Page 26 of Born for Silk
“Men that live in the desert for weeks—scouts. They rotate the sand around our Ruins. Our territories. Tell us what’s happening on the roads. They told us about you. Shank said to blow out the tyres, and I thought he was out of his fucking mind. Not a Trade vehicle. Askin’ for trouble.”
“Shank isn’t very smart. We could have had more Guards,” I mutter, keeping soft eye contact. He likes it. The way I am looking at him.
“Worth it; I have you now.”
“Lucky, sure, but not smart,” I confirm.
He sits beside me. I can see the bulge between his legs bunch upward. Yep, he likes my attention a lot.
He pulls my wrist to his lap, his dirty fingers and split nails curling around to hold tight. Drawing the knife up, I look at the rust and blood painting the shiny surface. I force bile back down my throat.
“Don’t eat it,” I say, head heavy.
“You’re nothing like I expected.”
“You’re not what I expected.”
“Come with me.” He is suddenly dragging me into the shadows, away from the others. I cannot breathe.
I try not to panic. A girl who likes him wouldn’t panic over being alone in the dark with him.
“You want to be mine?” he asks. “I’ll keep you.” I can smell the death on him, his unclean flesh and putrid breath rolling down my skin.
His hands come up to my chest, my body jerking when they both paw softly at my breasts.
“Small. They are small.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I like them.” He opens my cloak to expose my dress. It’s a dusty lilac colour, the king’s hue, but he cannot see any colours in the dark. “I’ve never been with a girl who wanted it before or was alive.”
Shit. My throat burns with bile.
Even as I try to remain calm, my body shakes violently. I’ve never been touched by a man before. My hands won’t move, but I think I am supposed to do something.
To touch him.
All I can do is steel my spine and let him fondle, but when his breathing becomes rough and his hands too firm, I blurt out, “I’ve never been with a man.”
I hope that he will slow down, but his hands continue to work on removing my dress; I block out the feeling. Bare, rough fingers slide along my skin; I concentrate on breathing.
Disgusting lips move to mine, meet mine. A tongue pushes in, and I twist my cringe of disgust into a moan of false enjoyment. But when the hard length between his legs presses against me, I stumble backward and hit a wall.
“Wait,” I pant, exhaling his horrid breath from my mouth and inhaling clean air to replace it.
“Okay!” He huffs. “I’ll cut it off first.”
“Cut into the fat, too,” the words spit out, “make sure it’s all gone. Then put it down the drain.”
“You’re a wild girl.”
I sob. “Then we can be free.”
“I am free.”
My hands shake. “We can be free together.”
This might keep me alive, might make him defend me against the others, might… give me time.