DON’T HURT ME
I’M A vir-gin💦
✍️ Chapter Thirteen✍️
Suddenly it isn’t fear that I am feeling towards him now. It is downright rage and hatred. For some reason, I hadn’t been afraid when he had t©uçhed me. Why? I really have no idea. Something had told me he wouldn’t have taken too far, even if I hadn’t st©p he would have st©pped somehow.
Why am I having this inclination towards him? And why am I obeying his order now by ma-king him breakfast?
I glare at him while he just stands there su-cking on his cigarette like he owned the damned place. I didn’t like this man, stranger or not. He gave off bad vibes.
He sm-irks when he sees me turning the stove on and I begin to make eggs. I feel his intense gaze on me the whole process of ma-king breakfast.
“That smells good.” He says appreciatively at the food. His voice mere inches near my ear and suddenly, I feel his whole rigid front against my back. I tense and momentarily st©p breathing, anticipating his actions. In my head I’m screaming; Back off! Back off! I know that if I yell this out loud, he will just do the opposite and so I stay silent.
The tension is thick as neither of us says anything and then finally I feel him move away from me.
I breathe out a breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding.
Minutes later I give him a plate of bacon, eggs with toast. I watch him gorge himself, m0@n ing on each bite. After five bites, he looks up and I look away immediately as I finish ni-bbling on my toast.
“Aren’t you having any eggs and bacon?” He asks confused.
I glare at him, “Like you said, I’m a servant and servants don’t feast on their master’s food.”
He blinks again as if I’ve struck him, but quic-kly as the expression c@m£ he changes it to a frown. However, the frown is not aimed at me for once. That’s when Greta makes an appearance.
“Leyla, make me some too!” She demands alre-ady. Not even a good morning, how are you today, Leyla?
I sigh as I start by beating the eggs. I eavesdrop on their conversation while I make her breakfast.
“Did I sleep last night, I don’t remember much?” Greta asks him.
“You pas-sed out.” He replies. I can detect a detached cold tone in his voice, as if he couldn’t care less.
“I did?” She seems horrified. “So we didn’t…?” She trails.
I turn over her eggs on the pan and then I move to a cu-pboard, sneaking a glance at them.
“No, we didn’t.”
I catch his eyes as he says this and he gives me an inconspicuous wi-nk. I dart my gaze away immediately.
“Oh.” Greta seems to be disappointed.
I take out a plate from the cu-pboard and I serve her the eggs and leftover bacon from before.
The plate in front of her alerts her to my pres£nce and for the first time since she c@m£ in the kitchen, she gives me a knowing sm-irk.
“Where did you go last night?”
I start to blus-h but then I frown. Why does she care, she has never been bothered about my whereabouts? Maybe it’s because of this guy sitting next to her that’s ma-king her put on an act.
It’s too late to be bothered about being polite because of guests; he alre-ady knows I’m no one to you. I think.
“I went for a walk.” I say acting to be distracted as I move to take her guest’s finished plate.
I still don’t know his name. I realize.
“All night?” She’s skeptic.
“Yes.” I say indifferently.
She frowns at me, not believing a word and I couldn’t care less. She’s never cared about what I do before, so why prolong the acts?
I notice that her guest has been watching over our charade with pas-sive interest. His eyebrows arch upwards with amusement.
I give them both blank stares as I move to the kitchen sink and begin to clean the pots and pans.
I’m glad I’ve managed to rid the attention from me by moving out of their pres£nce because now they pick up where they left off in their conversation.
“Do you want to do this again?” She asks him.
This surprises me. Not that I cared about her relationsh!ps before, but in the time I’ve been in this place long enough to observe her, she has never been with the same person twice in a day. She usually dumps them or they leave in their own accord the morning after.
I then realize that they actually didn’t pu-ll off their arranged night stand, so this might be why she wants to see him again.
“Hmm,” is all he says and from the corner of my eye, I watch his form getting up from the chair and he does it so elegantly.
Elegantly? Where am I getting this from? Comparing such delicate word to this icy cold ghost of a man.
“I don’t know.” He continues. “I’ll be caught up with stuff this week.”
A simple excuse, even I detected rejection in those words.
“Aw,” is all she says. “I’m sorry I pas-sed out, I usually don’t…” She trails again.
He doesn’t say anything and I imagine him giving her a smile or maybe a stiff nod.
“I’m going now.”
As he says this I finish with the last pot. I wipe my hands in the dirty dish towel and then I face them.
They are moving away from the kitchen to the hallway and I leave the kitchen too, intent on heading over to my be-droom.
But as soon as I step out of the kitchen, I’m met with an appalling image that will forever be engrained on my mind.
They are locked in an embr@ce. Not just a casual embr@ce but a full on, groping of pri-vate p@rts while their mouths eat each other. All I see are ton-gues ravishing each other, and Greta’s nightgo-wn slowly rising up to her th!ghs almost revea-ling her as-s.
I look away immediately but not before I catch blue orbs opening and locking me in a gaze. One of his eyebrows has ris£n up as he takes in my surprised expression and then I watch as he gives me a snide look before wi-nking at me.
That’s twice he has done that!
I move away from the hallway quic-kly, almost running. I shut my be-droom door before I flop myself on the mattress. I begin by ru-bbing my eyes ra-pidly in an attempt to rid of the image I’ve just witnessed.
The audacity of this man!
Who does he actually think he is? And has he been trying to be flir-ty with me the whole time?
I snort to myself. Yes, he might be attrac-tive in his own dark way. I can only admit this. But it’s his arrogance and the I-own-the-damn-place sort of attitude and the rude way he behaved by tou-ching me, that’s a turn off for me.
He is definitely going in my bad books.
I wonder where Greta met him. Probably one of those over-the-t©p clubs she always goes to.
Well, I am glad that I am never to see him again. I’m not stupid like Greta. She might have not taken his too-soon-exit as a no but I had. And that told me that he had no intention of ever being with her, even with their goodbye k!ssor whatever it was I saw in the hallway. Ugh, that image will haunt me forever.
Anyway it isn’t my business what she does, and even if she sees him again it wouldn’t matter to me. I have other important pressing issues to care about.
Issues like finding a job and trying not to think about Jeremy Lawson at every given moment.
I am quite glad for that whole breakfast, and pondering over Greta and her guest had quite taken my mind off him. Otherwise, I would have been wallowing in regret and self-pity.
I get up from the mattress and then take out my best-looking clothes I owned. All I have to do now is get dressed and go job hunting.
✍️To be continued ✍️
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DON’T HURT ME