Notes from the author:
Not much to say this time, except I have been putting more effort into character development. The clock is winding down on the cruise obviously, so the next few chapters will be critical. Thank you to all who are hanging on for the ride! --J
*****
Chapter 13
I stared down at my feet as Joe scrubbed me, unsure of what to say...what to do...what was happening between us. Our eyes met occasionally, briefly, but apparently neither of us were comfortable with extended eye contact. Joe was clearly deep in thought, which was odd, considering that he always seemed so calm, cool, and collected. Always in full control, and always ready with a witty and infuriating response to anything I would say.
What had him off balance, if indeed he was? I was still trying to process the most thorough punishment Joe had yet inflicted on me. I had both enjoyed it, and been uncertain of whether I would survive it. It was a state of being that I definitely could not handle with any regularity. Even before setting sail on this cruise, I would never have thought myself capable of handling most, if any, of what Joe had dished out. I'd surprised myself with my resilience, and it seemed that I had also surprised Joe. Perhaps that was why he was so quiet? The hovering question of---Where do we go from here?
I was terrified that Joe's silence signified our relationship nearing its end. But why on earth would I feel any disappointment in that? Didn't I want to get away from him? Or had he so thoroughly conquered me that I could not envision myself independent of him? Was this some sort of Stockholm Syndrome situation? It would make sense, but in actuality, Joe had not really hurt me. He had not trapped me. If I absolutely wanted to get away, I could. I could scream, bang on the walls, kick him in the balls and run for help. I could do all of these things, but I had not. I didn't want to escape him badly enough.
Joe stepping into my life was a blessing in a way, because he had given me something I had thought was unattainable. Something I wanted so desperately, deep inside, but would never have been daring or wanton enough to seek out for myself. Joe had hurled me through the looking glass, and regardless of where we ended up, I would be forever grateful for the experience. But I sure as hell was not telling him that.
The water turned off, and Joe helped me step out of the tub, wrapping me once more in towels, and patting me dry. When he was finished, I pulled a towel from the rack and proceeded to dry Joe off, even though he hadn't asked. It was a natural response.
When Joe realized my intention to reciprocate, he stood with his feet spread apart and his arms extended. Bit by bit, I dried him, observing every patch of hair, every sinuous muscle, every pulsing vein. My mouth watered, and I had to keep reminding myself to breathe in and out. Did he experience the same feelings when he dried me? Or when he washed me for that matter? He always seemed so...together. With Joe, I felt I was constantly falling apart at the seams. He undid me.
As I toweled him dry, I recalled those instances when I had clearly undone Joe. Our tryst on the balcony when I forced him to cum down my throat. This morning (God, had it just been this morning?) when I teased him at the dining table by sucking on my sticky, sugary fingers. I knew I had the power to push him over the edge, and perhaps that was why I was not feeling like a victim—not entirely anyway. Because I DID have power.
Watching Joe impose his will upon me was one of the most erotic things I would ever know, but also intensely erotic was the look in his eyes when I pushed him. When I dared him. When I sassed him. When I told him to fuck himself. The fire in his eyes alone was enough to warrant a fresh pair of panties...which unfortunately were not to be found. Joe would not have it. And God help me, I loved it.
The prospect of my newly realized fantasy being stripped away forever was terrifying to me, and depressing as hell. The end was near, and I could hardly keep myself from tears. I couldn't cry in front of Joe. I couldn't express my desire to stay with him. He would be disgusted with me, and only distance himself faster. That was how men like Joe worked right? The woman clings, and the man gets the hell out of Dodge.
God, why the fuck was I clinging to this bastard anyway? He had raped me, degraded me, beat me, and likely impregnated me. Something had to be wrong with me. No good girl fantasizes about being raped and treated so viciously. I was seriously fucked up. Then again, maybe Joe and I were meant to be together. We apparently were both royally fucked in the head.
When I'd finished drying him off, Joe smiled down at me and pulled me into a gentle embrace, kissing my forehead in a gesture that warmed me to my toes. He held me silently for several moments before drawing me into the bedroom, and pulling the remaining terry cloth robe from the closet. I bit my lip to stifle a giggle as I recalled sneaking out of his room in the other robe that was now absent. As Joe wrapped me in the robe, he saw the cocky look on my face and grinned.
Leaning in, Joe whispered, "Naughty girl. You are mine now."
I blushed, simultaneously proud of my act of rebellion, and happy that he was not still mad at me. He had punished me, and now it was in the past.
"Are you hungry baby?" Joe asked.
"Kinda," I replied softly.
Suddenly my tummy rumbled loud enough for us both to hear, and Joe laughed.
"Okay I guess I am hungry," I admitted. "But mostly thirsty."
