Hey, folks! I really wanna thank you for all that feedback! It really keeps me going! Hope you enjoy the next part of the story and review!
Keep it real ;)
She was still lying there, when he opened his eyes. Defeated and quite like never before.
Blood covered her body and contrasted the white of her fragile skin. What scared him most was the fact that she didn't try to fight back, didn't scream. Because it was unlike the self that he knew she would never be again.
And he was the one to blame. Because he had found pleasure in being in control over her completely, for the first time of both their lives.
Still, Lyle and Raines were standing calm, cahtting like watching their own blood-relative being raped and hurt was business as usual. Then again, it proably was.
He guessed that the sweepers had sensed his rage which that very second threatened to flood his brain and had heldhim back from jumping at the two men. Where had his skills of disguise and self-control gone.
He couldn't help staring at the motionsless body. He was pushed on the floor.
"Fix her up, wonderboy, will ya?", Lyle said with a content smile, walking out and locking the door behind him.
Minutes passed before he could even begin to grasp what had occurred only moments before. He knew that he had to switch back into pretending mode for him to bear it and for her to survive.
But he didn't know her…At least it didn't seem to him that he had ever known her.
Slowly he got on his feet. Regaining strength, he walked to the side of his old bed and gathered her up in his arms. Blood stained his already guilty hands and he could feel her shift uncomfortably in her unconsciousness.
Carefully, he put her on the empty table. He hated that the surveillance cameras would catch her like this.
Slipping back into his working mode, he knew that he had to take care of her inner bleedings.
Heknew he'd have to hurt her. Once again.
Would it feel just as good and pleasing in a terrible way, he wondere, as when he was thrusting in and out of her body, not an hour ago.
He felt an inexplicable urge to see hiw own blood…mixed with hers, poured from his body with pain, with pain like hers.
Jarod tied her hands and feet to the table, so she wouldn't be able to move. He forced half a bottle of vodka from his untouched "minibar" into her unwilling mouth; used the rest of the vodka to disinfect her wounds. He stitched her wounds with what he fuond in the first aid kit of his old apartment. Used the same soft whisperings to sooth her as he had used when he was fucking her.
Jardod could feel her waking up, stirring, breathing faster with the pain.
He didn't want her to wake up like this. Tied to the table. Naked.
He started thinking that it might be better if she wouldn't wake up at all.
Confused, he looked at her bruised face and body, still naked. He looked around for something for her to wear, the clothes she had worn so little time before as if he could make undone what had happened.
All he found in his old closet was the old orange overalls he had had to wear when he had been a prisoner. Just like he was now.
She had started to shiver and, with care, he dressed her in his old orange pants and shirt, hardly fitting her slim body.
Suddenly, he heard a whisper.
Wearily, Miss Parker opened her bruised eyes.
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