MIRIAM

He’s kissing me again, and caressing my arm, my back, my

neck, my outer thigh. His touch is gentle, yet firm. It’s almost

like he’s giving me a massage, except I can feel the sexual

intent in his actions.

He kisses my neck, lightly nibbling on the sensitive spot

where my neck and shoulder join, and I shiver from the

pleasurable sensation.

I close my eyes. It’s disarming, that surprising gentleness of

his. I know I should feel violated—and I do—but I also feel

oddly cherished.

One of his hands is now on my buttocks, kneading the soft

flesh. His other hand is traveling up my belly, my rib...