A Rebel Captive by J.D. Thompson Page B

started to stream down her face as her fear of this man and her situation melded with the desire for him to touch her further. I’m sick, she bitterly thought.  She pulled her hand away from his chest, but grew flustered as she realized there was no safe spot to place it, no way to not be touching him.  A question she’d been desperate to ask for days bubbled to the surface, her dream pushing her to finally ask. 
    “How long are you going to keep me?” She asked, hoping to get a quick answer.
    “Until I’m no longer interested in you.” She shuddered in his arms. 
    A part of him wanted to comfort her further, to tell her he was infatuated with her even after such a short time, but another part of him knew his position didn’t afford the luxury of weakness even for her, and yet another part of him got off on her fearfully quaking in his arms.  He wondered what it was about her; he’d never been interested in having a slave before, turned off by the broken, dead-eyed, women other lords kept.  But something changed his mind when he decided to help the recognizance team and check out a Prospect at her restaurant.  He knew he had to have her and that this was the only way.
    And then, he’ll give me to the soldiers , she was too afraid to ask if it were true.  Instead she pulled away from him and this time he let her go.  She was disturbed by the contact and how easily he could calm her down.  She returned her head to the pillow, slinking down in the bed and turning on her side.  She tried to pretend he wasn’t there, that touching him didn’t start to get her wet, but he turned and pulled her to him, fitting her snugly into the curve of his body.  The shirt she wore rode up and her bare butt was pressed against his groin.  She blushed, hoping he wouldn’t discover her growing wetness.  She tried to scoot away from him, but he pulled her back.  His body warmed hers, his arm holding her to him, she was consumed by him.  It took hours for her to fall asleep and when she did it was a fitful, restless sleep.
      .     .     .
    In the morning, she was curt and stiff with him.  He wasn’t shocked by her behavior, but annoyed by her distance. 
    “Why don’t you get breakfast,” he said while getting dressed, but he just stared at him, uncertain.  “I told you to go get breakfast, now go,” he barked. 
    She jumped out of bed and ran to the door.  It was unlocked.  She looked over at him, but he was buttoning up his shirt and didn’t look back.  She scurried down the hallway, confused and wondered where the nearest exit was.  A soldier was waiting for her at the end of the hallway, holding a breakfast tray.  Suddenly, she was horrifyingly aware that she was only in a t -shirt.  She tugged on the hem.  He smirked handing her the tray and waited for her to turn back around.  Slowly heading back to Cole’s room, she felt her anger rising, overcome by crushing embarrassment and fury.  Her emotions got the best of her and bubbled over.  She couldn’t help herself as she spit in the bowl of oatmeal she carried.
    She marched through the door and slammed down the tray.  He sat at his desk and glowered at her. 
    “Really?”  He flipped the computer screen around to show the hallway. 
    Fucking cameras , she grumbled to herself.  
    “You’ll go back out there and get a new tray.”  His voice was menacing.
    She flushed, the anger gone and replaced by fear.  She did as she was told, the same soldier was at the end of the hallway, an annoyed look on his face as he shoved the tray into her hands.  Back in the room, Cole shut his laptop and moved it to the corner of his desk. 
    “Put the tray on the table and come here.”
    He got up and leaned against the desk.  Her hands trembled as she set the tray down, but stood her ground.  “Do you really want to make this worse by making me come to you?” he snapped.
    She thought about it for a split second before walking over to him,