"Alright darling, come sit and relax," Joe directed, sitting me down on the sofa.
After bringing me a bottled water, Joe went to the desk to dial room service.
Noticing the remote sitting on the coffee table, I decided to see if there were any movies available for rent. It looked like there were several, mostly new movies, none of which I had any interest in. I did manage to find some classics woven in however, one of which was Sleepless in Seattle. Okay, so it was a chick flick, but after all that I had endured, I figured, what the hell? If Joe didn't like it he could kiss my ass.
The opening credits had just finished when Joe came to sit next to me, gathering me close, and I snuggled against his warm furry chest. What can I say? It felt right.
"What's this?" Joe asked.
"Seriously? It's Sleepless in Seattle silly!" I scolded, shocked that he wouldn't know a classic Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan film.
"Oh yeah, with Tom Hanks, right?" Joe replied, sounding only mildly interested.
"Right," I confirmed, shaking my head.
"Wow, my girl is sensitive about her chick flicks, hmm?" Joe teased.
"Whatever Joe, just shut up and let me watch my movie. If you don't like it, you can go sit in the corner!" I teased, pointing to the far corner of the suite.
"No thanks, I'm good right here," Joe insisted, hugging me tighter.
"Fine. Just be quiet," I ordered, drawing a low chuckle from him.
Tom Hanks and Rob Reiner were discussing modern dating, in which women are supposedly more assertive and independent, when room service knocked at the door.
"Aww, and just when this was getting interesting," Joe teased, nudging me off of him.
I rolled my eyes, and refocused on the movie as Joe went to answer the door.
The same two guys from this morning carted our dinner in, whatever it was. From the looks of it, Joe had ordered a full buffet again. Probably no bearclaws this time though, I sighed inwardly.
Pausing the movie, I got up and perused the dinner selections in the carts. Joe seemed pretty decisive, and immediately claimed chuck roast and potatoes.
"Hey, what the hell Joe?" I snapped. "What if I wanted the roast?"
"Do you want the roast?" Joe asked innocently.
Looking down at my feet, I admitted, "No."
"Well, even if you did, I ordered two of them. Just in case," Joe winked.
I granted him a half-smile, and continued surveying the dishes. I settled on the chicken marsala, which smelled absolutely divine and made my mouth water.
"Red or white?" Joe prompted, pointing to the two bottles on our table.
I frowned in concentration. Red was probably better with beef I think, whereas white was supposed to go with chicken. Right? In any case, I preferred red, so I decided to run with it.
"Red," I replied, satisfied with my decision.
"Red it is!" Joe agreed, popping the cork, and pouring us both a generous glass.
Once seated, I took a moment to observe Joe. He was still in his towel, but apparently had no issue digging into his roast with enthusiasm. He obviously appreciated good food, as did I. And as thrown as I was by this bizarre vortex of a cruise, I couldn't help but be inspired to dig in myself.
"So you seem to appreciate film," Joe commented, mid bite. "Is it only chick flicks, or what? Do you like action, or comedy...or horror?"
"Yes to action and comedy, no to horror," I answered automatically.
"Why's that?" Joe asked.
I sighed, "Well, most horror movies I have seen are very poorly acted, poorly directed, or both. Action flicks and comedies are case by case. I guess I'm just picky."
"You appreciate quality," Joe stated matter-of-factly.
"Yes," I agreed. "I think that applies to all things for me, or most."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I like quality food, quality film, quality relationships..." I trailed off. "I guess I just don't like to waste my time with mediocre things. Life is short. Why waste it on anything less than the best, if it is within one's means?"
"So you like the finer things?"
"No I wouldn't say that, I don't think," I answered mid bite. "I just don't like to do anything unless I'm going to do it right. If I dedicate two hours of my life to watching a movie, it should be a great movie. If I commit time to doing a job, I do it well."
"Which renews a topic we barely broached earlier...what do you do?" Joe asked, obviously pleased to have me cornered into elaborating on something I had been brief about earlier.
"I told you, I handle accounts for a pharmaceuticals company."
"Yes, but which company? And what do you like about your job?" Joe pressed.
Shit. He wanted me to give more intimate details about my life. I was really hoping to keep things generalized, not ready to let my guard down. And despite all that we had done together, I was not ready to share information that exposed my area of residence. Not to mention that the answer to his question delegitimized my whole "life is short" speech.
"Next question," I answered shortly.
Joe held up his hands, "Fair enough." He chuckled, and took a sip of wine.
I took more than a sip. As innocent as our conversation had been, things were starting to get real, and I needed to slow it down. I began to dig into my risotto with urgency, only to find that it was actually good. This cruise-ship-room-service risotto was damn good!
