawer, I take one last final sniff of his overwhelming scent. I am relishing in the aroma of vanilla, detergent and his cologne and also my sweat in the mix.
This is the last I will do this. I promise myself while closing the drawer. I then take out my long tee which I use as nightwear, since the tee reaches my knees. I finally get rid of the underwear from last night as I put it in my plastic wash basket. I put the corset in the drawer along with Jeremy’s clothes and close the drawer, just as I lock away those treasured memories I shared with him.
I move toward the broken long mirror near the mattress but I refuse to stare at my reflection, instead I shift it to one side. It reveals a small metal container. It’s decorated in mattered flowers and the paint is almost disappearing. The container has all my treasured belongings.
By treasured, I don’t mean expensive stuff. No, just small things I have come to inherit from the eighteen years of my life. Inside it includes a photo of the fraud foster home where I spent dark twelve years of my life.
Why I keep this photo? I don’t really know.
Also in the container, there is a small number of jewellery I came to find from the streets; a fallen earring; a forgotten necklace or bracelet; and rings. I also keep my saved money, from all the pawning of these intricate treasures I found.
I just simply go to a pawnshop with a gold ring or necklace and I come out with thirty or fifty if I’m lucky. I’ve managed to hide this money from Greta all this long. I’ve never used it before.
But today with my plan on set, I’m finally going to.
“It’s not much, but it’s something,” I mutter to myself as I place it on the secret pocket of my jacket.
I then tiptoe out of my room to the hallway. I faintly hear the snores of Greta coming from the room across. Good she’s still sleeping.
I go to the bathroom and risk using her hot water as I take a five minute shower. The water feels so good, it reminds me of the shower I took at Jer–no don’t start with him.
I turn the shower off immediately only to then start brushing my teeth.
I towel dry my hair since I don’t have a hair dryer and then keeping the towel on my head, I run to the kitchen.
As I enter, I stop in my tracks instantly. Why?
Well, because there’s a six foot four figure of man leaning against the kitchen counter as he engulfs on his cigarette.
He has dark floppy hair which reaches his eyes and instantly I think; bed hair. His eyes themselves look dark from where I’m standing and as they lock with mine, I almost cower away.
His expression shows an element of surprise at first as he takes me in and his dark eyes travel down all over me. I now wish I wore something more than this stupid t-shirt. After he has assessed me–more like undressed me from head to toe with his eyes–he finally meets my eyes while casually taking a puff of his cigarette.
“Who are you?” He frowns at me.
I stare. Am I not the one who’s supposed to be asking him that? Since I was the resident of this so-called apartment. But with his tone, it’s as if he’s the owner of the place.
I scowl at him, my anger flaring, “Who are you?”
That makes him smile for some odd reason. His lips twitch into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I asked first.”
The nerve of this guy.
“Well I am the resident of this place, so I deserve some explanation.” I retort.
His eyes narrow. “So you must be the servant girl she talks about.”
I blanch. Anger rises up my throat as his words sink in. Servant!
“And so you must be one of her boy toy she plays with.” I counter angrily.
He blinks suddenly, his eyes murderous as he dare takes a step towards me. His nostrils are flaring.
His eyes are in slits as he stares coldly at me and from this close I can faintly trace a colour in them. But they’re not a warm blue gray from Jerem–I swallow. Stop. Why am I suddenly comparing him to Jeremy?
“I won’t be insulted by a servant girl.” He puffs smoke right onto my face and I resist the urge to cough as I internally choke on the tobacco that’s now hitting my lungs.
“I’m not a servant.” I hiss. How dare he? How dare he judge me?
He lifts an eyebrow. “Feisty one aren’t you.”
He smirks as he moves closer to me, invading my personal space and I back up immediately. This makes his smirk increase and then he laughs a cold chortle.
At this rate, my heartbeat has long since spiked up. All my instincts tell me that this man should be feared, they tell me to run as far away as I can.
“Ah, not so feisty then.” He chuckles and grabs the hem of my t-shirt with one hand as he pull me towards him. The other finds an ashtray and dabs his cigarette.
I jerk away from him immediately, and I manage to break free his hold. But as soon as I move away, he has taken hold of both my arms.
Adrenalin has spiked in my limbs, and at this case my instincts tell me fight not flight. I thrash away from his hold, trying to free my arms but his grip is stronger.
“Let go of me.” I whisper in a raspy voice. I intended to shout at him but as usual my voice betrays me.
He pulls me flush against him, and I feel the rigidness of his chest muscles but they have nothing on Jer–goodness must you bring up his name again.
I wriggle away, trying my best to free my arms. My brain seems to have shut down on the little self-defence I came to know from years of living in the streets.
He frees my arms, only to pull me closer as his hands move to the hem of my tee toward the back of my thighs. Suddenly, he grabs hold of my ass.
I squeak out because I’m not even wearing any underwear.
“No underwear.” He says approvingly, his voice is somehow softer than the harsh way he was earlier.
I use my now free hands to punch and slap his chest but he feels nothing. And so thinking my thrashing won’t work, I stop.
This surprises him as his intense icy blue eyes glare down at me. He stops groping at my bare ass but his hands remain there. I look up at him, trying to ascertain his change of mood. Then he closes his eyes, his eyebrows still scrunched up when he finally lets go of me.
He takes his lighter from the counter, and lights up another cigarette.
“Don’t just stand there, gaping. Make me breakfast, servant girl.” He commands.
This, this man. Who does he think he is? And to, to just touch me like that!
✍️ To be continued ✍️
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