Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

FRANKIE

"You've been watching me?" My voice shakes with fury. The thought of this stranger spying on me while I touch myself is more than I can tolerate.

"Nope. Not watching. Angles aren't right to see into the bedroom, and there's been no time to place cameras in there." He says it so calmly, as if just because my brother asked him to protect me, he has every right to spy on me. To invade my privacy.

"Don't lie to me, Mr. James." If the idea of him stalking me to keep me safe gives me a wiggle of arousal, I'm ignoring it. Something tells me if I don't take a stand against his overbearing ways from the start, he'll take over every bit of my life.

"It's best you learn one thing about me real fast, Cuteness. I'm a lot of things. Plenty of them pretty shitty. But I'm not a liar." He stares into my eyes, daring me to argue with him.

"Fine. Whatever you say." I shrug. Time will tell if he's like every other guy around. Even Hyram lied to me when he thought he ought to.

"I do say. Now, get on back to that frilly bedroom of yours and get to petting that needy little pussy, so we can get on with the day." He crosses his arms, tree-trunk sized biceps flexing the cotton of his T-shirt to the max.

"And don't think I won't know if you try to trick me and skip it. I'll know, and if I have to come get you off, you'll regret it. These fingers are a lot thicker than those dainty digits you got. Am I clear?" As far as threats go, that's not much of one.

Still, I hustle back down the short hallway to my room. A naughty impulse takes over, and instead of closing the door behind me, I leave it cracked a bit. Not so much he can see much more than the foot of the bed, but enough he'll know I'm obeying him.

Do I want to touch myself while a shockingly demanding stranger waits in my living room after demanding I masturbate? I wish I could say I don't. But a lifetime of clinging to routines coupled with the rollercoaster influx of hormones, thanks to pregnancy, make it impossible. The pregnancy also makes it impossible to get right to business without a quick pit stop in the bathroom to take care of the morning necessities fear had momentarily overridden. I use the toilet, wash my hands and brush my teeth before going back into my bedroom with its cracked open door.

I lie down on my bed, my back propped against the pillows, and watch the doorway. When Arlo stays true to his word and doesn't follow me, I slip my left hand under my shirt and cup my breast. I trace my short nails in smaller and smaller circles around the bumpy edge of my areola until they catch on the knot at the center of my nipple. The sharp little tug plucks that cord of arousal connecting my breast to my clit, and my core clenches.

"Louder," Arlo's gruff voice calls out. He sounds closer than when I first entered my bedroom, so I know he's taken a few steps toward my room. Instead of stifling my need, knowing he's listening to my reluctant show sends a frisson of liquid heat to my pussy.

What is wrong with me that I want to obey this stranger who has broken into my house? Supposedly, he's here with the blessing of my overprotective brother. I have no way of knowing that for sure, though. I can blame the pregnancy hormones, and it wouldn't be an exaggeration. For the past three weeks, despite my worries about Mark, my sex drive has been unquenchable. Being a pregnant single woman is terrible. Zero of ten; would not recommend.

"Give me your sounds, Francesca. They belong to me now, and I want them." His tone is deep enough to be an intimidating growl, but instead of being frightened, my heart-rate picks up as if he's whispering words of adoration.

A soft moan pries from me, the fantasy of those thick fingers he threatened me with taking over where my own slender ones press inside my feverish core. Slippery arousal coats them and smears around my clit. Back and forth, I alternate between plunging three fingers as deep inside myself as they can go and pinching and rubbing that achy button.

I clamp my eyes closed and pretend it's Arlo's hands on my body. Imagine he's the one plucking at my nipple and crooking blunt fingers along the inside walls of my pussy, searching out that spongy spot-right there…

That feels so good. My back arches, the gently curve of my round baby belly lifting high, as an orgasm steals my breath.

Over the high-pitch wail I'm helpless to hold back, I hear Arlo's low, masculine grunt. Boneless, my body flops onto the mattress while my mind races a thousand miles an hour. I obeyed him, this stranger, and loudly got myself off while he listened. Does that mean he'll come into my room and slake his lust with my wrung-out body?

Has my obedience created a consent for him to use my body to barter for safety? Instead of feeling energized by my orgasm, the way I have been every morning for weeks, today, I'm wiped out from it. Maybe, the stress of worrying about Mark has finally reached a breaking point. Maybe, it's knowing, even if I have to trade sex for protection, this man will keep me safe. Who knows exactly why my brain shuts down and it's lights out Frankie? It just does.

My last thought before sleep claims me is hoping Arlo James is who he says he is. If not, then I have a bigger monster than Mark to worry about.