Looking Away Doesn't Help

At first, she thought she was mistaken. With her eyes tightly closed, she lay still and listened. But yes, there were soft footsteps on the carpet, coming closer.

She heard more sounds, right next to the bed. The rustling of fabric. The click of a belt. The shuffling of clothes being taken off. Each tiny sound said more than words ever could.

Her pulse quickened. Her breathing became faster. She struggled to remain motionless and wait. She knew Steve would get into bed before she even felt it physically. The atmosphere in the room seemed to become denser and hotter.

A shadow fell over her face. She opened her eyes. Looking away didn't help.

The mattress moved. It gave way under a heavy body, spreading out in waves. She tensed reflexively and **** herself to keep breathing.

Steve lay down behind her, sliding closer. Close. Skin to skin. Marie felt the warmth emanating from him. But it was something else that heated her up. She knew exactly what he was about to do.

He didn't say anything.

That's what made it unbearably intense.

He wasn't in a hurry. He wasn't pushy. She could hear him breathing, calm and controlled. A spot between her shoulder blades tingled as if it were electrified.

Steve didn't hesitate either. Confidently and without reserve, his hand slid down her back, over her buttocks, and pushed its way between her thighs. The matter-of-factness with which he proceeded made it clear to her more than anything else that this was not about her. His message came across without words, loud and clear: he was the man. And he took what he wanted.

He lifted her leg. High. He opened her wide and gained access.

She felt his hardness pressing hot and demanding against her soft folds. With gentle ****, he penetrated her.

Marie was aware of every fiber of her body, every nerve. Steve's touch triggered short circuits in her system that she couldn't control. A tremor ran through her from head to toe. Her mind searched for support, but found only emptiness.

Steve moved slowly and deliberately. There was no haste or greed in his actions.

There was simply power. Power that needed no explanation. He did it because he could. Because he was sure he had every right to.

Marie hated it. She didn't give in. But she didn't fight back either.

One of Étienne's rules was: silence meant consent.

Steve fucked her persistently, leisurely. That was more terrible than if he had taken her roughly and brutally. She just lay there and let it happen. For how long? She didn't know.

When he was about to cum, she noticed. His movements became slightly faster, stronger, more uneven.

Finally, he pushed deep into her one last time.

In that second, she realized her future. He could do it again at any time. He would do it again. Just like every other man in this hotel, in this city, in this country.

And the most dangerous thing about it was that she would let him.

The only alternative would be for her to leave America immediately.